The Devil's Influence

by Chris Pisano

  Even though Haddaman still smiled, his voice showed a hint of unease. “That is quite an honor, milord, but you do not have to go through all this trouble.”

  Sword in hand, Daedalus gestured to Oremethus, and the king looked to the fire dragon. The creature stirred and then walked toward the center of the throne room. Daedalus approached Haddaman. The crime lord attempted to flee, but eight skeletons grabbed him and yanked upon his limbs, finally holding him in place as he looked like the letter “X.”

  “I assure you, it will be no problem at all. Since you are such a powerful man, we can ill afford to let you out of our sight.”

  Daedalus sliced at Haddaman’s leg at the hip. Being a thicker man, the sword did not go through on the first swing. Or the second. But the third cleaved it free from his body. It took Daedalus another three swings for the other leg. He only needed two for each arm, though.

  Backing away, Daedalus and the skeletons made room for the dragon. Tongue ablaze, the dragon licked the four wounds, droplets of it lava-like saliva splashing about. A small stream drizzled across Haddaman’s face, burning a path across his cheek, right eye, and forehead, his hair smoldering.

  If Landyr lived past today, he would never forget the screams or the sight of an armless and legless man flopping around in a pool of his own blood as it cooked and boiled.

  Daedalus strode back to Haddaman and looked down upon him. “I’ve dealt with you before, Vogothe. As Mallen, I had done your bidding on more than one occasion. I must confess, there were times I did fear the mighty, faceless Vogothe. I know all too well that you have underlings who do your work for you. You never need to set foot outside or get your hands dirty, so it seems unlikely that you would need them.”

  Face shifting from sadistic glee to unfettered rage, Daedalus swung about, flinging blood from his sword as he pointed it to Landyr and the group of soldiers. Before he even opened his mouth, his expression let the soldiers know their fate. Landyr prayed to every god he could think of that it would be quicker than the fate of Haddaman. “As for you! I will have my skeletons empty the dungeons below the castle and feed the prisoners to my dragons to make room for each and every one of you! I will—”

  A ripple in the air distracted Daedalus. All eyes watched as a point in the center of the throne room spiraled. A portal opened.

  Thousands of scorpions flowed through.

  thirty-four

  Dearborn knew defeat. During her time with the army, there were entire training sessions designed for failure. Insurmountable odds. Impossible scenarios. Outmatched skirmishes. A soldier needed to know defeat, needed to understand and process the feelings involved, needed to learn about themselves during a situation where the only outcome was loss. Even when she graduated to the Elite Troop, there were a few times they needed to retreat from a battle or return to the king empty-handed from a mission. The defeat she suffered at the hands of Ar’drzz’ur, the loss of Iderion and her Elite Troop was devastating. She never thought she would ever be able to recover from that defeat until she met Diminutia.

  Now he was gone.

  She was defeated one final time.

  Since Daedalus did not kill her on sight, she suspected the rest of her days would involve torture. Cruel and sick, he would unleash whatever lurked within his diseased mind upon her, yet she felt that would be a luxury compared to the anguish twisting inside of her heart at this very moment.

  Bale kept looking at her, waiting for a sign to attack. She gave none. There was no hope of winning, no hope of doing anything heroic. Had she tried anything, the pain would have simply started sooner. The only spark of life flickered when Haddaman revealed himself to be the crime lord Vogothe. Then Daedalus demonstrated his cruelty, giving her a preview of what might be ahead for her. Arms and legs meant little to her now with no husband to run to and hold. Her children? She had failed them, lost their father, because of the choices she made. With Oremethus as king and Daedalus pulling his strings, what future did her children have anymore?

  Then the air rippled.

  A portal opened.

  Praeker Trieste and his new army emerged with Draymon at his side. Dearborn wondered how he managed to change Praeker’s mind.

  In a unified effort, a river of scorpions—ranging from as small as a thumb to as large as a person—flowed to the closest threat, the water dragon.

  The beast reeled up on its hind legs, its front claws swiping in a blind panic, as hundreds of claws snapped at its skin. It released a deluge of water, but it was only a temporary solution. It washed away the scorpions from in front of it, but they quickly regrouped and reengaged. The dragon crashed down on its back and rolled, spraying water everywhere, too close to the fire dragon.

  In its own panic, the crimson monster hopped around, trying to avoid the constantly moving bed of scorpions. It got too close to the water dragon and roared at the wriggling mound of scorpions. Out of animal instinct, it blew forth a gout of flame.

  The arachnids burned to crisps that flaked away, but the water dragon erupted into a ball of steam. Screeching, the dragon ran through the throne room and out the door, leaving a trail of billowing clouds.

  “No!” Daedalus screamed. “No!”

  As if responding to their master’s cries, a horde of skeletons flowed into the throne room, swords and shields at the ready.

  The thick mist of steam created a maelstrom of confusion, especially with the air dragon as it generated great blasts of air, but Dearborn could see well enough to make out what was happening.

  The scorpions were just the first wave, and just strong enough to cause some confusion. The remaining dragons jumped about, no room to fly, cautious not to loose their breath again. If enough scorpions swarmed a skeleton, they could chip away at the bone, breaking them apart piece by piece. But this attack wave was not enough to win the war.

  Barking orders, Praeker commanded the rest of his army through the portal. The scorpion hybrids scuttled into the fight, their clacking legs on the stone floor heard over the screams of men and roars of dragons. Wielding weapons of their own, they tore through the skeletons but faced hardship against the might of the dragons.

  The five remaining dragons had been whipped into a frenzy, attacking anything that moved near them. This new, bizarre army suffered the same fates as the first one. Oremethus’ gemstone dragon’s breath shredded them to unidentifiable lumps of meat. They burned just as quickly from the lava sprays of the fire dragon and sizzled to noxious fumes from the corrosive saliva of the acid dragon. They were slammed into walls by the air dragon’s gusts and they fell prey to the bone dragon’s treacherous breath.

  Riz battled alongside half a dozen of Praeker’s scorpion warriors, corralling the bone dragon into one corner. They used spears to strike and they had the speed to attack from all angles, keeping the beast confused. Once trapped in the corner, they went in for the kill. However, that also meant they were bunched together and susceptible to the dragon’s breath. Riz dodged the attack, jumping out of the way, then rolling on his shoulder. By the time he got to his feet and rejoined the battle, his once allies had shed their skins to reveal the skeletons beneath. The exoskeletons of their scorpion features remained, now a dry, lusterless white. It took half a dozen spears to bring Riz down.

  “Dearborn!” Draymon yelled as he threw a sword to her, taken from a nearby skeleton he has crushed. Out of reflex, she caught it, but then stared at it as if she had no idea what it was for. “The king! Get the king through the portal!”

  The king. She found Perciless at the back of the throne room. Landyr, some of the guards, and the non-humans were trying to sneak him out the back, but Oremethus and the gem dragon blocked the path. Bale lowered his shoulder and howled as he plowed through a crowd of skeleton warriors. Bones scattered and the ogre drew the attention of more skeletons but not all. Dearborn followed Draymon, sprinting through the s
till swirling steam, hacking at any skeleton in her way, while he screamed, “Landyr! The portal! Get the king through the portal!”

  The Elite Troop General heard the plan and barked his orders. However, so did Oremethus and Daedalus. The gem dragon gave chase while the bone dragon rushed from its corner to head them off, generating many skeleton warriors along the way. Dearborn saw they were not going to make it; they could not outrun the gem dragon.

  It snapped its jaws, narrowly missing Bigol. It took another few steps and lunged, striving to take out half of the protectors, if not Perciless himself. At the last moment, Cezomir ran alongside Tingle and drove his shoulder into the centaur’s ribs. Tingle yelped as he stumbled off balance. That was all that was needed to distract the dragon.

  The colorful beast could not resist such a delectable snack and pounced on the centaur. One bite, one swipe of the front claws and the dragon separated the human torso from the horse body. Even though it chewed its meal quickly, the pause in pursuit was enough. But the king and his new entourage still would not make it. The bone dragon would meet them before they could get to the portal.

  The acid dragon! Dearborn ran next to Draymon and said, “My children.”

  “What?”

  “Do right by them!” She screamed as she ran toward the bone dragon. Her mind went to them. Their faces. Their smiles. The way they smelled when she held them and the way their laughs rang with unbridled joy when they played. And Diminutia was with them, with every memory, every mental image she mustered. She had no conscious thought, no awareness if she yelled or not, if tears flowed from her eyes if she crashed through one skeleton or a hundred. She just knew her body did what it had to. For her children, she slammed into the bone dragon.

  The beast roared and snapped its jaw at her. It missed and gave chase as she ran, leading it away from the portal, away from the others protecting Perciless, the true king. The good king; the king her children deserved.

  She ran toward the acid dragon. The throne room was immense, but it was still a room, a closed space with limiting all their abilities to move. She could not distract the bone dragon long enough for everyone to get to the portal, but the acid dragon could.

  The dragon vomited a glob of acid on a small group of scorpion warriors. As Dearborn approached, she threw her dagger. It did nothing more than get its attention, as she had hoped. But her timing was off.

  The dragon stomped over dead and dissolving bodies to get a better angle on its target. As it moved, its belly and neck rippled, preparing another blast of acid. As Dearborn ran, she saw that she had acted too soon in getting its attention. Either she could keep running and be melted away, or slow down and get ground to a pulp and swallowed—like her husband.

  She ran, calculating this death to be quicker. With one final undulation, the acid dragon opened its mouth. Dearborn said a prayer to Diminutia, letting him know that she would see him soon. The acid sprayed. But none hit Dearborn.

  Bale! The ogre had launched himself at the last moment into the side of the acid dragon, altering its attack. The burning liquid of its spew struck the tail of the bone dragon. Both dragons screeched making the tapestries on the walls of the throne room quiver, the acid dragon from anger, the bone dragon from pain.

  Bale wobbled and grabbed his shoulder; the acid sweat of the dragon burning the ogre’s skin to the point of smoke wafting between his fingers. Dearborn nearly crashed into him, pulling up to avoid the collision. They both looked toward the portal just as it closed. Bale smiled and nodded. “They got through. We kept them safe.”

  Safe. Dearborn knew the word, but no longer knew the concept. The world was no longer safe with a mad king and his sadistic brother on the throne. They could control dragons and create hordes of skeletal soldiers. No, the world was not safe.

  The fighting stopped. There was no one left to fight, other than Bale and Dearborn. Oremethus took no notice of them, more concerned about the health of his dragons. “The first order of business, dear brother, is finding someone in the realm who can care for my dragons.”

  “I agree,” Daedalus said. Even though he spoke to his brother, he looked only at Dearborn and Bale. “I shall gather the local regents and governors, and pass down word of their new king.”

  “I am famished. I shall see if we have any cooks left in the castle and have them prepare a victory dinner for us.” Oremethus did not wait for a response from his brother before he left the room.

  Behind him, most of the remaining skeletons began removing the dead. Ten of the bone warriors that remained shuffled to restrain Bale and Dearborn, their grips tight and painful. Dearborn struggled for the show. There was nothing left within her, but she tried not to let Daedalus know that. “Get it over with. Do your worst.”

  Daedalus grabbed her chin with his skeletal hand, the bones rough against her skin. He examined her the way an inn owner would a piece of food before purchase. Pulling her closer to him, he leaned in. And licked her face from chin to scalp. “Oh, my Dearborn. I will do my worst. It may be tomorrow. It may be in five years when you have forgotten where you are and why you are there. But I assure you, I will do my worst.”

  Dearborn yanked her head from his grasp, her jaw set and resolute.

  Daedalus turned to Bale and the ogre first winced, and then flexed his whole body. With his eyes squeezed shut, he said, “Go ahead and lick me.”

  The prince sneered. “What?”

  “Lick me if you have to. I can take it. I can take it!”

  Disgusted, the prince took a step backward. “I am not going to lick you, you foul grotesque! I may put you in the circus, should we ever start one.”

  “I am ready to be licked!”

  “Baah!” Daedalus waved his hand and the skeletons started to drag Bale and Dearborn away. “Put them in the dungeon. I will deal with them later. My brother and I have a kingdom to run.”

  “I won’t forget about the licking!” Bale yelled.

  A faint smile tugged at Dearborn’s lips. It felt good to see Daedalus frustrated. She might not live to see tomorrow, but for now, she unexpectedly had hope.

  thirty-five

  Landyr pulled at his cock furiously. It was not responding the way it should, the way it had every time he committed this act since before his eleventh birthday. Every morning for the past week, he had awoken from lascivious dreams about Chenessa, accompanied by the stiffness in his groin, and the ache for release. Every morning, he would sneak behind a copse of trees, drop his trousers and do what he had to do. Unfortunately, he could find no relief, only limpness as the blood flowed back into the rest of his body. Today was no different.

  As his hand moved with no effect on his shrinking state, he cursed the beautiful wizard, wondering if she had somehow ensorcelled his dick. He just wished that she would have dropped the spell before possessing the dragon. The void dragon, a beast embodying the darkness itself. When she possessed it, he could see some of her in the dragon, even though the dragon changed neither shape nor size. Red veins through its wings, like the nervures of a leaf. The look in its eyes. The claws. The teeth, very similar to Chenessa’s demon smile.

  His shrinking manhood suddenly sprang to life, at the thought of claws and teeth. So thrilled that he had not suffered permanent damage, he let his mind wander down the dark path, the path that ended with the horrid, misshapen demon awaiting him, moving toward him. Her shriveled tits flapping against her thighs, knobbed off by nipples like burled wood, as she approached him. The way her hair spread like oily cobwebs against his face as she mounted him. Skin the texture of overly-dried raisins rubbing against his body. A piercing cackle flooded his mind as she ground against him, laughing with orgasmic pleasure.

  Release ripped through his body so suddenly, he needed his free hand to lean against a tree. Panting, he savored the remaining spasms and then leaned forward to place his burning forehead aga
inst the cool bark of the tree. The roughness felt good. He hypothesized that would be how her demon tongue would feel licking his body. He chuckled, realizing that he had some emotions to explore. But that would have to wait. After eight days of being in Vierennia, he and the others were moving on.

  Landyr belted his trousers and returned to the campsite as the group began to stir. The mood was lighter than it had been; everyone excited to be doing rather than waiting, to follow a plan that took a week to devise. It was nice to see smiles and hear exchanges of hope among the survivors from the throne room massacre. Even Perciless—King Perciless in Landyr’s mind, even if the king insisted otherwise—joined in the conversations. Much better than eight days ago.

  During the assault on the throne room, all hope had been lost. Swords against dragons stood little chance. Even with a werewolf and a minotaur fighting for them, victory was an impossibility. Then a portal appeared and Praeker strode through like a savior. His army of scorpions and scorpion hybrids turned the tide. They could not deliver victory, but they did provide means for escape. As did Dearborn and Bale, sacrificing themselves for the king.

  Landyr had hoped Dearborn and Bale could have escaped as well, but as soon as he had stepped through to Vierennia he could see that Silver had opened the portal, but struggled to wield the power. Face contorted in pain, his whole body quaked, tremors running through his arms and segmented legs. Sweat dripped from his robes. Screaming, he collapsed, and the opening disappeared.

  Chenessa, the void dragon, scooped Silver up in her front claws. She turned to Landyr. The wizard panted like a beaten cur on his knees, his body cramping and aching. Struggling to move think lips over a muzzle full of teeth, she managed to manipulate a growl enough to say, “Sorry. Must. Go. Help. Silver.”

  Landyr reached for her, his efforts useless. She took flight and never looked back.