Feature Writer: NovusAnimus

Feature Title: The Demon Queen

Published: 09.05.2021

Story Codes: Erotic Horror

Synopsis: “An Inhuman Love” Story.

Author’s Notes: Each episode in the “An Inhuman Love” series will be a stand-alone novelette, meant to be read and enjoyed in a single sitting. Expect a monster/human pairing in each episode, with all the juicy details included.

The Demon Queen

Jonathan stared down at the chaos, the death, the flames and shadows, and felt the tears trickle down his cheeks and into his beard.

“I… I don’t understand,” Samantha said, reigning in her steed beside him. She pulled off her helmet as well, and hooked the silver-colored platemail underneath her arm. “How did they… how did they get over the wall?”

“What in Janavere’s name…” Mark rode up beside them, and further, until his horse had to stop itself from walking off the edge of the cliff. “How?”

The city was in flames.

Jonathan and his twelve knights sat upon their mounts, and each reined in at the edge of the cliff, high and above the Valley of the Blessed Sisters. The grand waterfall of Madam Tovere poured over the Great Mountain of Constaner, and washed into the valley. Lush, green land, filled with forests and meadows. Fifty miles in diameter, the valley was surrounded by other mountains, each jagged and steep, and the valley roads between them were blocked by massive walls, built of stone and metal. The Wall Knights of Tanderous guarded those walls, the entrance to the South, and the entrance to the East. The Valley was their home, and it was beautiful.

It burned.

Jonathan pulled off his helmet, and set it against his hip, held in place with one hand. The platemail was heavy, and the slits it had for eye slots did not let him absorb the atrocity before him well. With the helmet at his side in his gauntlet, he was free to stare upon the death of his home, as the sun began to crest over the horizon behind them. The shadow of the cliff they stood upon sank away, hiding from the sun that rose behind them, and with each slither of land the sun lit, the death and mayhem was exposed.

The land still hidden in shadow was plenty visible though, as the flames roared and lit it in its own sinister light. The Humming Bird fields and Iron Wood, were nothing but cinders, and the Selile River ran red, reflecting the flame, or running with blood. Or both.

The City of Madam Vandar sat in the center. A hundred thousand people, the only city on the Death’s Watch frontier, buildings of wood and metal, of brick and glass. The work of a hundred years of sweat, blood, and tears. Beautiful churches and cathedrals, sprawling stables, decorated black smiths with glorious forges, schools for children, a meeting hall where the council gathered, and cozy, comfortable homes surrounded it all, hundreds upon hundreds of them. All in flames.

“How?” Vivienne forced her mount over to his, and hit the back of her armored hand against his armor. “You said the city would be safe!”

“It… it was safe.” Jonathan pointed to the dips in the mountains to the South, their goal, and a dip in the mountains to the East. Each had high rising black smoke, the lifting sun cutting their souls apart as the fading shadows revealed the remains of their world. “The… Beizites… they—”

“They got past the wall!” Eric pushed Vivienne’s horse aside with his own, and screamed out to the valley far beneath them. “Maybe some of them are alive? The Beizites don’t always find everyone. We can—”

Jonathan snapped his hand up. Everyone went silent, and sat straighter upon their mounts, each with their helmet under their arm; half attention.

“The Beizites have taken the South Wall Gate, and the East Wall Gate. They have… taken the Valley. They—”

“There could still be survivors!” Again, Eric gestured to the valley, voice raised to a near yell.

Jonathan turned to look at the man, and glared. Eric shut up, and lowered his head, grinding his teeth. No words needed to be said. The man was being loud and was risking their lives, on an empty hope.

“The Beizites have overrun the valley,” Jonathan said, voice solid and low. “We know what the Beizites do, and that they leave no survivors. They will track any living human down within hours through smell alone. All we can do is pray that our soldiers and city guard managed to kill as many as we did last night, Janavere willing.” He wanted to scream, to cry, to let his voice waver, but his knights needed him. Cry later, be a beacon of steel and resolution now.

The Knights of Tanderous needed little leadership on the front line, little leadership in battle, little leadership when they had to face the oncoming tide of claws and fangs. They were all battle hardened, had each killed hundreds of Beizites, and had all faced death dozens of times. They were all God-fearing knights of the White Order, served under the Tanderous banner, and vowed to protect the Valley of the Blessed Sisters, each of them without hesitation.

To come home, and find it all for naught? If there was a single evil the world could throw at his knights that could destroy them, it was this. They needed him now.

“Sir,” Samantha said, “do… do you think the other squadrons…?”

He shook his head. “If the city is overrun, then… then my fellow captains, and their squadrons, are gone.” His fellow Knights of Tanderous would have died to the last man and woman, guarding those gates. And his squadron knew that. Like him, they were hoping against hope, that someone might have survived, that fellow knights Millineue or Gummer or Peterson survived at the wall. He knew they didn’t. They hoped that Samantha’s husband on the farm survived, or that Eric’s sister at the Darrer’s Smithy survived. They didn’t.

Jonathan’s parents didn’t survive, either.

He clenched his jaw until he felt the bone threaten to break. Jonathan was no child, almost forty years of age, and with enough scars to tell more than a few tales. His house was next to his parents’, at his request. After trips beyond the Valley wall, he’d come home, and sit with them outside, where they had tables for them and their neighbors; close friends. They’d drink wine, have pig or fowl, with lettuce and other leaves from old Nancy Tamadan, who would, of course, insist on joining them.

Jonathan shook his head, and put his helmet back on. Inside its metal encasement, no flesh was exposed except for the slits for eyes. He was protected, nothing could harm him, and he could hide his tears better.

“We ride.”

“Sir?” Eric and Samantha said.

“We can’t stay here. The Beizites will find us eventually.” Beizites could never catch knights on horses, but they were relentless. It’d only be a matter of time before their claws swarmed over the paths winding along the great Wall. The monsters had to have come from the East Wall, overwhelmed it, attacked the city, and sent other forces to the South Wall, where Jonathan and his team were headed after their excursion. It was many miles through the winding paths to the reach the South Wall though, the only entrance available to them that led into the Valley, that didn’t involve a thousand-foot drop.

To get to the Blessed Valley, his team would have to fight through the horde, a deadly battle liable to get many of his squadron killed. And even if they succeeded, all that waited for them was the horde’s main force, and the remains of their beloved city. They had no choice but to turn around.

He turned Puteesha back the way they came, and began at a faster pace, something that would gain him distance at a reasonable speed without tiring the horse. They needed to put distance between themselves and the city, and a lot of it.

Vivienne put her helmet on, as did the rest of his crew, before pulling in her horse beside his. “Where will we go? It’s five hundred miles back to the Green Fields, through the Wastelands.”

“We go West.”

“West?” Samantha joined Vivienne’s side, helmet on, hands tight on her reins, trembling. Trembling not for fear of what lay to the West, he was sure, but for her dead husband. “But, from here, we would be forced into the Dead Canyon.”

“Yes.”

“And… and into Pokala’s domain.”

“… yes.”

Eric pulled his horse up beside his, close enough that the knight could reach out and put a hand on his shoulder. “Jon, we don’t have to. We can… we can…”

“Can what? Cross the Wastelands? It would take weeks to build up the provisions we’d need, and the Beizites will be swarming over these woods soon. And without an army, we have no defense against the night crawlers. We have no choice.”

“Pokala is going to kill you, Jon. And then us!”

“She won’t kill us. She—”

Eric grabbed the reins of Jon’s horse and yanked, causing their mounts to steer into each other, and come to immediate halts with a few neighs of protest. “You killed Damorok, Jon. Pokala hates your guts, and you know it.”

He’d done more than kill Damorok, they all had. They’d stopped Pokala’s forces on the borders of the Valley on several occasions. They all had demon blood on their hands and blades, and Jon was usually the paladin of choice for patrolling. He had a list of things Pokala hated him for, as long as his arm.

It didn’t matter. They had nowhere else to go, and if they didn’t go now, they were dead. Pokala could be reasoned with, spoken with. The Beizites could not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The trip down from the mountain was a quiet one, somber. Some of the knights shed a few tears, and at one point, Samantha wept openly, only for Eric to be the one to console her. The two were close, friends, and the death of Samantha's husband was a blow they all felt. The death of Eric's sister was a more private affair to the man, but it was plain to see it crushed him terribly, and he took solace in Samantha's shared misery.

His other knights found solace in each other as well, warm words shared between broken souls. Vivienne and Tuomas, Daniel and Marcus, Laurence and Ludwig, Petteny and Jackson, and Marr and Denmer. The thirteen Wall Knights of Tanderous, primary guard of the South Gate, eleven men, two women, born to fight on the front lines of battle, robbed of everything they fought to protect. Every single one of them wanted to stop, set up camp, mourn, or turn back and suicide charge into the hordes of Beizites. He couldn't let them mourn, not until they reached the Dead Canyon.

Never had the gentle clop of hooves on the dirt and rocks of the roads been so depressing.

With time, they left the forest at the base of the mountain, and entered the Dead Lands. Rock. Petrified trees. Giant tombstones were scattered about, cracked and worn with hundreds of years of weather, the remains of whatever race came before. Perhaps the demons knew? No one had ever asked them. Maybe he could? Unlikely. No, if things didn't go according to how he hoped, they'd all be dead, and no one would be asking anyone anything.

And they knew it. They knew there was a good chance they'd die on this last mission, and he was sure some of them wanted that, to go down fighting. But, if things did go according to plan, none of them had to die.

Only him.

With no sunlight left, and the canyon's mouth before them, open and inviting them into the gorge of blackness and death, Eric raised a hand.

"We camp here."

Nodding, each knight got off their horse, and got to work. Their mounts were not stallions meant for speed, they were work horses meant for endurance, combat, and loads. The bags of supplies on each horse were immense, and contained many provisions; nothing near what they'd need to make an attempt across the Wastelands, whose border they currently brushed against, but more than enough to set up camp for several nights.

Groaning, they got out of their armor. It took the help of each other to undo the heavy plates, but the Wall Knights did not use squires; couldn't risk their lives. They did the task in silence, until everyone was in their shirt and trousers, gambesons and sheets of metal set aside. Next, campfires. It was a routine they'd all done many times, with each person knowing their role when it was time to camp for the night. They had the provisions for several tents, and the tools to create a fire. And, being in the Dead Lands, he knew there'd be wood available, dead wood scattered about from acres of likewise dead trees. The petrified forest wood would burn oddly, but it would burn.

Some of his crew set out for the wood, others set up the three tents they had, and the others set to building a barrier around them, something to deter large animals. A hungry bear or rutting deer were not things you wanted to wake up to. For other things, he had a different tool.

With a heavy sigh, and running a hand through his long dark hair, Jonathan squatted down by his pile of armor, his shield, his sword, and withdrew the blade from its sheath. The markings had to be done with a blessed weapon, after all. Once his knights had set up a simple fence, using rocks and sticks, he began to trace the symbols of Janavere.

Each symbol left behind a white scar, burning away the impurities beneath it in the subtle, holy light. Each symbol robbed him of his breath, and he was forced to take a moment to breathe after each. He went quickly, growing more light headed with each symbol, but it needed to be done. And, he didn't feel like taking his time.

Samantha set a bundle of sticks by the fire in the center of their camp, and came over to him. "Need help?"

"You…" He forced down a deep breath, and continued to the next symbol. "You passed the holy trials?"

"No."

"Then you know you can't." Onto the next symbol. He carved it slowly, focused, listened to the piece of his mind and soul that could touch the holy light. From the connection, into the sword, into the dirt.

"I know. Just… looking to talk, I guess."

"I don't blame you. I've been wanting to talk, as well."

"Then why don't you?"

"Because—" Onto the next symbol. Samantha looked down, and brushed her long waves of blonde hair aside. A beautiful woman, Samantha, and Jon winced as he thought of her husband. "Because, if we give into grief now, we'll be destroyed by it. We can mourn later."

"I know, I know. But we have to… to at least acknowledge what happened, what we're doing, what we're going to do."

Other knights walked by, each no longer in armor, each with stern eyes staring at whatever it was they were doing. But, he knew they could hear him, if he started talking. Maybe now was a good time to do just that, to let some emotions out. Or, as he expected, it would unleash sorrow that would pin them under its weight.

"The city is gone, Samantha. Everything is gone, and you knew when you joined the Knights, we have no shelter to go to if the city was lost." Next symbol.

"Losing the City of Madam Vandar was never an option, Jon. If they died, we died with them. That was the plan."

"And that is what would have happened, if we were there. We underestimated the Beizites, and the only reason we survive, is because we were lucky."

"You can't—"

"Luck. We live because we were lucky." Next symbol.

"Janavere didn't—"

"Janavere gave us her protection as far as she was able, as far as she can now." He gestured to the symbols he drew, and how they glowed before fading into white scars, lost in the shadows. "The Holy One can't protect us if we try and face thousands of Beizites in suicidal stupidity. We have to make logical decisions, no matter what our emotions tell us." Mindlessly relying on Janavere was a fool's game. The goddess did not wish for the weak to leech from her, or rely on her. It was a give and take relationship with the goddess, and she would not help those not capable of helping themselves.

"And going to Pokala is logical?"

"The Valley is overrun, and the mountains will be before dawn. It won't be long before they reach the Wastelands, and we know they won't go into the Dead Canyon." Next symbol.

"Because they're afraid of Pokala." She leaned on some of the sticks that made up their poor fence, and glared at him. "We should be, too."

"… we are. I am. But we have no choice. I'll speak with Pokala, arrange some sort of deal for your lives, and—"

"Our lives. You mean our lives."

He sighed. He was tempted to not tell her, but that'd be an insult to her intelligence. "Pokala will want me dead, and if I surrender my will her, I am sure she will spare your lives."

"We're not going to trade you for a safe place to sleep, Jon!"

He stopped, and glared down at the symbol as he drew it. Each symbol was only a few inches wide, but that didn't change that each circle, each triangle, each tri-cross and each star, was draining. Samantha's bitter truths did not help.

"You'll do as I say."

"Jon, you can't be serious."

He did not reply. As his fellow knights finished preparing their meal and feed for the horses, he finished planting his symbols. The holy symbols surrounded the camp, and would glow bright if crossed, bright enough to wake the knights and scare away animals. They'd also burn demons and the alien Beizites alike.

"It's not up for discussion, Sam."

"Jon, please, we need to talk about this. This isn't like usual. We've always—"

"Sam." He slipped between the fence sticks, and glared at her, glared hard. She gulped, stepped back, and lowered her head.

Sighing, he sat down by the fire, and ate his meal.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nothing happened. No one attacked them during the night, no wild bear stumbled onto their camp by the smell of roasting meat, and no demons took advantage of their sleeping. The Beizites didn’t find them either.

But, it was easy to see his knights didn’t sleep well. Nightmares, maybe. He had them. His parents, screaming, dying, over and over under the claws and teeth of swarming Beizites. Torn apart, literally. No doubt the rest of his knights had gone through the same, and no doubt it would affect their stamina.

Everyone packed up the gear in silence. They destroyed the camp, hid all signs of their passing, reequipped their armor, tended to the horses, and resumed their journey. His knights moved slow, arms and legs heavy, and each picked up their sword and shield as if they weighed twice what they did. Their armor was worse, and donning it might as well have been strapping a coffin to their backs.

It didn’t matter. They could rest, and mourn, once Pokala gave them sanctuary. He probably wouldn’t live to see it, but the demoness would be bound to her word, and his knights would live. Maybe she’d even let him live, long enough to see them move on.

He rolled his eyes at his own stupidity, and gave Puteesha a gentle kick in her sides. Within moments, thirteen work horses were trotting out from the Dead Lands, down from the edge of the Wastelands their path nudged against, and into the Dead Canyon.

Its walls welcomed them like a mouth, with many jagged teeth above on the coiling curves of rock. Vast, half a mile wide, with no plant life upon the nigh black earth. Bits of dirt and sand caught the air as their horses stirred the ground, and the breeze picked them up, creating small twisters. Their mounts did not use blinders, and the sand had no trouble attacking the horses’ vision. They had to go slow.

The canyon did not care if they went slow. The path was not walked by men or steed, and there was no trail through the rough earth. As much as jagged rocks scaled the walls and hung from the overhangs above, it littered their path as well, and their mounts struggled. Any slip would mean an injured leg, and there was no saving a lame horse in this situation. Slower, and slower, through the mouth of death.

None of his knights wore their helmet, him included. Out of the way, but at reach for easy access in case they were attacked. It was stupid, but he assured them Pokala would not attack first; demons didn’t use bows and arrows anyway. If he was wrong, well, the helmets wouldn’t help them.

The canyon closed over them, and no longer could the sun reach them. Like teeth, the ceiling of curved, sharp rocks pressed together, sealing the maw of earth over their heads. The canyon became a cave, a mouth accepting them into the stomach of the beast.

Jon and several of his knights each lit a torch, and held them high. The cave looked like how he imagined the throat of a titan dragon, waves that indented against the rolling wall every few feet, like snake ribs. Beneath them, the pebbles and stones dispersed, no longer littering their path; a side effect of a ceiling, he supposed. Instead, the teeth of a cave surrounded them. He’d once heard scholars refer to them as stalagmites and stalactites, but most simply called them cave teeth. Many hung from above, and many blocked their path from below.

They couldn’t leave their mounts behind, but the worsening path grew more and more dangerous to ride across. Sighing, Jon slid off his, and began to guide Puteesha through the maze of teeth poking up from the ground. There had to be a path. If the demons came through the caves, they must have been able to navigate the maze. Probably. Hopefully.

Their pace turned into a crawl. Every inch forward was pain, even with a torch held ahead to make sure there would be no deadly misstep. He tried to keep his sighs quiet; no need to have his misery rest on his knights’ minds, but he was growing tired, mentally and physically. The cave was oppressive, endless darkness, and as far as he could tell, it’d started to grow larger as they went down the subtle slope. It truly did feel like they were walking into the belly of a beast. No one could do that and not feel the weight of it, not since they were leaving behind a ruined hope and ravaged dream.

Goodbye, Valley of the Blessed Sisters. Hello, Pokala’s domain of death and destruction. Whatever it took to save his knights, so be it.

One of his knights slipped. Everyone froze, and Jon immediately turned around to see Eric sitting on his ass.

“You ok?” Jon said, holding up his torch closer so he could see what happened.

“Barely. By the powers, I… I slipped off.”

“Slipped off? I… oh.” The darkness around Eric’s leg was not one cast by the cave’s teeth. It was true darkness, a fall off into endless black.

The teeth-filled path they walked, had become a bridge of stone over an abyss. Their journey had just become a hundred times harder.

“Single file,” he said. “Go slow, and focus on the path only. No demon could attack us on such a precarious bridge.” Not a lie, but he wasn’t sure it was true either. It should be true. And the courage it’d give his knights was needed, as they walked upon the tongue of Lithiana herself.

Thank Janavere that the teeth beneath their feet started to fade. But at the same time, the bridge in the chasm of darkness thinned until it was only four feet wide. If Puteesha reared, there was a good chance she’d fall, or worse, turn and knock one of his knights off with her. Slow and steady was their only option.

It was a mile of gradual, painful, sluggish progress. The teeth were still there, only short now, and that wasn’t necessarily better. Easy to slip on, or trip on, especially now that they were only an inch high. Every single step was arduous, with torch down and ahead of him to find both his footing, but provide the light for Puteesha to do the same.

Only upon the end of the not-path, did the bridge begin to open its tight grip, and did the teeth under their feet begin to fade out entirely.

The stone slowly became smooth, the way metal could be if rubbed thousands upon thousands of times. Demons must have walked over it, to and fro, for hundreds of years, but he heard nor saw a one. He held up his torch high, as did the rest of his knights, and they continued along on the bottom of the chasm, the ceiling and sides so far they were beyond the light of the fire. The cave was big enough to hold any number of untold horrors, and that included sleeping dragons.

A light flickered in the distance, subtle, an amber star against the empty black. They moved closer, walking a little more casually now that the floor was no longer trying to kill them, but stayed slow all the same. No need to ride in and spook the inevitable army of darkness that awaited them. Sighing, Jon squeezed his torch tighter, and moved toward the amber dot.

“We’re almost there,” he said.

Samantha came up beside him, horse reins in her hand, torch held well above her. “Sure you don’t want to turn around?”

“It took us five hours to cover a single mile.”

“And I’m more than willing to spend another five per mile going back.”

“We have no choice, Sam.”

“You’re trying to save us by sacrificing yourself. You think any of us want that? We’d rather die together, then live and let you die.”

He grumbled, and shook his head as they kept walking. “We don’t all have to die.”

“Jon, come on. We’ve lost everything. My husband is dead. The city is destroyed and the Valley is gone. You think—”

He reached out, and grabbed the collar of her breastplate. A hard jerk brought her closer, and she stared at him as he glared at her, cutting through her bullshit with his eyes.

“You’re going to live. And I might too, for all we know. Shut up, and follow.” He let her go, took Puteesha’s reins, and continued. No more arguments. He was done trying to convince them this was the correct decision. He was probably going to die, and they’d live; it was the only course of action left to them. Maybe Pokala would feel generous, and give them the provisions they needed to cross the Wastelands. Maybe.

With an angry groan, Samantha went quiet, and followed as commanded. The rest of his knights had heard him, and they also kept quiet as they grew closer to the distant light. With time, another light appeared, and another. The amber light in the distance painted the silhouette of a structure, something tall and wide, and it filled the colossal girth of the cave.

A castle. Jon gulped as its shape became more obvious, and stared at the unusual curve of its design. Like the cave teeth they’d passed, it looked like the enormous building was made of the cave stone, except someone had taken centuries to carve intricate shapes into it, and out of it. Spires, walls, all carved of the rock, but spikes erupted from them with the natural flow of something alive; the work of a talented, and disturbed sculptor. Massive, sprawling in its size, the castle could house thousands, tens of thousands of men and women, and it merged into the walls and roof of the cave like flesh merged with flesh.

Glowing rocks came into view. Sitting upon braziers of black metal, the rocks glowed with the same flickering as fire might, as if they were alive, or had somehow managed to capture fire within them. The metal itself looked unusual, and as the squadron grew closer to the castle, Jon realized much of the odd material was used to accent features of the stone building. There were windows, without glass but lined with metal spikes. There were doors, or rather gates, made of bars of the black metal. Many of the spikes that jutted out from the castle walls and spires were small black metal spikes, while other larger ones were carved out of the ancient stone itself.

Perhaps it was a mineral unique to the Dead Canyon, and this cave that contained it. No human had passed the gaping maw of the Dead Canyon in decades, and returned to speak of it. What journals that survived from earlier contained little information, only warnings of darkness and skittering claws in the black. With luck, his knights would be able to write their own journals, and share them with the clergy at the Green Fields.

The knights came to a standstill, as they began to look around at the cave teeth that stuck up from the ground. The teeth had suddenly begun to grow again, dozens of them, each as wide as a horse and as tall as a tower. Some of the glowing rocks were in the stone of these cave teeth, and as they flickered with their fiery light, the knights began to notice the creatures that hid within the teeths’ shadows.

“Jonathan Tearmire,” a voice called out, echoing in the cave, almost booming with rage, “you dare assault my home?” Despite the thickness of the voice, it had a feminine pitch to it, layered by the echoes over top the crashing thunder.

“I am not here to fight!” he called out. The cave caught his voice as well, turning it into a booming echo. Not as powerful as whoever was yelling his name, but still.

A chorus of hisses and roars rumbled up from the walls of stone. Quiet at first, but they flowed into each other, catching both the echoes, and joining the voices of their fellow monsters.

With reflex, the knights put their backs to each other, and Jonathan heard more than a few gasps, as the creatures came close enough to reveal the glow of their eyes. Amber, same as the crystals, same as fire. A couple, then dozens, then hundreds of the glowing, slitted eyes appeared in the dark, getting close enough that their unnatural glow could be seen by human eyes. They stayed perhaps fifty feet away, but they surrounded the knights with ease, more than enough of them to completely circle them, and show a wall of eyes in all directions. Thousands of demons, thousands of eyes, some hanging from the ceiling, some hovering overhead and flying by, most on foot around them, all blurs of silhouettes in the black.

“I should think not.”

Her, her voice. Without the booming echoes, he could recognize it, despite the constant growls and whispers of her army. He should be able to see her, he—

She stepped out of the endless eyes, splitting her army and letting the amber lights of her castle spill down the pathway. As she did, the darkness itself began to lesson, the crystals of the castle providing more illumination; either a trick of the eye, or the demons themselves were actually lowering the amount of shadow that surrounded them. Demons could control shadows, he knew that, but seeing it in such dramatic effect, was haunting.

While his knights maintained their circle, each with a hand on their sword hilt, ready to draw, all of them turned their head to look at Pokala as she stepped out from the army of shadows and eyes. When she did, the shadows finally broke, and the cave lit with a modest amount of lighting, caused by the many amber crystals. It was more than enough for Jon’s dark-adjusted eyes to see the demons, the castle, the rocks, and the demon queen that’d come to meet them.

Pokala stood before them, and Jonathan grit his teeth at the sight of her. It was frustrating that the demon queen had the curves of a tall, busty woman, with a waist far too small to be possible, considering the size of her curves. As if Janavere herself had created a woman with idealized features, but then, as if to mock the human race, made her a demon instead. A classic tale, warning of the lie of skin’s beauty.

Pokala had wings, though they looked like giant black claws more than anything, with no skin membrane between them; not for flying. Her skin was red, with hues of amber not dissimilar to the color of her demon army’s eyes. And that was, perhaps, the most defining feature about her: she had no eyes. Her face was a mask, a large mask of smooth black, shaped in a T. Several amber crystals sat along the top half of the strange mask, tiny, ornamental. The mask itself erupted into massive horns along its upper edge, curling back and outward like a ram’s horns, though large enough to put a ram to shame.

It wasn’t a mask. It was her face, a strangely beautiful mask of black, dotted with glowing amber crystals and lines. The enormous black horns matched the spikes that jutted from her shoulders, her claw wings, her knees, and her knuckles and feet. A human shape, covered head to toe with beautiful red skin, lined with dozens of black spikes.

A black corset of large scales circled her waist, and a leathery draping skirt of the same black dangled from it, split to the hip and reaching her feet. Feet was perhaps a strong word, as they were a cross between feet and hooves, with several black spikes sticking up from them. And her massive breasts had only a single black scale rising up from the corset, just high enough to cover her nipples.

The other demons were different, and far more predictable. Jon recognized demons that looked fairly human, with red skin and some black spikes, but were otherwise human looking. Succubi, and incubi, demons that had long preyed on humans and their poor defense against their own lust.

Other demons looked far more monstrous. Colossal demons stood about, some twelve feet tall, titans of muscle, with a tail that belonged more on a dragon. Some others were tiny, imps, with leathery wings they used to fly overhead. Several looked like enormous gargoyles, and while they didn’t fly at the moment, Jonathan was sure they could; he’d seen it. Some looked like the minotaurs of legend, each ten feet tall, and came in both sexes, though these beasts had four arms, and two pairs of gargantuan horns, rather than one pair.

All of them had red skin, with black spikes jutting from black scales that adorned their joints and heads. All of them had eyes and mouths. Only Pokala and her oddly beautiful mask lacked such features.

He didn’t know why she looked like that, compared to her servants. The chronicles described other demons that led armies, and all of them had similar faces, or lack thereof. Perhaps he could tell Michaelangelo when—

Jonathan winced, and wiped the memory of the old historian away.

“We come… seeking sanctuary,” he said.

The hundreds upon hundreds of creatures that surrounded them, all went silent, every one of them ceasing their breathing, until only the breathing of the horses was heard.

“Sanctuary?” Pokala said. Her voice, sultry, seductive, was now mixed with surprise. “You cannot be serious. This is a trick.”

“You think I’d bring my knights down into the bowels of Hell, for a trick? We are outnumbered, well beyond our ability to survive.”

“Then this is a suicidal maneuver, some last effort to kill as many of us as you can, before your end.” She spread her claw wings, and folded her arms across her chest. “I know not why you have come here, but if you truly wish to do battle, then—”

He glared at her, reached for Puteesha, and unhooked his helmet from her saddle. He tossed it down at Pokala’s feet, and a moment later, his sword, and his shield with it. “It is no trick, demon. My servitude, for the safety of my knights. That is the deal I offer.”

Several of the small imps squealed with delight, and scampered forward to jump up and down on his weaponry. One grabbed his helmet, and put it on, but the tiny female creature was only three feet tall, and his helmet was big enough to engulf her shoulders. Her small chuckles shattered the silence all the more.

“… why, Jonathan? Why have you come to me?”

“For sanctuary,” he repeated.

The demon queen sighed, and walked toward him. Her wide hips swayed with her steps, and her breasts rippled upon the corset; doubtless she knew they did, and she probably enjoyed that they drew the eyes of human men. Not him. His eyes glared into her featureless face, and he took a step forward to meet her.

“Do not be absurd, Jonathan. Has… has your war against the Beizites gone so badly?”

Samantha marched up to join them, and she stomped her feet as she did. She also kept a hand on her sword hilt, inviting several of the more massive demons around Pokala to join their queen’s side.

“Our home is gone, you worthless demon!” she said. Jon stuck out his arm to block her, and she pressed against it, staring at Pokala and her demons, teeth bared in a snarl. “It’s… it’s all gone. Gone! Fuck you, you fucking—”

“Samantha!” Jon stepped in front of her, and shoved her back. “Be silent.”

One of the larger demons stepped out of the crowd, not far from Pokala.

“The Valley is gone?” Laughing, he slammed a foot of claws and weight against the stone, causing the cave to rumble. “Perfect. Let’s—”

“Vekaal, be silent,” Pokala said, with the same inflection Jon used with Samantha. It earned an eyebrow raise from Jon, and he looked between the two demons.

“Why?” Vekaal said. “Let’s kill these fools, and—”

Unlike Jon, content to stop Samantha with an arm and a harsh word, Pokala seemed intent on making a point. She held out an open hand toward the enormous brute, and closed it on nothing. The air around Vekaal distorted, as if Jon was looking through water, and then, the beast fell to his knees, choking on a stifled roar.

“That is the second time, Vekaal. You have one more offense. Do you understand?” She continued to hold her hand out, and the beast struggled to breathe, as if something was crushing his insides. Something probably was.

“Y-Yes… my… queen.”

With a sigh, the demoness lowered her hand. Vekaal started gasping, coughing, and unlike the masked queen, he had a normal demon face, a cross between a jackal and dragon. It was easy to see the pained, wheezing expression, and following look of submission.

Pokala could not use her magics so easily on humans, and especially not on knights of Tanderous, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t at all. He’d dealt with it before. She was also brutally strong, far stronger than the supple figure would suggest. Defeating her, here, in battle, surrounded by her brood, was not possible.

“You are serious, Jonathan? And your knight speaks truth? The Valley is gone?”

He turned his head to the side, unable to look the demoness in the face; or mask, or whatever it was. “The Beizites overwhelmed the valley, when we were out on patrol. It, and everyone in it, is gone. I swear it is truth, upon Janavere herself.”

Again, everyone went silent. The imps at Jon’s feet stared up at him, eyes wide, mouths open. Many of the demons looked to Pokala, waiting for her word. Some whispers broke the silence, demons far in the back speaking to each other. No doubt some were considering attacking Jon and his knights, and some would consider it a good time to challenge Pokala for daring to entertain humans; hopefully her easy defeat of Vekaal would prevent an immediate uprising. The last thing Jon wanted was for his knights to die, but it was a very real possibility. Come to Pokala’s domain, and risk their lives, or try and survive out in the wilderness, and guarantee their deaths. Neither option was a good one.

Tension began to build. He could feel it in his muscles and bones, see it in the body language of his knights, see it in the demons and their widening smiles. The only humans that remained, for hundreds of miles, were the knights in their domain. The Valley was gone. Nothing could stop the demons if they wanted to destroy them. Except for Pokala.

“Your life for the safety of your knights, you say?” Pokala said, stepping in closer.

“… yes.”

“Your life is in my hands already, brave Sir Knight.”

He frowned, took a step toward her, and grit his teeth until he felt his jaw click painfully. “You can kill us, though we won’t die easy. I’m offering an alternative. I… I am yours, Pokala. As long as you do not request that I harm humans or servants of Janavere, I… will do whatever you ask of me. In return, I ask for sanctuary for my Wall Knights.”

“Oh my.” Chuckling, she ran a claw down the inner contours of one of her breasts, before tapping the chin of her mask with it. “Sanctuary. For how long?”

“Until they decide to leave, or old age takes them.”

She tapped her chin several times more, and let her army chatter. Many made suggestions, though hushed, seeking to keep their voices mixed with the crowd. Some wanted to eat them. Some wanted to cast them out. Some wanted to enslave them. Some were curious about them. Most of what the two races had seen of each other were skirmishes, border wars, and a few deaths. They didn’t mingle. Curiosity was understandable, though Jon suspected most of that was simply a curiosity of how they’d taste.

Jonathan Jonathan Jonathan.” Pokala chuckled, once, but it died away quickly, snuffed by the weight of the words following. “Of all the fates I wished to befall you, you and the Valley, this was not it. Not at all.” Sighing, she stepped side to side, slowly pacing as her claw wings stretched out behind her, flexing in and out in sync with her slow steps.

“… I had nowhere else to go, Pokala.”

That brought her to a stop. She turned, looked at him, and her wings settled, hooking tight to her back as she stepped in closer again, now only two feet in front of him. From so close, he could clearly see the enormous mask wasn’t a mask at all, but genuinely was her face. No eyes, no mouth, no nose, just a smooth T-shape of black, with lines cut into it that highlighted the shape of its chin, and where its upper sides morphed into colossal horns. The several glowing amber dots on her forehead, and where eyes should have been, lit up his face and body somewhat, and he squinted as they contrasted against the darkness around her.

“Very well,” she said. “Swear it.”

He ground his teeth until he could hear them, but nodded. “I swear upon Janavere’s name that I, Jonathan Tearmire, Paladin and Wall Knight of Tanderous, will honor this agreement.”

She laughed, though it lacked the hearty joy he’d expected. “Humans. The lengths you must go to simply give weight to your words.”

“And you are a demon, who is bound to their word, absolutely.”

Nodding, she stepped back, and turned, pointing an arm toward her castle of stone and glowing amber crystals. The hundreds of demons behind her stepped aside, a parting sea of claws, flesh, red skin, black scales, and glowing amber eyes.

“I will honor our agreement, Jonathan Tearmire. Your knights are given sanctuary, from now until their departure, a departure they must choose to commit. They will be cared for to the utmost of our ability. And you, Paladin of Janavere, are mine.”

The castle was a strange place. It was clear it wasn't built, so much as carved, but whoever had carved it had made sure to do it right. Hallways, massive, walls smooth and floors flat, spilled out before him and his knights in a myriad of directions from the grand chamber. He stared up at a dangling crystal that lit the chamber, and then toward a throne, also carved out of the black stone. Beautiful, a flowing seat with horns and spikes erupting outward to the sides, each peppered with amber crystals that must have been found in the rock as it was sculpted.

They were standing in work that would have taken decades, assuming a hundred hands worked at it day and night. It was beautiful, the castle, the chamber, the walls with grooves carved around more crystals, all of it. Far too beautiful for a nest of demons.

"Who made all of this?" Samantha said, gesturing around the enormous room.

"My mother did, several hundred years ago." Pokala, sitting upon her throne, gestured with a sweeping arm to the giant walls that surrounded them. "We live long lives, us of the royal blood."

Samantha snorted, hand upon the hilt of her sword as she slowly turned around. "Where is she now?"

"Dead. It is the way of the royal blood, to die at the hands of their progeny. Always three daughters, always to the eventual death of our dear mother." She sat with one leg folded over the other at the thigh, lightly bouncing at the knee, and her hands sat upon the throne arms, claws tapping the stone.

"Then where are your siblings?" Eric stepped up beside Samantha, hand also on his hilt. Jon would scold them later, but then it wasn't like the demons wouldn't possibly betray Pokala, considering what Vekaal attempted earlier. Some measures of self defense were understandable.

"In other parts of the world."

"Killing humans," Samantha said, snarling.

"You do not understand my kind, knight. We are not the Beizites. Now cease your ignorant ramblings." The queen stepped off her throne, and walked down toward the knights. They'd left their mounts outside, but all of them had their armor — without helmet — and swords and shields. Jon had picked his up again upon leaving the swarming army outside, simply to keep it out of their hands.

Samantha wasn't silenced so easily. "You're demons. What's there to understand?"

"Far more than your simple mind could appreciate." Sighing, Pokala stepped up to the two demons that had followed her into the grand chamber. Each one was enormous, twelve-foot-tall giants of muscle and strength. With the faces of dragons, and tails to match, the colossal brutes would have taken multiple knights to bring down. They looked strangely beautiful, majestic beasts with handsome features, amber red along the underside of their jaws, their stomachs, and down to the underside of their long, thick tails, while the rest of them was covered in the almost shining black scales and black spikes. Pokala's personal guards, perhaps. Did she even need personal guards?

"What're they for?" Eric said.

"They are your bodyguards until you decide to leave. They will escort the twelve of you into the upper quarters of my castle, where spare rooms kept for others of my bloodline have slept before; they are empty. You may use the rooms in the meantime."

Jon raised a brow. An unwanted complication, maybe. "How often do they visit? Others of your bloodline, I mean."

"Once every thirty years or so. I do not expect to see my siblings or cousins for many years. And I can insure that you their rooms will be comfortable for you."

"What are we supposed to eat?" Samantha said.

"A stream runs through this cavern, deep and clear. I have sent scouts to fetch animals, and plants as well. Your diets are complex, but I believe you will be satisfied." Pokala nodded, voice a mix of condescending and entertained. Demons fed on life force, which was the simplest form of food, with a myriad of ways to eat it. Jon had seen demons feed by literally eating animals with their jaws, but he knew the devouring of flesh wasn't always needed. Others, like Pokala, obviously didn't feed using a mouth; she had no mouth. Perhaps being in the presence of deaths she caused was enough for her.

"Now," the queen said, "the twelve of you, go with Amund and Dormar. Jonathan, come with me."

His twelve knights looked at him, as if he might, at the last moment, reveal that this was all a trick set up by him, and that his knights were to go on a rampage the moment he gave the signal. But, if any of them tried anything, the demons would have no trouble swarming them. The castle walls were filled with hallways, some with openings high above the floor, providing vantage points for demons he knew would leap upon them from above. And there were other demons, watching, poking their heads out from shadows.

"Jon?" several of his knights said.

He turned around, and looked each of them in the eye. Eric, Samantha, Vivienne, Tuomas, Daniel, Marcus, Laurence, Ludwig, Petteny, Marr, Denmer, and Alanaar, twelve knights, each a fighting force capable of guarding the South and East Walls against dozens of Beizites. All that strength was nothing compared to demons, if they were naked and asleep.

But Pokala was a demon, bound to her word. She'd do everything she could to protect them, and considering the two, titanic bodyguards she assigned them, he had to trust her.

"It's ok. We're safe here. Go eat, sleep, and... and discuss, what you wish to do."

"What we wish to do?" Samantha said. "We—"

"I'm not your captain anymore," he said. "Do... as you will. If you go back to the Valley, you will die for nothing. I suggest preparing yourself for a journey across the Wasteland, and take as much time as you need."

The twelve of them stared at him, and he was forced to turn his back, and walk off with the demon queen. He did his best to ignore their murmurs, the disagreements they whispered to each other, and their blatant curses as they inevitably planned to save him from his predicament. They'd learn, sooner or later, that their situation was inescapable.

Moments later, he was alone with Pokala, and he frowned at her with as much frustration and anger as he could summon. It wasn't much. Not only had she agreed to what he asked when she didn't have to, he was also tired. So very tired.

"Come," she said, and she motioned down the hall of dark stone. And he followed, like a good, obedient servant. That's all he was anymore, he supposed.

"I won't kill for you," he said. "Not humans, anyway."

"Of course not, my dear knight. That was the deal. Though, if I did ask, I am sure you would be more than willing to kill the targets I decided."

"Yeah, well, I imagine I'll probably resist most of the orders you give me."

That earned a full on laugh from the queen. "I somehow doubt it."

He raised a brow, sighed, and shrugged. "You're not going to punish me, for defying you preemptively like this?"

"It is my right, I suppose. You are mine now, and if you disobey me, I will punish you as I see fit." Chuckling, she stepped in closer, touched the chest of his armor, and ran a claw down its broad girth. "But I believe, this unexpected situation can be turned into a mutual partnership?"

Heat scorched his spine, and he stepped away from her. "I've lost everything, Pokala. Everyone I've loved is dead, and all that matters now is saving the few I can."

Stepping away from her earned something he hadn't expected. She let him. Now that he was hers, and had no recourse to defend himself without violating that arrangement, defiance meant punishment. But no punishment came. The demon queen sighed instead, and stared at him, mask-like facing looking him up and down a few times with slow, casual body language.

"You must think me cruel."

He snorted. "I think you're a demon, and you don't know a thing about empathy."

Her spike wings flared for a second, as if she was readying a strike. But his flinch was apparently enough to settle her, and she hissed as she calmed.

"Do not assume you understand my kind, Jonathan. I am not human, but that does not mean I do not feel. Differently, yes, but I do feel."

"I have trouble believing that, considering the things you tried to do to the Valley."

She came up to him and poked him in the chest with a claw, hard enough it made a loud tink as it hit the metal. "You assume we came to kill your kind, and that was your assumption, a faulty one."

"You're a demon! You survive on death."

"We survive on the essence of life!" She came closer again, shoving him and sending him back a few steps. A wall of stone waited for him, catching his weight with all the gentleness of a punch. "We survive by absorbing life, and that can be done in many ways."

"You seriously expect me to believe you came to the Valley to... not kill us? I had to kill Damorok to save lives!"

"Damorok was defiant of my orders to the end. I came to the Valley because you overstepped your bounds, human, you and your kind. We would have conquered you, but that need not involve death. We have other ways to feed than slaughter."

He pushed away from the wall, and marched up to her, glaring. "We would rather die than be slaves."

That shocked her. The amber orbs on her mask-face glowed, and she stepped back, tilting her head to the side a little as his words hit her.

"And yet... here you are."

"I'm here to save my knights."

"And when they are safe? Will you end your life, rather than be a slave?"

He winced and looked down, turning his head to the side and looking at one of the glowing amber crystals on the floor along the stone wall. "You swore to keep them safe, if I agreed to be your slave. After that, a slave always has the right to kill themselves."

"I..." She snapped her wings again, and started walking away. "Take the next thirty days to grieve and recover, knight. Then, I will explain your tasks." With that, she marched off, claws slamming against the stone in frustration.

After a few seconds, he was alone. Armed, but alone, in a castle filled with demons and darkness. With a gulp, he pat the hilt of his sword, and started wandering. If demons jumped him and killed him, Pokala would still be bound to her agreement. A little exploring also meant he could see if his knights were in danger, and maybe help if they were.

Killing himself was not a thought that had ever entered his mind, not until Pokala said it. He'd consigned to being her slave, and then once his friends were safe and gone, he'd be the most horrible slave ever, until it inevitably led to his death. Taking his life with his own hands was an option though, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth. There was no room for faith in that action, no trust in Janavere that something could still happen, something that could pull a spec of good from the horrible fate of the Valley, and the horrible decision he'd been forced to make.

For now, it didn't matter. Until his knights were on their way, he had to play nice.

~~Three Weeks Later~~

He walked down the hall of strange, curved stone, and sighed. What he needed was a bath, something to help him relax and quiet his thoughts.

Until a bath could be had, his thoughts ran around like young dogs in the fields. Pokala had done exactly as she said she would, so far. No request had been made of him, or his knights. Protection had been provided for them and their horses, food and drink as well. Equipment had been made available for bathing, exercise, grooming, and privacy. It’d taken time to learn how to shave and whatnot, using odd knives and sharp rocks, but Pokala provided as best she could.

Some demons had tried to kill a few knights once, but the two bodyguards, Amund and Dormar, had been quick to rip their kin apart; the bloody mess that’d followed had been horrific. Demons could feed off of killing each other though, so according to them, it wasn’t a big deal.

He still wasn’t sure what the demons were feeding off of. There were a lot of them, and they weren’t eating other, usually. What were they eating?

It was easier thinking about the mysteries of his situation, and keeping his comrades safe, than it was thinking about his dead family. Crying in the privacy of the room he’d been given, the second night of his stay in the demon’s castle, had been both relieving and terrifying. Emotionally and physically vulnerable, to the point nearby demons could have heard him and probably killed him, was not how he wanted to spend the rest of his nights.

But no demons came for his head. For three weeks, all had been quiet, other than that one encounter Amund and Dormar had taken care of, and those demons hadn’t come for Jon. The demon queen herself said little to him, maybe due to anger, maybe doing her best to convince him suicide was not his best course of action. He didn’t know. For now, no more thinking, just bathe.

He passed through the arch, the curving rock looking more like talons and bones than actual mountain rock. There was a bathing hole on each floor of the underground castle, and on the highest floor, he’d used the one the demon queen had. If there was one thing the castle of stone offered, it was indulgent luxury, and that included the bath.

The archway offered only a subtle curve of hallway to hide the bath beyond, and once past it, Jon managed a small smile at the sight. A waterfall. Somehow, the demons had carved a giant horizontal cut through the mountainside, and for some reason, it was warm. The water flowed into a large basin, a waist-deep pool easily fifty feet in diameter, and it flowed down through a hole to the basins below. Several of the amber crystals hung from above, illuminating everything in the gentle light, rippling over the ever shifting water.

But, it wasn’t empty.

“Jonathan.” Pokala stood underneath the waterfall, claws sliding up and down her body as she cleaned her red skin. She was naked.

Naked was a strange way to describe her, because much of her was unchanged. She still wore the underbust corset, and only now did Jonathan realize that it was actually her skin, her body, the black scales that surrounded where her ribs would be. The black skirt that dangled from the corset was gone, exposing curvy, toned legs of red skin and black slivers of scales. The black scales that covered her nipples were gone as well, and instead, he could see the black nipples themselves, the same color as her horns and wings.

That had apparently been the only clothes she wore, a skirt, and some nipple coverings. Otherwise, she’d been naked all along. And without those metal plates along the underside of her breasts, her bust was free to lightly jiggle with her movements as she raised her elbows up over her head while running claws along her horns.

They were utterly enormous. Her horns, and her breasts.

“Jonathan,” she said again, voice soft, and far more inviting than he wanted it to be.

“I was going to bathe. I’ll come back later. Sorry.”

“Come, sit.” She motioned to the pool’s side, where a seat waited within the water, carved into the side of the pool. “We have not spoken much, since your arrival. I wish to alleviate that situation.”

“I’m dressed, and—”

“Disrobe, and sit.” She turned her face to him, and looked at him, the eyeless face cutting into him. “Now.”

Her first real order for him, was to bathe with her? Gulping, he walked to the edge of the pool. He had to, it was her command. Grinding his teeth and forcing himself to look away from the curvy demoness, he tossed aside his shirt, and slid down his pants, before he reached for his undergarment.

The demoness folded her arms under her breasts, resting her massive bosom on her forearms, and watched him. “Humans are fools, led by sexual desires every moment of their adult lives, but remain ashamed of their own bodies.” Shrugging, she walked over to him, stepping out from underneath the waterfall, and stood underneath him in the pool, the water shifting around her ridiculously tiny waist.

“It’s not shame. We respect each other’s privacy.”

“You are nothing but self-loathing imbeciles.” She tossed his words aside with a wave of her claws. “Do not make me repeat myself.”

He did not appreciate being insulted, but an order was an order. Frowning at her, he tossed his undergarment aside. Now the two of them were naked. He forced his eyes on her face, and stepped into the water before sitting down on the ledge within. It brought the water up to his stomach, and as much as he was trying to look stern and angry with Pokala, the water felt amazing on his skin, every time.

“I didn’t come here to fight. I came because—”

“Because you had nowhere else to go. And yes, I know you meant the bath. I meant otherwise.” The queen came toward him, and leaned down. He froze as she set her claws onto the ledge of the pool around him, so they were face to face, her breasts dangling underneath her. By Janavere, stop noticing them. “Now you are trapped here, by your circumstance, and by my hand. I admit, it is a circumstance that pleases me.” She leaned in closer, and closer, until her strange, featureless, intimidating, alien visage was only inches from him.

“Yes, I suppose my misery would make you happy.” This buddy buddy attitude was starting to get grating. They had no reason to be nice to each other, and yet she continued to be so.

“I did not say t was your sadness I enjoyed, Jonathan. It would be self defeating, to not care and tend to the knight I have acquired. And while you are my knight, you will do as I demand,” she said. Jonathan frowned at her, but she laughed at him, a husky chuckle, before she stood back up. She turned around, spread her long wings of spines and spikes, and sat down. Between his knees, her butt found the lip of the seat, and she pushed herself back, pressing his — thankfully flaccid — penis against his pelvis with her frustratingly curvy butt. She had no tail, unlike many of the other demons.