Spell-Bound

“Magister Ithilien, I have been generous up until now… But if you lay your hands upon me again…. I -will- kill you.”

May 6, 2012  Chapter 6  “Betrayl”

He plucked the candle upon the table and moved it to light several adjacent ones situated along the walls. “They say darkness inspires fear, but what of those who thrive in the shadows?” He held the candle at an angle over the man’s face. “…Do we fear to illuminate the sin we shroud ourselves in?” The wax began to melt, dripping upon his forehead. He squeezed his eyes shut, screaming into the rags. “…I agree. It is -very- unsettling. Though at least I had the honor to uphold my debts.” Anetho smashed the lit end of the candle against his victim’s cheek. He began to kick and writhe in pain as he proceeded to heat it with his own mana to the point it bubbled against his flesh. “…How many women have you done this to? Is it as good for you as it was them?”

“…He never lifted his hands.” A female voice purred delightedly from afar. “…It was always I whom severed the links of life… I who caressed them painfully. I who held his pleasure… in their pain..” A shadowed figure circled the two, a lithe frame accompanied by two wings draped about herself as though a cloak. Blonde hair and glowing blue eyes marked her movements. Like a panther she stalked closer. The bound and gagged elf looked at her pleadingly. How desperately he wanted salvation.

“And will the trend change?” Anetho mused, procuring a flawless scalpel from the leather parcel. “No.” She purred as he drew the edge along the Fel Weaver’s chest, blood flowing almost immediately from it in thin lines along his malnourished looking frame. Her hooved feet clattered against the ground as she neared. “Clip-clop-clip-clop. Drip-Drop-Drip-Drop. The sound of death, the sound of blood. With each breath, we have such fun.” She stood face to face with the Magister, staring him down. Eyes meeting. Her fingers laced around his as she took the scalpel from him. His lips pulled into a frown, as his victim smirked. “Fear is a powerful emotion.” The Succubus professed, as she gave a sharp swipe of her hand.

The Warlock’s eyes widened. She’d slashed his throat, blood was pouring from it like a river unto the floor. He squirmed and thrashed about wildly. “…But despair is all the sweeter…” She giggled, positioning herself under her former master that she might bathe in his life-waters. “Our contract is complete, and I’ve another to seduce… Thank you, mortal.” Anetho shook his head. “So long as you do not forget -our- bargain. If I could release you of his binding words, just imagine what else I can do to those whom prove disloyal… Selanda.” With that, he collected his things and left her to the twisted designs she’d intended this unfortunate soul from the very day she entreatied him.

Anetho preached a simple truth to all those he knew that chased the corruptive path. The Demon always spoke the truth, always held to their arrangement, and without fail, would collect their prize. No capacity for magic would ever be enough to escape the grasp of such pacts forged in hell-fire.

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~ by anethodawnpride on May 9, 2013.

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