Damned

by K R Leikvoll

  Once I saw his form disappear through the walls, I finally exhaled and turned to Varnoc. I guided him toward our sacrifice in the center of the room. I will admit that I hardly thought of him as I stared down at Ophelia with a malicious glare.

  “You thought you were clever, didn’t you?” I asked her, almost salivating at the thought of shedding her blood. Varnoc was still puzzled when I thrust the blade into his hands.

  “Lord Raven said I would be spared if I stayed silent!” she sobbed. All I could do was sigh at her words.

  “I am not Lord Raven.”

  I kneeled on the ground and motioned for Varnoc to do the same. It was hard to focus on my mental incantations to the Void with Ophelia’s obnoxious crying. Still, I managed, telling my Gods that despite my personal emotions, I wished to bless Varnoc Stonebreaker with the gifts of the Vast Dark.

  “The blessing of Azotl comes at a price: Varnoc Stonebreaker of the Praetisian realm must sacrifice… Ortos. With the next blood spilled, he will lose his god,” the chorus of heretics whispered from the pits of the Void.

  I froze after their words. My temporary smile of delight at Ophelia’s suffering vanished. The way it was phrased made me wonder for the first time what I had truly given up when I killed Illyswen. For perhaps he was not what mattered most to me; merely the chosen victim I needed to kill to endure my side of the ritual. Vincent had fully known that it could have been any soul for whatever my mind’s sacrifice was, and he chose who would hurt me the worst.

  Any shred of me that may have pitied him for taking Ophelia away evaporated.

  What had the price been for my soul to be bound? I wished I had the time to think in my moment of realization, but I was on a schedule.

  “To become one of us, you need to commit your first sacrifice. Ophelia is the chosen soul to be cast to the Void in exchange for your power,” I told Varnoc, feeling more drawn to kill her by the second. If it meant that Vince would feel a fraction of what I felt, I would drag her by her entrails to his feet.

  “You demon whore, you will release me! I kept my word!” she tried to reason poorly.

  I rose from my spot to stand behind Varnoc. I wanted to be the last thing she saw before her soul was ripped to Dys to be tortured for eternity. Even Lord Nakarius was pleased with her demise. Naazvaba was jubilant for all things that caused my Master unhappiness.

  I put a hand on Varnoc’s shoulder, feeling the familiar robes of Lilith between my fingertips. “Do it,” I breathed, my heart pounding with excitement. He peered at me over his shoulder.

  “I expected a challenge,” he said simply with a shrug.

  Without a moment of hesitation, Varnoc took the black blade and stabbed Ophelia in the heart.

  She appeared paralyzed and fearful through her hatred. I still remember the expression fondly, even as I write this. At that moment, I did not fear being bound to Varnoc, as I was far too captivated in absorbing her raw emotions to care. It was almost overwhelming.

  I wrapped my hand around his and removed the blade. I was thankful that I was able to bring it to my mouth to taste her while I watched her dissolve to ashes. Blood was different once I became a demon, and yet again different when Lord Nakarius joined my soul. There was nothing in existence more pleasing and intoxicating.

  Varnoc shuddered and looked down at his hands with curiosity. He was likely experiencing some form of chilling sensations as shadows enveloped him. With demonic sight, it was even more beautiful than I recalled. The frigid darkness reminded me again of Azotl, the Vast Dark and all I was fighting for. It was almost as if I could see into Treachery itself as I watched it swirl around us. It made me temporarily lose sight of my petty worries of this realm.

  I missed the Void fiercely.

  My soul wept in longing for my lost paradise once more.

  I was wasting time before the second sacrifice, sitting in my favorite spot by my bay window. I loved the ocean despite the cold chill that it brought, drifting through the palace. In truth, I was still trying to come to terms with my day’s events. I thought more of Lydris than Varnoc in that time, dreading what was to come with him. My mind was sure to be shred by somehow willingly allowing myself to love either of them.

  As the sky began to darken, I prepared solemnly. It is humorous to me how much I felt that I was preparing for my own funeral instead of a simple night of pleasure. I did not know what to expect; I did not know how my mind would handle all of the tugging strings of my bonds. I chose a loose set of deep blue robes to represent the mourning and grief I was enduring. I am sure Guinevere wore that shade for the same reasons.

  Despite the anger and frustration I felt toward my Master, he was the only company I craved. I knocked on his door lightly before I departed our tower, wishing to enjoy my last moment with him before I was torn. A voice told me to enter, one that was not Vince.

  James was working with him on something, dictating what he wished to be delivered to Evya. James was to travel there and keep the peace while we waged war on our neighbors. I knew that his lack of presence would be difficult for our Master to handle, but he always managed. Besides, I cared not for his emotions anymore. I only cared about mine.

  And they demanded that I wished to have one final glass of wine with my King before I split my soul once more.

  “Leave us,” I said to James while I poured two goblets by the fire. When I peered at him over my shoulder, he was studying Vince to see if it was indeed what he must do. I set the pitcher of wine down with a loud thud on the table. He was ultimately loyal to Vince, not the Void Lords, nor the prophet. His love and devotion had always been obvious, but I thought Treachery might have stirred some rationality in him. Or at least the understanding that I was in control, not Vincent.

  My Master gave him a brief nod and signaled for him to depart.

  I brought his glass over to him and sat by his side. He took it from me less aggressively than I thought he would. I wanted so horribly to ask him what my mind’s sacrifice had been, but I knew it was a question that would have only given him more power over me.

  “Was she brave?” he asked after he finished his glass. I was staring into mine, watching the fire cause the dark liquid to flicker.

  “She was a coward that begged for mercy,” I replied without making eye contact. The hint of his hand I could see on his goblet was tensed showing he was bothered by my words.

  “A whore is not a warrior; a shame she had to go. I will have to find a squire now at the least.”

  “Did you care for her?”

  Vince laughed louder than I had ever heard. It startled me and nearly caused me to stain my gown. I felt envious of her for quite some time as she received his consistent company, but his humored response soothed the insecurities eating me.

  “Did I care for her? What a strange question, Lazarus. Does a katoma care for trees? Not really. They are good for lying in and not much else.”

  “I’ve brought you something,” I said, choosing not to dwell on his objectifying words. I removed a gemmed red ring from my pocket – the one I had purchased in Uxe in the bazaar. I placed it in his palm, studying the confused look on his face. It was far lower quality than what he wore, as all of his rings were imbued with magical properties.

  “What’s this?”

  I kneeled on the floor at his feet.

  “I will replace it with something far greater,” I told him without hesitation. He closed his hand around it with a neutral expression I could not begin to read. Part of it seemed compelled, another part seemed… almost anxious.

  “You have a sacrifice to attend to,” he whispered in a strained voice, refusing to speak what was on his mind.

  “I will burn all in your name. They will look at the end and know their demise.” I wiped his cheek with my hand without fear of his emotions. I wanted him to see the death of the Empire in my eyes. It was his to endure as well. The entire world would perish no matter how hard he tried to convince us that it was better to rule than erase. His long l
ife had given him wisdom and ancient knowledge, but it had made him attached to Praetis and petty desires.

  “Go to Varnoc before I have to throw you off the balcony,” he said in a falsely sweet voice. Perhaps his words should have frightened me, but the rush I got from irritating him was almost as good as drinking blood. Wrath feeds me in a way nothing else can.

  “As you wish, Vincent,” I replied venomously with a pleased smile I could not suppress.

  As I was walking out of the room, he threw his goblet at me, sharply cutting into the back of my head, but I chose not to react in order to frustrate him more as I was clearly doing. I may have even laughed at his action, which was a poor mistake on my part. I had fallen so deeply into disassociation about my binding with Varnoc that I think I temporarily did not even fear death as a result of my mocking.

  When I made it to the ritual chambers, Varnoc was waiting for me patiently on the sigil, studying the inscriptions on his skin that he could see in the candlelight. He barely looked up as I shut the door behind me, trying to ignore the desire to flee I usually felt in that hellish hall.

  “I almost thought you forgot about me,” he said as he stretched out. He knew not what the second day of sacrifice held which I believe added to how uncomfortable I felt.

  I did not respond. I placed a goblet of wine in his hands; andvara I had Raven steal for me as I hardly thought Vince deserved to hoard the entire storage to himself. Varnoc had never had it before and sipped on it somewhat hesitantly as if he expected it to be blood. There was mild relief on his face when he discovered he liked the taste, drinking it until the last drop as I did.

  I would be lying if I said that I did not ask for Lord Nakarius’ aid to quiet the thoughts screaming in my mind. Holding my breath, I ran my lips along his shoulder trying to fight the urge to bleed him dry. That could wait until the third day of sacrifice. He was obviously puzzled by my actions, recoiling away from me in confusion.

  “What are you doing, Lazarus?”

  I used my nails to scratch into my wrist until my black blood pooled and stained my skin. I held it out to him, still silent. I knew not what to say, so why talk? He took my wrist curiously. One of his fingertips dabbled it to study how dark it was. When his eyes met mine again, I could see his thoughts without him having to speak. He was apprehensive – as if the blood of light was silver and pure, black blood must be the opposite. Still unsure of how he should use my gift, I moved closer to him and put my wrist to his cheek and lips. I wiped it on his skin like paint before I leaned my face near his.

  “Do you wish to receive a blessing from Naazvaba?” I asked him in a whisper, watching his yellow eyes for any hint of reluctance. Varnoc nodded once in return, captivated by my words.

  So I pressed my lips to his, using my tongue to deliver the divine sanction of my Gods.

  At first, he still did not understand, but it faded once he swallowed my hallowed gift.

  His arms wrapped around me, pulling me as close as he could get. I was a demon derived from Vincent, so my blood must have been just as intoxicating to him as my Master’s was to me. Varnoc was far more considerate than any partner I had been with before, unwilling to pursue more than what I was giving. In fact, he was rather surprised when I removed my gown as if he had not expected or guessed that being intimate with a demon was a part of the process.

  As a lover, I would say my first demonic child was the one I felt most comfortable with. We had mutual care for each other from the moment we were first connected and it would become something I relied on for a while during the times of endless war and little comforts. While Raven is the only person I have ever felt a genuine kinship toward, Varnoc was the closest to me through our bond. He was loyal and subservient without end. He never harmed me after our bond, or actively schemed behind my back. He was the opposite of Lydris in every way.

  I cannot imagine either of us would have thought when we were living near each other in the Everglade that we would be in the neighboring palace a short time later sharing intimacy. Being with him, and regrettably, Lydris, taught me what it felt like to be the dominant one in a relationship. I much preferred it to the submissive nature I was forced to endure with Vince. I did not like feeling without freedom, and if I was to do something outside of my wishes, I had to do it my way.

  We were one for some time. Zaarians were typically shone in a tribalistic light, but one would never have known Varnoc was a slave and a prisoner with how he made love. Perhaps he had fallen for me for reasons I did not understand, as it was obvious through his delicate touch that he had feelings for me. We must have made love for hours, as the lust that drove demons was a nearly endless supply. It would be daft to think any male would not enjoy himself with a Demon Queen.

  By the time the weaving crimson lines of the bond sealed us together, he was beyond exhausted. The lines did not scare me in the occasion it occurred with him. I thought they were beautiful with my enhanced sight. Varnoc was purely curious more than anything else. Though he had read what was given to him, as I have said before, there is no documentation that exists that shares what it is like to endure the Dark Sacrament. It was all a new experience for him.

  Before I left, I gave him a kiss filled with the genuine emotions I was starting to feel. It was not the full force of our blood bond yet, but I felt the beginning of the feelings that come with being a Master. I was starting to care for him, and it made it seem like no other being existed while we were alone.

  It was a temporary respite from the grief I constantly carried in my soul.

  Vince, Sendrys, and Raven accompanied me the final day of sacrifice. We were not going to visit the Void to my displeasure, but they needed to be present as observers. None had been bound as a child and a master, thus it was a necessary moment to witness. I am sure they were partially there in case I went mad, as I am sure they thought it was a very real possibility.

  Nevertheless, I refused to show any weakness in front of them. Sendrys and Raven had made it clear that they supported me over Vince, and I was not going to change their opinions. I put my trust and faith in Lord Nakarius – that his presence might make it less strained. Without him, I doubt I would have made it through the first binding, let alone the second.

  Varnoc was composed when we entered, kneeling and deep in some form of meditation. Perhaps he was learning that the ties to his god no longer existed. When he looked up at me as I approached his side, I could see that his eyes were already beginning to change. They were bright orange, piercing and nearly glowing in the shadows. Being so near to Vince, feeling the pull as I prepared to cut my flesh, almost made me stop. I would not be surprised if he was attempting to make it harder on me through invisible methods. I refused to be undone.

  “With this sacrifice, I bind your soul to the Vast Dark,” I said in a strong, assertive tone. I gave him my wrist, heart pounding furiously against my rib cage. Varnoc scanned our guests with curiosity, as I am sure he did not know why they were there. That offering he drank felt different than any other time I had given blood before. Each swallow caused a rush of unbearably strong desires to sacrifice. After a short period of that, I could not stand it.

  I lunged for his throat, not knowing whether I intended to kill him. Despite being physically small, the Void and Lord Nakarius had blessed me with immense strength. My action knocked Varnoc backward, unable to stop me as I climbed on top of him and snapped at his neck. He did not fight remotely; he was enduring the spell-binding effects of the forming bond.

  Something rather peculiar happened as I swallowed his blood for the first time. Foremost, I was dazed with an emotion I had never experienced before. Being entangled in his arms was somehow almost as soothing to me as Vince’s. I hadn’t thought such a thing was possible. I would guess that the sensation of being bound as a master was much the same as being a mother: having kin that you would die for – someone that put all other thoughts of love into perspective.

  Vince might have been correct – that love is m
erely an illusion. That would make that almost indescribable feeling the most powerful illusion I had ever been through. While my connection was still felt with my Master – painfully so – I had an urge to defend Varnoc from any other. I did not want anyone to look upon him, as even looks could be damaging. It likely sounds ludicrous to the mortal man, but I wished to hoard him like a secret treasure for none other than myself.

  What I did not foresee is the effect that it would have on Vincent. When the bond was sealed, after a swallow of his blood, the crimson glow of lines binding Varnoc and I together grew brighter and more intricate. Not just with him, but with Vince behind me, causing me to detach myself from my demonic child. Something caused him to fall to his knees, clutching his chest as if he were in pain. His eyes staring into mine showed genuine confusion – something I thought he was incapable of feeling. I felt like I was being tugged by two different forces in opposite directions.

  The reality was, the more one tears their soul into pieces, the less there is to share. Or at least that was the case if you were a mere greater demon, but I was something more. Lord Nakarius’ soul and presence within me gave me a sacred gift that can only be referred to as having an indomitable spirit. I was not torn into two pieces to be shared by both Vince and Varnoc. Rather, my soul was duplicated at one hundred percent. Both of them felt as though they were fully bonded to me and only me. Because my soul had not yet been subjected to such forces, Vince had not felt the bond between us for what it truly was.

  You see, Vince wanted everyone to believe that the unbreakable emotions we felt for him, he felt in return. He was very good at pretending, as he had stated. For whatever reason, whether it was because he was the incarnate of Azotl, the first demon, or otherwise, he was immune to the effect that he gave us. It was not the case for Sendrys or Guinevere, as both felt perhaps more deeply for their children than their children did in return. It was a closely guarded secret of Vince’s – one I would have not discovered had I not been bound between multiple people.