Sacred Seduction (closed)

[Sultry_Shade]

This is an anti fairy tale of darkness and light. Rapture and Ravage.

Sultry and savage.

Reserved for myself and the man whose name is the Blade that rests at the throat of Night.

 

[Sultry_Shade]

In the Beginning there was Fire

Amidst the darkness complete, in a land of fire, she dwells. Pain and Passion are her domain, and she is at one a slave and mistress to its power. For centuries the green eyed, ruby tressed demoness has abided the rules of this land, with only her sisters and the random company of the damned to ease her solitary hours.

It is only now she finds herself alone with the tormented souls, as all of her sisters have been taken. Each of them one by one lost to the insatiable desires of the Incubus. Her sorrow and loneliness a mad coach driver, she writhes under its lash. It drives her forth to find a destiny taboo to those of her kind. Her dream is a sin even among those whose whole existence is sin.

It is within the eternal fields of Nephilim she seeks the ancient circle rumored among her people to be the falling place of angels. The lands of torment lie between her cherished home and destination, not a trip to be taken lightly. The distance is great, even for an infernal of her class.

The Demonatrix being no fool prepares for her journey. To traverse the spaces between fires she dons her eldest sisters platinum armor, it slips easily over her curvaceous frame. The gleam of the metal picking up the tones of sanguine skin, giving it a bloody cast.
In addition to the armor she takes her whip in hand. It slips into her palm, hand in glove, like the caress of an old flame. How long it’s been since she’s wielded it’s well oiled length.

Into a kidskin satchel she tucks the necessary ingredients for the forbidden ritual. A feather stolen from the Museum of the Holy, a grail carved of a unicorns hoof, and a blade bathed in dragons fire, treasures each one, she stores them carefully.

Finally all equipment settled into place, adorned in armor and armed, she turns her face to the faintly glowing Easter horizon. A flicker of doubt touches her consciousness, but is quickly banished by the knowledge that this is her only salvation.

Leaving her home proves a harder goodbye then she can ever imagine, as she knows in the depths of her being, she will not be returning. Flexing muscular wings like red leather sails she prepares for her first flight into a new night.

“Carpe Noctem.” She breathes the words into the stillness, her long forked tongue a black flutter dancing over mulberry lips. So said she lifts herself to the heavens, the stars winking above like a million shards of glass spilled upon an ebony lacquered floor.

 

[Sultry_Shade]

So sing down the light

On scarlet wings that caress the bible black skies she flies. Long garnet tresses trailing upon the updrafts, jade idol eyes serious and forlorn scan the scorched and torn earth below. Her journey had been arduous and full of peril, leaving several permanent marks on her infernal body as well as her mind.

Yet victorious she enters the airspace above the Fields of Nephilim. As if drawn like a metal file to a magnet she is pulled to the center of the cursed clearing landing light as eider down into the ring of blackened soil, the land where angels fall.

Her wings sweep back with a gentle whoosh of air, and without hesitation she sets to her preparations. Long razor tipped fingers cautiously work loose the knots of the kidskin bag, retrieving the sacred items as well as several sticks of chalk.

It is a complex and wondrous task, the laying of the lines, each curve, arc and line meticulously crafted to create the intricate configuration designed to contain her prey.
As she works she sings an ancient song once shared with her sisters, a haunting tune of forgotten desires and verboten lust. Her passionate tones ring through the night, creating more refined barriers about the markings.

Time is lost to the Demoness as she rends the black surface of the glade into a glorious net of white lines and loops. Sweat gleams against her burnished skin, obsessed with the job at hand; she is oblivious to the fatigue.

Finally after many hours the moon a silver eye to coat the night in sterling plate; rises to cast down upon the elegant scrawl that is the demonina’s handiwork. The perfection of symmetry the lines glow with white fire given life by Lady Luna. The unicorn chalice holding the ragged angel feather rests at the center of the matrix, thrumming with energy.

Despite her proximity to the cataclysmic edge of exhaustion the fire maiden knows now is the time. No other night will have this power. Drawing a deep sweet breath, she sheds her gleaming armor, letting it fall into a musical jangle of rings at her feet. Her whip coiled a sleeping black serpent upon the mail.

Sky clad her long curvaceous body exposed, breasts peaked with nipples the color of rich mulberry wine, legs long lean and tight. She tosses her flame tangled mane from her face. Eyes cast heavenward to lock on the source of her madness, to lure that which is most pure from the very grasp of nirvana.

So the ritual begins, she begins to walk the pattern, unfolding its strength and its summons with her magnificent body and sultry voice. Her long lithe tail wrapped tight around her right thigh, in her left hand she holds the blade born of dragon fire, gesturing as she moves, her voice in perfect sync with the motions.

In a language lost to the memory of man she calls down the heaven bound.

 

[Nightblade]

Celestial beings have their assignments, and it naturally follows that the duties involved can carry a messenger to all the known recesses of Creation. It isn't a light or flawless task to enforce the will of the Divine, and many a seraph has fallen to temptation, lust, and betrayal. Born on wings of light and incandescent auras, these creatues serve the will of the Divine...the Creator...to whom the entire fulcrum of existence remains fixed. From time to time, it becomes necessary for them to manifest into mortal frames, and descend to the Skinlands, usually to enlighten others...sometimes to balance the scales of the natural order...whatever the reason, they take their duty seriously. It is a dedication that mortals could scarcely imagine, let alone conceive or understand.

If they only knew the number of times their precious world had been protected from the nether regions...from the darkness that covers the face of the Deep...they may not be so hasty to declare their lack of faith or discipline. But that is another story, for another time, and about another plane of existence.

This seraph, however, doesn't have the pleasure of fulfilling his duties this day. No sooner than he began his trek to the edges of the universe, dispatched on some esoteric errand involving the quantum boundary, that he is immediately seized by a sphere of nihilistic energies...electricitiy wraps about his form, his wing stricken into burning feathers and seared flesh, his appendages contorting until he reaches a fetal-like position. A dark sphere of cosmic energy engulfs his form completely, and in a matter of nanoseconds, his is vanished...

The here and now is centered amongst the astral travels of the Seraphim. Their eternal struggle to balance both duty and loyalty, devotion and temperance. Ripped from the celestial bodies he once called his dominion...the seraph slides at impossible velocity, tearing through the very fabric of reality...energy, chaos, matter, time, space, fire, and darkness all surround and penetrate him...twisting him in his flight through the planes...between worlds...summonded to some unknown destination...a cascading maelstrom of sensual oblivion wipes his consciousness from himself...

Suddenly, the whirling madness ceases to be...and he is instantly aware of his rapidly-descending body...a parched and jagged earth seeking to devour him lest he regain control of his body...o time to think, he maneuvers as he's done for countless millennia...opening his wings, stretching to full lenth; feathers rigid and cutting the downdraft like a razor...his sleek form, with its narrow curves and angular features, folds like liquid during this terminal fall...he angles his body downward, now falling face first...his arms outstretched, fingers open and wide, bracing for impact...

A swath of heated energy burns the sky as he plummets like a fallen meteor to the surface of this place. Ripples of electricity and fire flirt and swirl about at his passing...and smoke stirs beneath his form up to the point of impact.

Then, all is silent...just before impact, he slides and derails his plunge to narrowly avoid a direct collision with the land. Expertly accomplished, the driving momentum rips apart sand and rock as he flies closer to an irresistible collage of mystical markings. White-laced, silvery and pulsing with power, he cannot break the attraction. Knowing this, he gives in and allows himself to find his central place amidst the drawing. Landing gently, crouched on one knee, facing downward, his eyes still searing with white-hot luminosity, he knows now what has happened to him. He's not happy. The Infernal have a perilous knack for summoning at will, and without regard to the well-being of that which they summon. Why should this be different?

He thinks this, even as he rises. Knowing full well that he is, for the time being, bound by the mystical power of this summoning image. Standing erect, his slender and delicate form reveal skin so tightly stretched, yet a pale white hue and deathly pallor colors his body even as he yet breathes. Long, stringy black hair hangs loosely on him, dangling below his shoulders, down to about where a human male's nipples would be. His face is etched with angular precision, and his eyes speak of radiant passion. He clenches his fists as he notices his summoner.

She is a temptress. She is one of the Infernal legends. She could be his demise.

What does she want? Every summoning is different...it didn't change the fact that he wasn't happy about being stolen from his duties.

 

[Sultry_Shade]

Powerful entry

The Demoness had witnessed many things in her eons of existence, but nothing like this. The workings of the ancient summoning had proven far more volatile then she had anticipated. As the dark ball of energy made its way to the net, she quickly sprung from the chalk marked ground, narrowly avoiding becoming entangled in her own handicraft. Landing light and easy on its outer edge where her armor and whip remained.

Still clad in only the skin given to her at birth, she is too mesmerized by the seraphs decent to bother with donning her discarded outer wear. His fall a glorious explosion of yin and yang; of darkness and light, it fills her with an almost indescribable longing. For this is as she imagines how their coupling will be, the merging of infernal and divine.

The air screams as if rent asunder and shivers with the anticipation of the rituals completion. The Demonatrix experiences an intense flush of lustful power, at the success of her spell, it is a heady intoxication. She battles to reign in her building desires; a loss of control at this point could prove to be a calamity.

His confusion and anger rolls from him crashing upon her consciousness like waves against the shore. She had expected this, and in one silken movement before the angel’s impact she retrieves her lovingly cared for whip from its coiled resting place upon her gleaming mail. The weapon brings a sense of grounding and assurance to the demoness.

As the magnificent specimen of heavenly host comes to rest within the network of pentacles and charms, she takes an aggressive stance; legs shoulder width, and whip in hand. Unsure of whether or not the pattern will hold him, she intends to remain prepared for anything.

As he turns towards her his ire apparent in every flawless inch of him, she cannot help but feel a burst of pride commingling with her already overwhelming lust. Her emerald cast eyes gleaming, she smiles like the flash of a blade, sharp, dangerous and somehow still beautiful. It is in this moment their eyes meet, wild skies against sultry green seas, what passes between them is a lot like war or sex.

She motions with her whip to the Fields of Nephilim that surround. “This is my world Angel, and you are now a part of it.” She speaks with certainty of one who has commanded legions.

 

[Nightblade]

His captivity is a mockery of everything that the Divine and its Host stand for. They are of beauty, and Life, and as such are meant to be the very pinnacles of freedom, both spiritual and physical. Such is the way of the Infernal summonings; they're meant to be degrading, and deserving of such retribution that only the Heavenly Presence could call down. But this was not his task, and he was not ordained with any order to channel away spirits this day. No, his task had been stolen from him. He doesn't get past this mental barrier...at least, not at first...but that was before he saw her up close...

A Demoness? Quite the rare presence, and from the looks of her, he was going to need to summon all the inner strength he could muster to resist his Lust. She would sear into him, into his soul, trying to pass the ultimate seduction, and thus allow an unholy and abominable union and result to thrive. He could not allow this.

She approached him, snapping a whip of midnight hue...her long, tightly-muscled legs threw the flickering flames abound in a sensual glow...her approach to him oozed with lusty abandon. Hair like wild fire, whipping about and scorching the ashen air around...fleeting cinders falling away like seeds of the Damned. Her shoulders, breasts, hips, and waist were statuesque...she turly is a marvel of Infernal Essence...designed, no...forged to breed temptation and eternal lust. Eyes of green, an optical halo shades her ocular cavities..no whites, no pupils, no iris...just raw energy, or was it raw emotion? Breasts full and bouncing with each step she takes, he cannot deny the sultry pallete of flesh and ripe nipples that he sees before him. She knows that he's succumbing to it, even now. Her smile paints shards of fear within him. For if he is not able to resist, he will be destroyed...either from Heaven above or the actual union itself.

Such thoughts are ever-present in his mind. The last few seconds of her seductive walk seem to last a millennia.

Do not mock me, woman! You shall have plenty to answer for in disrupting my tasks.

Stirring a bit, he tries to free himself from some of the paralysis of the mystic incantation ritual. It is too much. He cannot summon his strength...his celestial energies depleted during the summoning...this means that he is exactly where She wants him to be...

 

[Sultry_Shade]

The next step

Having now bound the Seraph to the pattern, the Demonina realizes she has not planned anything past obtaining him. Successfully stealing the freedom from one of the heavenly host she finds herself at a loss of how to move him back to her infernal lair. She would have to build a containment spell to hold him as they travel back over the Terror lands and to her own fiery home.

The fires of perdition flare in the depths of her eyes, sending shards of orange light to dance about her face, as her mouth turns down in contemplation of this gaping hole in her plot. Usually obsessed with the details of a plan such as this, her temper turns dark, angry at her own incompetence at not thinking this through. She should have already prepared the casting for the relocation.

“Perhaps I can attempt the binding seduction here, that way he will not be able to escape me.” She thinks to herself. If he were to give in to his own passions, this would make it impossible for him to leave her side. This idea brings another delectably devilish smile to her lips, ivory fangs flashing. Feeling more confident now having chosen a continuing course of action, the ruby tressed demoness lifts the fire born blade to the dark and broiling sky calling upon her ancestors to embody her with the power of the succubi.

Upon the tail of her plea she slashes her palm sanctifying the blade in the way of her tribe, with blood and fire. A rivulet of sanguine flame flickers down the ebon knifes keen edge. Thus calling forth the energies of all the lustful trapped in torment within the bowels of the hell. Suffusing the Demonette with all their need, empowering her with the cravings of a million depraved souls; she faces the seraph with renewed vigor.

Careful not to mar the lines of the matrix, she begins a slow dance about its perimeter. Letting the knife fall to the scorched earth, she raises her arms, her whip lashing accompaniment all around her, her partner in the dance. As she moves her feet with erotic precision, creating the ideal motion of her curves, she lets her supple tail unwind and join her whip in motion.

As she sways and swings about the outer arcs of the pattern her eyes fix upon the weakened seraph. Glowing with inner heat, her eyes take on the gleam of old copper, green and gold. Her lips, moist and inviting, quiver with words of seduction. Nipples tighten, hard knots of rosewood, a thin sheen of sweat makes her glow like freshly minted metal. Every inch of her body undulating and shifting driven to command him with her desire.

“To me be bound Angelic Harold, to me be bound for all time.” The words ring with her dark sultry tones, and she moves her hands in a gesture of beckoning. “I am your want. I am all your unearthly fantasies given flesh.”

 

[Nightblade]

With a ritualistic sermon as ancient and powerful as this one, the seraph would certainly have a challenge ahead of him. After all, this was the Fields of the Nephilim, and he was captured by a Demoness.

This very locale served as a grave reminder to all of the Creation of what can happen when Divine Might is betrayed. This land of outcasts, a sulfurous and ashen wasteland of pitiful souls, wandering in eternal torment and lonliness. It is truly pain everlasting. Yet I wonder at what command does she seek to enslave me here? Why choose a place of such unbridled misery and death? Unless, that is exaclty as she means it...

These thoughts mesh together in his mind, diluting and distorting the purity of his naked mind. Even the Heavenly Host have fragilities, and seeing as how they're forged from the same Life as the mortals that will one day rule the unvierse...it stands to reason that any flaw or imbalance in mortalkind is reflected 1000 fold in the celestials...

Still, he did not fear death. What he feared was a life of slavery, of sexual conquest in which the favor is unto another being. A dark maiden so voracious and lustful as to rend the fabric of Creation in order to get exactly what she wants. Her next conquest. Her marches through the Nine Hells and the Abyss are legendary...though she marched with a coven of Demonesses, she alone stood out above all the rest. It was her spirit and raw power that captured the attention of Abaddon, the Angel of the Pit...the very creature who was charged with the gate to the Abyss...

He thinks more on this, even as he watches her passionate and deliberately seductive dances and rhythms...her body moves like liquid, flowing freely, sweat glistening from her tight and luscious skin...her eyes dance with fire, her lips purse with electricity, her smile and chanting voice like a chorus of ultimate sexual power. The mere utterance from her vocal chords struck pangs of pain and pleasure in him all at the same time. Twisting his mind, eroding his perceptions, and searing his form to that of the Infernal planes itself. This is corruption incarnate. Once a celestial's essence is bound to the Infernal plane, it is forever marred by the taint of Oblivion. A wretched stink that will forever announce the celestial's presence, whether desired or not.

Watching her sultry form dance amidst shadow and fire...amdist smoke and ancient relics...amidst silvery text and symbols...he cannot help but fall sway to these motions and sounds. The sensory stimulation she entices has his body moving of its own accord...

What is happening to me?

 

[Sultry_Shade]

dance infernal

It is of utmost importance that she does not break the seal. Her feet gliding carefully on black steel talons, her undulations perfectly timed to tease the boundary of the pattern, but not to breach it. Each brush of the border ignites it with silver white sparks, lighting the net like a stage. Its focus is the seductive force that is the Demonina; her spotlight.

The lilting twist of white phosphorescence, shadow and flames, plays as her consort, accenting her lascivious motion. Like dark hands flickering up the length of her frame, or tongues dancing over steaming red gold lit flesh. Wide sanguine sails settle round her shoulders like a cape, flaring out behind her in time to the rhythmic pounding of her feet. Whip and tail akimbo in hypnotic union.

As she dances, she can see his eyes, the thoughts skimming within. They leap and stir like restless birds or minnows trying to swim upstream. She randomly seizes one of them to peek within the angel’s mind. The experience proves almost too much for her as she is hit by the backlash of his power and his fear.

Shaken by the force of it, she almost misses as step sending her into the chalk lines; in effect ruining the spell. It is only by a mere twist of her body she narrowly escapes this fate. No this one will not go easily into slavery, and something about this sets the demoness’ lust into a powerful new blaze.

This seed of dissension within him is strong as she herself is strong. It will be a battle of wills before unseen in the fiery plane. Closer she would need him to come closer if she had any hope at all of ceiling this conquest, for who knew what torture may await her should he fail and her prey escape to wreak his vengeance.

Again the positioning of her body shifts and she is sidling round him now only her front exposed to him. Her arms extend out over the pattern, beckoning him to draw near. Long sinuous arms, tipped with liquid latex talons so dark and bright weave intricate tracings of saffron light. Gleaming and igniting her frame, sending her red raven hair into a wild wing about her face.

“Cummmmm “she hisses her forked tongue jettisoning from her burnt burgundy lips, “To meeeee, SSsseraph, to meee. “ She can sense the struggle beginning to manifest within the fallen one’s breast, his breathing a direct reflection of the extension of her need, hard and heavy.

 

[Nightblade]

Hearing her words spoken so powerfully, the seraph is mustering all the strength he possibly can to resist. Indeed she is a force to be reckoned with, as the Divine Presence has foreseen. Being no stranger to cosmic forces and energies beyond mortal comprehension, he gathers his thoughts, and forms a mental shield...keeping her prying lust and darkened synergies from his true self. He can defeat her. She just hasn't grasped this yet. But better for him to not underestimate her...after all, any spirit that would go to such elaborate and provocative means to achieving his sexual servitude must be, as a matter of principle, laden with surprises and hidden talents. He would do wise to keep his wits and awareness about him.

With the conclusion of her command phrase, he can feel an unseen force...a compelling energy...driving his body to comply with her command. His muscles strain against the compulsion, searing and stretching in utterly alien shapes and contortions...hiw wings dangling limp, the muscles and bones there nearly evaporating...it is pain unimaginable. Yet he resists every step of the way, knowing full well that defiance of an Infernal Geas could very well destory his fleshly form. It wouldn't be permanent, mind you, but inconvenient enough to remove him from his tasks for the next century or two. So, what choice does he have? For now, he resists, but only enough to draw out the entire process. He knows this must frustrate the Demoness...as she is no doubt accustomed to instant gratification.

As his form slides closer to her, drawn by staggering mystical forces commanded by the Infernal Beauty, his feet drag in the barren clay...leaving deep gouges where the weight of his body has imprinted the land...heat waves emanate outward, nearly incinerating all of his hair, and engulfing his entire form. He folds his arms across his chest, keeps his head looking downward, and wraps his wings about him...it is the pinnacle of resistance posturing...designed to both shield him from the hellfire and also to induce a temporary peace within. It is fleeting, however, as his body now reaches the outward edge of this text carving. The intricate pattern warps like liquid as his body passes over the markings...small gouts of white flame biting at his lower body...burning with an intensity that even the Seraphim are vulnerable to. He cringes, but keeps his calm as best he can.

His moment is almost here. Right as she is positioned to take him is when she'll be at her most vulnerable. And if he fails to exploit that opportunity and weakness then, he will most assuredly be counted amongst the denizens of the Fallen.

This cannot be allowed to happen. He won't let it. He will struggle with every last breath to resist her power.

 

[Sultry_Shade]

tug o war

As she sends forth her lure, her expectations are of instant accomplishment, only this was not to be. For as she began her incantations so began his battle to remain free of her servitude. Bracing, his feet and wings splayed, his physical form contorting and thrashing against her infernal geas.

The pattern warps and folds about him as she draws him inch by merciless inch over the incinerated earth, his heels digging furrows. Her brow tightens eyes gleaming, fangs flash as she bites down on her lower lip, perilously over exerting herself. She steels her shoulders and braces herself with her wings; they play tug of war over the chalk lines.

Sweat beads and falls like dew from flower petals into her eyes. Rivulets run down her cheeks. She is flexed taught, tighter then a piano wire, every muscle shifting within her toned skin to complete the task at hand. Her only goal was now to conquer the angel and reap the reward of his fall into her arms.

Hours pass like moments, and the field is filled with smoke, sweat, and blood. The combatants drawing dangerously close to disaster with their conflict. It is the first time the Demoness truly has doubts, fearing her one last grasp at contentment may be felled by the iron will of this heavenly creation.

Perhaps it was her fault for trying to enslave him in the first place. But such thoughts would prove themselves dangerous to her position, so she tries to brush them from her mind. However, the Seraph can’t help but notice that glimmer of doubt, that shimmer of weakness. It is as clear as if written on the sky.

Shaking she tries to maintain her place, thrown somewhat off balance by her own thoughts. She realizes her mistake too late, she has allowed herself to be drawn to close to the patterns gleaming lines, stumbling her feet betray her. She pitches into the net; thus inadvertently releasing her hold on the angel, the spell fractures into a million shards of quicksilver light.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO” her cry resounds through the fields of the damned, with the pained sound of a mortally wounded child. Squeezing her eyes shut, she awaits his retaliation, only in the moments of stillness after the spells release does she see another chance.

 

[Nightblade]

Barrier Broken

As the spell fractures itself into a multitude of refracted rays of light, the seraph but bows his head, shielding his delicate eyes from the brilliant and bedazzling display of a failed incantation. Within moments, however, the quicksilver shards dissipate and are as invisible as the nucleus to the naked eye. In the following moment, it is an uncanny silence and stillness...neither one of them reacting instantly...it is truly the moment between moments...with the only element that matters being the attention span of the other. Who would recongize this opportunity first?

Being no stranger to opportunity, the Demoness proudly glances to the seraph, even unconcerned now that her original plan has failed. She seizes the opportunity given her, and no sooner than she lunges at the seraph as he capitalizes on that same infinite moment.

Also not one to frivolously waste opportunities, the seraph unfurls his wings, stretches out his arms, and leaps forward in a blindingly-fast motion. The moment that followed will mark an era in the history of both Infernal and Divine...

Their presences, both marked by massive energy and unknown physics, tear through the very air surrounding them...bodies moving like flashes of pure light toward one another...the space-time continuum amidst them warping to infinite smallness; in effect, they create a singularity...vapor trails burn impressions in the very air around the text marking...and heat waves spiral outward from the epicenter, devestating and flattening all matter in their path...but, as soon as their collision course began, it is ended. Just as they are about to collide, each one's physical form retakes its natural shape, in full flesh...each snarling with passion and total devotion to their goal, unique to them both, but obviously different.

The seraph slams into the Demoness with unearthly force, his momentum carrying past her and manifesting in the form of ripples that bleed the atmosphere of sulfur and ash...the Demoness spearheads her body into the seraph, her viscious claws and fangs bared...they bite into his flesh about his forearms, and her mouth instinctively finds its way to the soft flesh of his throat. Her fangs connect, and sink deep inside...plunging through flesh and vein, coaxing forth the blood of the Divine. Despite this, however, he presses on into her body...his flesh touching hers as their chests are forced together in a momentous alignment. The forward motion was so great that upon impact, his form overpowers hers, and she is cast beneath him to the ground...yet her tenacity cannot be denied...and in spite of her being flung beneath him, she still vehemently clings to his throat...her grip unshakable.

Landing as a heap of entwined celestials, she is pinned by him. Her arms and legs wrapped around his slender frame, only to dig and rend his flesh...her thrusting kicks and claws lacerating him deeply. He only continues to gaze downward, looking at the side of her head because her bite still holds true. His mouth is within earshot, so he utters these words...

I enjoy the blend of violent and brash...bloody and sexual...

 

[Sultry_Shade]

revelations

Like comets clashing across the night sky only to fall in fiery torment, wings and limbs entwined. The already murdered earth of the courtyard absorbs their impact with a whimper and cloud of blackened dust. Thus a shockwave of epic proportions is created, alerting all infernals for miles of this disruption in the balance between the fire born and the divine. Like a siren shrieking out taboo!

Combatants of true power, they spiral to gain control of their landing, both striving to come out on top. Only the Demoness realizes as the earth rises to meet them, she cannot find the purchase she needs. Failing to achieve the dominant position she sinks her razor sharp ivories into the tender throat of the bedraggled seraph.

The hot gush of life force flooding her mouth, bombarding her senses, sends her mind reeling from the power of it. It is a taste like the whisper of rain on sun washed stones, the subtle tastes of honey suckle or a peck of ocean mist; a true sample of paradise. Her eyes momentarily blinded, she lets them fall close as her razorblade kiss caresses the angelic one’s torn throat.

Beneath him she is a ruby shard upon coal. He is a dash of freshly fallen snow crowned with a mane of darkness. Talons embedded the heavenly one bleeds softly into the soil, washing her with his essence. Wings, leather on feather, flutter useless to both immortals. Yet despite the pain of her rending claws and fangs he holds her to the ground. His slight frame creating a weight more then she can hope to lift in her exhausted condition.

“Why didn’t he flee?” She manages to grasp a thought, still absorbed in the taste of seraphic blood. It is in the midst of that thought that the momentary silence is broken.
“I enjoy the blend of violent and brash...bloody and sexual...”
His voice a symphony of purity, the capture of holy light reflected in tones of crystal clarity. Yet it is the words that betray his forbidden passions.

This admission shocks the Demonette to her core, if her heart had been within her breast it would have shuddered in ecstasy at this admission. Her jaw drops in response to her surprise freeing her grip on the damaged angel. Her second mistake since the beginning of this encounter, only he doesn’t pull away, but remains atop her, pinning her with his supple frame.

Slowly and cautiously she relaxes her grip, talons semi sheathed, yet still hair trigger ready to spring back into his flesh. She turns her face to look into his, eyes forest green against his overcast sky. She blinks confused, not a comfortable emotion for such a mighty demonina. Without speaking she nuzzles his wounded neck, her long forked tongue slithering against the broken skin, the heat of her breath mending him.


Wrapped within the gentle touch she pours the essence of her longing. The loneliness, the longing, and all the hurt she shows him with her careful strokes. He can see within her eyes, the truth. How she stands the last of her clan, the solitary hold out of the Incubus’ wrath

 

[Nightblade]

Ascendancy...

Seeing the hidden and crystalline message in her eyes, the seraph doesn't hesitate to capitalize on this momentary freeze between them. His head arches downward, now looking to her ample and luscious chest and belly...his hands clench ever tighter about her hips, claws slightly forming and etching into her flesh surprising even her. Seraphim weren't supposed to have sharpened nails, she thought. He was different. He wanted her to know this, for it is in her silence and reluctance that he could sense a powerful grip of uneasiness. Not fully understanding the nature or mechanics of this sway on her lifeforce, he heeds it no further thought or attention, instead arching his body and positioning his feet to spring forth from the ground. He never lets go of her, and she keeps her long and savory legs wrapped about him, squeezing him nearly to the point of paralysis within her vice-like grip in case he tries anything dubious with her in this position.

His hands rake firmer against her flesh, now tearing it just a bit, warm, slow trickles of blood flowing from her opened skin. Scooping her up as if to sway her from her balance in this universe, he jets upward, instantly catapulting both of them into the air...his wings unfold rapidly, a liquid-like motion of unearthly flight unfolding as they climb higher and higher. With their upward velocity increasing in a blinding fashion, the Demoness clings tight, ready to flay him should this prove to be some Divine trickery...she has seen that before, and nearly succumbed to its ever-reaching grasp almost to her own demise...but that is a tale for another time...

Racing upward, they split the sky with such speed and burning magickal energy as to erode streaks of vapor and shards of cinder within the very air itself. Even despite the burning lands, the sulphurous ash abound and the craggy and blasted landscape, this display of dazzling energy and celestial travel nearly emits a blinding flash in its wake. Rising higher and higher, they tear through the atmosphere...the ionospere...the stratosphere...the magnetosphere...in some archaic and passionate attempt to rend the fabric of this place...their bodies glow nearly incandescent white from the expended energy and friction that warps about them...they are protected by his form, and his aura...

Still, the ascendancy finds a strange and attractive appeal for the Demoness...even though this is quickly taking her to elevated heights leaving that world below to a dim and fading echo of what once was...

Leave with me...let us pierce the shroud of this damnable pit...let us move beyond the reach of the Incubi and Succubi...

 

[Sultry_Shade]

The flash of talon against her flesh, alien and unexpected gives the Demoness cause to wonder if perhaps her choice of angels may have been askew. She writhes beneath him slightly testing his grip, only to feel the trickles of blood where his razor sharp fingertips pin her in place. This is no natural heaven sent; her jade idol eyes regard him with a new respect.

Her legs a python vice grip his supple frame, semi sheathed claws remain withdrawn, for the moment. Languid ruby tail encircles his left leg, the tip coming to rest at the back of his knee. She remains poised for anything, but a number of curiosities hold her in check. What was he planning?

The tensions of muscles play within him as he lifts her and springs from the blackened earth’s grasp. She is too shocked to immediately respond, how could he think of drawing her from this plane? In that singularity of time, there is an association made deep within the fire born, Heaven may also lie to preserve a higher calling. The recollection stings like acid, she shrinks from it. Unbalanced by this painful memory the Demoness is momentarily at the celestial’s mercy.

Grappling with her confusion between the truth of now and the tortures of the past, she strives to regain her equilibrium. Her focus returns to him. Arrogance in such a powerful Seraph was indeed a weakness she would gladly explore in depth. The Demonina’s mind begins to collect each nuance of the formerly fallen one’s actions, like a book of secrets unfurled.

“Leave with me...let us pierce the shroud of this damnable pit...let us move beyond the reach of the Incubi and Succubi...”

Interest is a clear reflection in his eyes as he speaks, always the gaze would tell what the lips may not. There were hooks of her within him now, possibilities play. She could not allow herself to be drawn from the pits, they were all that remained of her fine home once shared with all her devilish sisters.

They shoot like glory bound trajectories beyond the grip of her world into the cold embrace of the sky. The power of her own means of flight lay limp and forgotten in this reversal of roles, once again find their purpose and she extends them like great red sails. They act as a break in their climb, slowing their ascent to a crawl. Her will to overpower rises to counter balance the seraph and return him to the fields. Then bind him once and for all. She is not beaten yet.

“I am not yours to command, Angel. Do you not recall that it was I who summoned you?” Her lips move soft as a feather against his ear, her voice throaty a purr. Sanguine leather wings brace and flex to remove them from space; once again she makes a play to recapture him.

 

[Sultry_Shade]

While far above in frostbit space amidst stars like luminaries of heaven, the Demonina and Angel are immersed in thoughts of conquest, a sleeping devil wakes. Formerly the tyrant of dreamland and now the conqueror of the burning lands, the Incubus rises.

His cold calculating eyes like pits of infernal night shimmer as lazy lids reveal them.
The scent of a clan he thought long lost to his possession tickles his nostrils and draws him from his comfortable cave. A domicile that up until recently had contained what he thought was the last of this demon bitch line.

So one has escaped he smiles an evil toothed grin at this. It pleased him greatly to have such capable prey once again. He would have to prepare, his reserves of darkness waning from such long hours of slumber. There would be plenty of time for all games.

 

[Nightblade]

With her wings unfolding so rapidly, with such grace and fluidity...he is amazed and temporarily loses his focus on keeping them airborne...she senses the seraph's momentary lapse in flight, and she exploits that moment to its fullest...the mark of a true Demoness...

With lightning agility, she pivots her body and wraps her right arm about his waist...as her hand makes contact, she rakes her claws about his flesh, tearing into him and spilling some of his life's essence. Ruby sloshes and spurts of blood run profusely...it is a deep gouge, but one that is not permanently serious to him; they both know this. That doesn't stop it from hurting any less...as her right arm swipes by his body, she rotates her left arm, claws outstretched and talons extended, around to take hold of his neck by the front side....at the same time spinning her body in a counter-clockwise motion, ending with her back up against his chest. A brief moment, immeasurable by any standards Infernal or Divine, catches her in this dance of domination and force...as her body is pressed to his, she can feel the tightened mass of flesh against her backside...ever so fleeting, but just enough to pull forth a toothy grin, fangs bared fully...then, follows with a sharp hissing sound...

In the meantime, the seraph is struggling to twist his body from her motions...an attempt to break free...he's not quite fast enough, or she's just that skilled at exploiting weaknesses of bodily posture in close quarters...either way, he didn't avoid her next move...

She flings her body upward and forward a bit...her form stretching in a raging streak of flight over his head...her left arm still draped about his neck, her claws clasping to his throat now in support of her tumbling body...upon completion of a backward somersault, the Demoness lands now pressed to the Seraph's back...her legs wrapping like a vice around his torso from behind..squeezing as if to wrangle the essence from him...her hands and arms snake about his neck and shoulders, clutching tightly with claws that dig into his collarbones...her tail slinks around his left thigh, coiling tightly and edging into his skin there with a hardened barb at the very tip...

They plummet, entangled in a web of flesh and sinfully delicious body shapes...they rapidly descend back to the surface below...nearly as instantaneous as they ascended...cutting a swath through the atmosphere, splitting clouds and exciting the air to fire as they dwindle at incredible speed...

I am back in control...do you not see, Seraph? she says, then running the tips of her sharpened canines over his bare neck I will not leave here. Rather, you will come with me...

 

[Sultry_Shade]

another fall from space

Red rain of angel’s blood and hellfire light fill the coal black sky above the Fields of Nephilim, as the two immortals lock in passionate combat. It is not her desire to see him destroyed but the Demoness knows the seraphic one can take a lot before reaching that level of dissolution. A violent tango of elements they clash their conflict bringing them once again closer to the tortured earth of the Fields.

His body is a divine tool and her goals for its use are designed entirely for her selfish pleasures, having no heart resting within her breast, only the force of lust drives her. The Demonette has no thoughts of losing this conflict now, as she feels the celestial’s need via the tightening of his body. His desires are clearly outlined for this one whose whole world is built on such physical pull.

Despite the bone weighing fatigue slowly creeping through her being, the Demona continues to press her advantage; talons of ink starlight grip the seraph’s slender throat. She moves like a mad acrobat, using every inch of her sanguine shaded body to capture him in her embrace. They tumble from the sky like lovers entrenched in sheets may fall from bed. The sound of their decent like the wailing of banshees as the air is rent around them.

Vapor clings to them as they fall traces of the cold space they have just vacated. A crimson halo surrounds them the friction flames of reentry. She speaks to him in tones of command fueled by her need for him.

“I am back in control...do you not see, Seraph? she says, then running the tips of her sharpened canines over his bare neck I will not leave here. Rather, you will come with me...”

She tastes his flesh her fangs grazing the silken skin at his neck, seraphic flavor the rarest aphrodisiac. She is almost lost to the reality of their peril and just moments before they pummel the dirt with their bodies, again the might infernal throws out her wings, bracing them both. There is a painful tearing sound as she does this caused by the speed of their descent catching at her left wing to wrench it painfully as she attempts to stop their imminent impact.

Not the best thought out plan, she thinks, trying to stretch out her wounded muscle, and maintain her hold on the celestial. They land rough upon the scorched circle, the broken chalk pattern fountains up a plume of white dust, coating them both. A wave of exhaustion rolls over her, making her muscles feel like water, and she struggles to keep control of her body and grip on the angel.

“Give yourself to me Heavenly host; you have dallied with me too long to return to the higher planes. You know, I am yours as you are now mine.” Her words slip like a serpent of seduction into his brain, burning the words. They are together in a jangle of limbs and wings upon the cursed soil.

 

[Nightblade]

Sensing a great onslaught of fury from the wicked Demoness, the Seraph wrestles a bit with her...soil-soaked hands and claws, blood-stained limb, and utter exhaustion serve as a final curtain to the veil of death...he can almost smell it...i said almost...

She had him pinned beneath her..his wounds, though not permanent or fatal, have caused his surrender. He cannot reconstruct himself whilst she tears at him relentlessly. For the time being, he submits to her. Her legs bent as crimson chords of Internal muscle...her knees press against his collarbones, keeping her nether region rather close to his face. The Demoness looks down hungrily to her prey...a fallen Seraph...that would finally be hers after all of this racket...finally be hers after this torturous escapade about the Fields of Nephilim. Her breathing is heavy and exhaustive, reflecting the constant struggle and pursuit of forcing this creature into her service...

The figure of this infernal maiden could inspire earth-shattering awe and desire...her curves, matched only by her sharp wit and blood-lusty determination to get what she wants, fit as an hourglass...smooth curves, round, ample breasts, pert nipples, a pouty set of lips and minor canines...the blood shaded skin covering her body glistens with the sweat of a celestial...her shoulders and upper arms centered, rigid and strong...she has muscle tone enough to show that she can command submission in most circumstances...with most other creatures...but he was not most other creatures, and that made this clearly not like most other circumstances.

As she slid her body up and down in slow, deliberate motions, the Seraph tried to exploit one of her weaknesses. In this moment, this meant the unguarded section of her neck...if he could but get two claws about that patch of her flesh...he could probably make her yield enough to lead out of this plane. This was his chance. He waits for her eyes to close in consumed passion...then, he reaches a hand up, swift as can be...

In that moment, as if a greater call of Infernal Summoning were suddenly cast to this plane...a swirling mass of clouds and stabbing shadows screeches forth...the air surrounding splits nearly instantly...throwing fingers of lightning all around...the passing charge of aero-electricity leaving a high-pitched shrieking sound...a sudden gust whips up the wind to hurricane velocity...prying up sand, dirt, rocks, minerals, and such into a frenzy of hurled objects. A growing shadow swells within the center of the cloud mass...pulsating, and filtering through the surrounding area about the Seraph and the Demoness in a nebula cloud of inky malice and clouded illusions...

Both captivated by this unkown display, they are at their weakest...both of them...and that is something that Marachite had duly hoped for...so quick to traverse the dimension between them, he darted forth, diving through the darkened orb from the other side...the side that they cannot see, so to them, the Incubus seemed to be jettisoned from inside the swirling cloud mass. Vapor trails of shadow and ice crystals are left behind as this form soars through the sulfurous plume that is the Fields of Nephilim's opaque skies. Wings unfurled, body angled in dive-bomb posture, and fire-trailing eyes seemed to unnerve the Seraph a bit. He'd never seen this denizen before. The Incubus jetted past the Seraph at incredible speed...enough to leave wing-sear marks in his flesh...the result of a flying body using its wing's very edge, like a knife, to rend the flesh of his prey...Seraph had just been targeted, and his flesh began to smell of fire...but, this flying maneuver had slammed into the unsuspecting Demoness...the collison impact, although not direct, sent her reeling...spiraling in a mass of tumbling flesh...her body kicked up more dirt and rocks as she was hurled through it...

In a graceful arc of flight, the blinding fast Incubus swirls and somersaults into his landing posture. He is magnificent in stature...taller than the Seraph, with a broader frame and shoulders, much more thickly muscled limbs...his dark, crow-like feathered wings tucked neatly behind his back...chiseled facial features betray his one and only sensitivity to women...and that's charm. His fingers are adorned with razor-sharp, retractable claws, but the bone/claw itself seems a bit misshapen...his skin radiates in a subtle bluish tint...almost chalk-like in its coloring and consistency...his face seemed a tangle of angry horns protruding from his head...red, beady eyes that scan ominously over them, offering nothing in appearance of compassion or understanding...a toothy grin paints his face...each jagged face an appendage that is part of his predatory aura.

Demoness, I'm quite certain you recognize me. Come. We shall return to our unfinished business...

 

[Sultry_Shade]

fine time for an interuption

Victory is a scent that the Demoness has memorized, and the smell rolling from the Seraph’s angelic skin fills her lungs with its heady promise of conquest. His submission is the sweetest discord, like a fermented vine, she is drunk on it. At last she would be taking him as her own. Her body reverberates with this knowledge, a deep seated surge of passion.

The celestial’s corruption is one of this Demonina’s finest, her hour of glory she revels in it, as she also revels in the sensation of his heavenly flesh meshed with hers. She grinds against him her depraved dance, designed to further ingrain him with his new role, that of her pet. Slippery with sweat she slides long him like a well oiled machine; he cannot hide his rising interest. Oblivious to the possibility of mistake, overconfident and head strong she does not sense the hosts plan.

Blinded to anything but her own desires, she misses the fingers seeking the vulnerable spot at her throat. Only the choking grip never comes, but the world is rent asunder, by a power beyond either of the two interlocked immortals. There is an explosive pop as the sound barrier is ruptured and a winged nemesis cuts over the perilously weakened combatants.

The plunging newcomer throws the demoness from astride the wounded angel, the force of her landing sending another mighty plume of chalk dust and ash into the air. In a rain of debris everything is covered in a film of gray earth and chalk. The ruby skinned Demonette now a shadow of charcoal soot, only here gleaming green eyes retain their brilliance. Landing on her injured wing she winces, the pain is enough to make her head swim, the bone now twisted into an awkward pose.

Blinking through the cloud caused by the stranger’s arrival, she strains to make out this new adversary, but it is his voice that awakens her memories. A voice she hasn’t heard in millennia, one she thought she had assuredly escaped.

Demoness, I'm quite certain you recognize me. Come. We shall return to our unfinished business...


Painfully she pulls herself upright, standing, her left wing dangling at a horrific angle. Her body rent and bruised the lack of rest apparent in every nuance of her stance. Yet her eyes flash with pride, and despite her position, she glares back her defiance.

“Incubus,” she spits the word with venom, as if trying to sear him in place with her tone, “So the annihilation of my sisterhood was not enough for you. Now you come for me. Now as I am weak, virtually helpless to one of your power. As always, you prove yourself a coward.” Her voice is poignant full of longing and sorrow for her lost brethren, and ringing with hate for this menace.

Aching and in agony she throws back her long red mane, in better circumstances a haughty gesture, only now a bluff at hidden strengths. “So if we have business you and I, then let us finish now. For I have other matters to attend to.” Despite her fear, she speaks with a confidence she does not feel. So she prays to the dark forces that she can withstand this onslaught.

 

[Nightblade]

Musings of the Void...

The Seraph is taken aback by the Incubus' deftly planted assault...his form lacerated and bleeding along the edges of his wings, arms, and collarbones. Even in its wake, he didn't imagine that the attack would leave such an impression...the balefire sting seeping into his flesh, leaving the remarkable stench of rotting meat and sulphur...fortunately, he's been rather gifted in his time and service to the Heavenly Host. With such knowledge comes the ability to magcikally heal wounds nearly as fast as they're inflicted...now, this proves to be a bit more than he expected, and a look of curious surprise comes over his face as he watches his wounds...and flesh...blister and bubble with some dark infection...distorting his complexion, and seeing stretches of marred celestial beauty tighten as the healing process begins...it will be slow, he can already tell...

He doesn't have much time to ponder this, though, as the Incubus' fluid flight and dexterity prove to be quite impressive. That loathsome beast will most assuredly swing by with another assailing pass...but this time he would be ready. Rising rather quickly, and crouched a bit in a defensive posture...the Seraph makes one final unfold on his wings..his hands outstretched, eyes gleaming with anticipation, slender muscles flexed to utter tension...he waits to spring forth, timing his leap and counter-attack with the rapid approach of the Incubus.

Sensing the Seraph's will to resist, the Incubus smiles arrogantly to himself, arcing his body for a gut-wrenching dive...he slows only for a moment, to angle his form in such a way as to pierce the air between them. The air is rent asunder, sparks cascading in a fierce swath of meteoric velocity. Closing the range between him and the Seraph, the Incubus grins hungrily, eager to strike him down and partake of his flesh and blood. The Demoness stands bewildered, moving to also close the distance between herself and the angelic one. She will not allow the Incubus to take her Heavenly prize...she starts to run in a confident stride...

The Seraph crouches, about to pounce upward and forward, greeting the charging Incubus with claws bared...but, abruptly, in that moment his ascending leap is interrupted. The air surrounding him suddenly darkens to black as pitch...a dark, ovoid portal appearing as it twists the very space of even this charred and broken realm...tendrils of blackened lightning tear forth, electricity like lattice-work quickly spreads quickly around the area...the excited and displaced air screams with fire...and the shadowy doorway expands...it seems to expand to the point of engulfing only the Seraph, and in this momentary surprise, the Seraph is caught unaware...he glances backward, into the Nothing..as he does so, several of the inky appendages wrap tight and ensnare his form, strangling and twisting his extremities in a horrid dance of pain. In a fantastic and miraculous whim, the nether space begins to implode and contract nearly as quickly as it opened; dragging the Seraph into its murky depths, he claws and strains to resist, but he fails miserably. The last thing he sees...

The Demoness had been running at a quickened pace to reach him, bent on keeping him from the clutches of the Incubus. Nearing him, she suddenly stops...grasping at her throat as her head is suddenly jerked backward...some unseen restraint...no, a barbed, serpentine whip is wrapped about her neck...she grasps vehemently, her face twisting in agony and rage all at the same time...glancing just upward, he sees the Incubus, holding the whip and bidding the angel adieu...

What has happened...?

 

[Sultry_Shade]

Exhaustion and pain wrenches time for the Demonatrix as she watches transfixed by the speed in which the Incubus takes control of the situation. His precision and degree of execution is beyond reproach and it is in these moments she makes a series of plunders in an attempt to retrieve her hard won prize.

Ravaged and torn the Demonette rose to face her attacker only to have him veer aside to steal away that for which she had fought so long and hard. Not to mention the suffering of her fiendishly carved body. It was more then she could stand this wicked spiteful beast daring to take her trophy, the suffering seraph. The demoness would not abide.

Yet She had watched this same imp take down her twelve younger sisters, she had been the first of them, lucky thirteen. Marachite was inexhaustible, virtually invulnerable and above all else arrogant as every level of hell. She would have to be more clever then the devil to survive this, and pray that he would fall to the game.

Throwing caution aside she launches herself at him like a red blink of light but it is not fast enough, as time worked a web against her. Injured muscles and her broken wing drag at her hindering her mobility, leaving her open to the Incubus’s reprisal. Yet she takes action all the same caution to the wind let the outcome be damned as she herself may become.

Her antique copper eyes run with hellfire, and she tenses as the Incubus tears into her angel. The words of an ancient rite already on her lips, but before she can utter one single syllable, the world turns over and nothing is right. A rend in reality a cut in the fabric of space and time shudders through the air above the Archangel as he leaps to defend himself. Almost as if a star encrusted hand of darkness had summoned itself from the beyond and seized him.

Her legs do not seem to notice the events and carry her on, only to be brought up short like a dog on a leash by her very own whip, now in the hands of the Incubus. Here curses burned and blistered her lips as the sleek leather wound tight cutting the wind from her lungs in one devastating snap. Long ebon clawed fingers dig at the invading lash, her green eyes wild.

The Incubus’ laughter fills the clearing, he knows not what became of the white lighter, but now the last of the Lillith clan was within his grasp. That was all that truly mattered, for she was the last, the first, Lucky Thirteen, his demon bitch. Here she was to be forced to his whims, to fall into servitude. The genocide of her sisterhood led to the final enslavement of her race through this one act against her.

He continued to choke the breath from her, force her through air depletion into submission. The previous traumas already weighing heavily upon her, she falls quickly into unconsciousness.

 

[Nightblade]

The Seraph's disappearance weighed heavily in the mind of the Demoness...because she'd worked so diligently to acquire him...to summon him and finally best him in a contest of will. Now, with the intervening Incubus, this might all have been for naught. Some of her last thoughts drift silently through her mind as she surrenders to forced slumber...her body dangling loose, and her hair falling over her face as the realm fades to shadow...

Marachite moves over his fallen prey...her lustrous form and curvaceous flesh teasing at his sensual appetite...the infernal always did manage to give rise to passion-laced blood and bouts of mindless lust with him. Maybe that was his nature, too, was not only seducing others, but being seduced as well? ...He coils his whip about his waist, relaxing his wings, and arching his body in preparation of enacting some sort of sadistic sexual rite before dispatching her...as he did all the rest of her sisters. But with her, he wanted to take his time, and have his pleasures before ending her lineage permanently. He could think of nothing else as he grabbed her limp ankle, dragging her body in a circular motion...positioning her at his feet, her face nearly pressed to him...

The moments that follow dance amidst the Time stream of this realm as a marionette with strings of control...a sudden, shrieking tone pierces the air...catching Marachite off guard and causing him to cover his ears in agony...the splitting sound emanates with waves of electricity...forcing the very air into a rift of darkness and fire...the very same distortion of space witnessed only moments ago now fills the scene once more. Shadows thin and stretch, reaching like fingers of the Night through the sun-faded, evening sky...with space dismembered, and the fury of lightning and twisting fire abound, the Incubus shields himself from harm, assuming a crouching, defensive posture as this anomaly spits its wrath upon the Fields of Nephilim...

Pushing violently through the Nothing, a single hand and arm plunges forth...in these moments it appears as just a fleshy appendage, burned and blistered, clawing like mad from within an inky dwelling...but soon, the single appendage fills the scene, moving outward from within the swirling darkness...an entire body following...its form slender and slightly muscular, winged, and that of the Seraph that vanished just moments before...his body is intact, largely, though there are some gaping holes blotted amongst his flesh...no blood, no bone or tissue, just gaping holes...almost as if he is filled with ink instead of blood...his face is twisted in utter rage, and his wings fold out to reveal a distorted webbing of flesh now adorning them...whereas before they were more avian in appearance...his motion is that of springing forth, as if in a desperate and passionate leap into the Beyond. As he falls completely back into this space...into the Fields of Nephilim, his eyes catch sight of the fallen Demoness immediately...the Seraph scans to the left of her body, seeing the crouching Incubus...the accursed Marachite...playing at keeping himself safe from harm...

His eyes burn with vengeance, and his claws sharpen and protrude in a liquid-like motion, forming gradually rather than extending from some fleshy housing...rising, still covered like a patch-quilt with unknown shadow, the Seraph prepares for battle...

 

[Sultry_Shade]

Fight or flight. . .

Consciousness becomes a memory, the world drawing to blackness at the mercy of the leather lash around her throat the Demoness falls into darkness. Suffocating black, she is trapped in this surreal realm, only able to bear witness to the truth of the world around her through the sounds tickling at her ears. She can feel her body being roughly pulled in a circle, drawn closer, she can hear the Incubus breathing.

She prays to the infernal powers for her safety, knowing deep down that they possess no pity and her weakness would only be sneered upon. Helpless, she lay in surrender at the feet of her tribe’s destroyer, angry and useless to vengeance.

The Incubus prideful and exalting in his successful conquering of this particular hellfire line, is almost oblivious to anything else. Lost to the rapture of his own triumph he momentarily misses the rending of space and time taking place only a stones throw from where he stands, with the fallen demonette at his feet, her statuesque face pressed to the blackened earth.

It is only as the winds begin to scream a banshee chorus that he realizes something is happening, and then only has time to shield himself from the raging gale that announces the reappearance of the vanquished Seraph. And here the hellion had thought him self rid of the celestial pest, sneering he steels himself for combat, preparing to take away his prize at any cost. His teeth gnash, and eyes blaze.

Marachite finds it difficult to understand this angelic being’s motivations for returning. It would seem to him that upon escaping the Fields of Nephilim that the celestial would have sought the comforts of heaven, but no. Here he was returning to cause the Incubus no end of trouble. Snarling he addresses the battered angel, “I have not time nor patience for this Birdman. I suggest you take your leave of here and keep what remains of your ravaged body intact.” The words bounce off the Seraph with no apparent affect.

Was this creature driven mad by the lust for this one vanquished infernal, he looks down in disgust at the still unconscious demonina. He had never before heard of such a thing. Perhaps there was more to be gained by keeping this one alive then he thought. Lucky number thirteen might just prove to be far more valuable then he had ever anticipated.

First thing was first, he had to ditch the bedraggled heaven sent. “This is not your time for dissolution Angel, so I am going to take my leave,” he speaks with the authority of one who is accustomed to never being questioned, he heaves the fallen demonatrix’s limp form over his shoulder. She hangs a rag doll, nothing more then an acquisition for the Incubus, another toy for his pleasures.

“It is my recommendation to you that if you want to continue existing, you let me be. After all I freed you from this demon bitch’s trap, you should be grateful.” His haughty tones sear the Seraph’s mind and soul, only increasing his disgust and rage. Unable to see the results of his speech through his veil of conceit, Marachite unfurls his sail like wings and prepares to take flight.

 

[Nightblade]

Marachite's words ripple through the Seraph's mind, poking holes in his patience and better nature. They irritate him immensely, and his seething resentment that this beast should even still be alive makes him all the more repugnant. You shall not have my allegiance, nor my gratitude you unclean beast! His words blast like fire and pierce the Incubus' ears painfully...

Unclean? Hah! We shall see cursed light mongrel! I'm taking this demon whore with me, and you won't get in my way. Since I'm feeling rather...lecherous this day, I have enough good will to share with you as well. Marachite says, smiling fiendishly as he leaps into the air just ahead of the lunging Seraph...his body spilling to the ground in a missed tackle...throwing bits of sulphurous ash and shattered granite about the area...momentarily off balance, the Seraph darts his gaze upward, to the ascending Incubus...the Demoness draped lifelessly over his shoulder...he can see Marachite's foul grin...

As he lifts higher and higher, the Incubus rakes a single claw across his forearm...the flesh parting and oozing forth his lacquered blood beneath...it is a very shiny blackness, not unlike fresh ink...tiny rivulets of blood form as they seep from his open wound, taking the shape of tear-drops as they fall from his body mid-flight...one...two...three of them, there were...stretching to stalk-like shapes briefly from their rapid descent throught the air...as each plummeted, the blood itself began to spasm and reshape itself...contorting and bubbling with protrusions the likes of which the Seraph has never seen...

The blackened life-blood of Marachite forms and pools into three distinct, yet separate entities. The final result a revolting mockery of both demon and angel...the head of a woman, with the torso/upper body of a woman as well...long, flowing hair, sharp vioet eyes, and no other facial features...slender arms and wrists, spindly fingers with wicked claws laid bare...shapely breats and quite beautiful by way of complexion, he thought to himself briefly...but this was before their formation was complete...in place of legs, however, they possessed a most unusual and disturbing appendage...this resembled a single, slender tuft of fibers...yet they blended and moved as one...wavy tendrils knotted into one shape...particularly reminiscent of a human phallus...they writhed and wiggled about freely...even as their twisted hosts flung themselves toward the horrified Seraph...

Rising to his feet quickly, he sprung upward to meet them...wings unfolded in an instant, he sought to take battle to the air...where he would have much more maneuverability...

The air thickened between them, the very excitement of fire teasing them all...the lightning finds several marks on the ground just yonder their position...he could feel his body go cold, and his blood slow a bit...his flesh dulled and he took on a more deathly pallor as he neared the three ghastly shapes...they look on, hungry beyond measure by mortal standards...their eyes pulsing brightly and frequently...claws outstretched...fibers twirling and slinking about them as serpents of shadow...

The distance closes rather quickly...