Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions

Morning came a few hours later, but it was a slow dawn, as if an omen of what was to come. Israfel turned on the bed and his hand fell across some softness of epic proportions. It was warm and very sizeable. It did wonders for his morning wood.

As the child of the Abyss he was, he relished in the miracle of feminine glory whenever it was granted him. And he didn't deny it—especially when the form belonged to the body of his [willed vassal].

If the saints of Paradise loved their flourishing rivers of life, if the wildlings of the free woods cherished their liberal ways, then so it was: if the horned ones had a culture, it certainly did with a lot of crazy shit. Hel didn't effing play when it came to its Succubi; some Underworld Lords even conducted ceremonies for the bonding of their infernal waifus.

Rafel smiled wistfully on the bed, thinking, 'what can I say, my slave is blessed.'

Meaningfully, he put his right hand under the opal silk linens and touched her hip. "Naamah." He whispered aloud. She shifted a bit, purring a very delicious sound. And if Rafel didn't know better, he'd think it was a come-on. But then everything Succubi did: every sound, every word, every glance, felt to the naive mind like a seduction.

An attraction to come hither and fulfill all fantasies. All lust. All unspeakable darkness.

Thankfully they had their claws and forked tails to rip to shreds any weirdo that tried some shit they didn't want. Contrary to popular opinion, Succubi didn't like to fuck every time. Their [feeds] were regulated breeding. The most enchanting ones bedded the Fallen. Case in point, Naamah.

Rafel discovered they were alone on the bed. The others must have left at the bells tolling, which was moments ago. But he was too hung up on the smell of jasmine from the girl in his bed to rise and dip to begin his day. A stirring breeze ruffled the high drapes of his four-poster. It wasn't the great sprawl of his bedchamber before Emberfall had burned... but it was large enough.

[Ding!]

Peitho rang in with a notification. The doting system had up neuroblockers to keep out Aya from her discussions with Rafel. Rarely did an infernal intelligence develop the feels for a host, beyond the main purpose of subservience. Peitho was... different.

[Good morrow, Dominus Tenebrarum!]

Rafel sighed at her greeting and slipped his feeling hand into the dip of Aya's upper hip. Peitho's use of the sorcerer's dialect for Lord of shadows was impressive—but his slave's warmth was more.

He offered no response. Peitho dutifully went on.

[Host has been invited to the upper levels of the college amphitheater for this evening's round of games: the AQUARIAN. This is the second to the last tournament in the spring Games where each participant of the four Arcs shall engage in a deep-dive swimming contest. Obstacles such as boiling acquifers and hungry alligators shall be faced by the named champions.

The contest for the medal of the Aquarian shall be held by the only competitor left standing on the other end of the water. Mortality is a possibility.]

"Wait, back up—" Rafel's roving hand stopped on the curve of Aya's hip. "You said I was invited? By who?"

[Ding!]

[By the Headmistress of the Corynthian Academy.]

Rafel growled low in throat. This made Aya turn and open her eyes on the bed. She softly pushed down the sheets and stared at him; her violet eyes instantly caught on his worried brows. She skipped the early morning salutation.

"What is it, Lord Master? Wrong side of the bed this morning? Do you want me to please you?" She was already pushing the sheets down further.

"No." Rafel put out his hand to stop her. It pained him, down to his literal balls, to refuse her lush lips from going down on him. But he did. He had to tell her. Rafel schooled his face. "Our headmistress has humbly invited me to seat with her at her Roman canopy in the amphitheater tonight."

He rolled over and grabbed his [magus], academy-issued touchscreen. . .and there it was. Yep! A hundred and one glinting texts from Erika Burgess, the Student President, officially outing to him what Peitho had just done. Apparently, the whole school now knew he had being called 'up there' to the table of the big dogs.

Rafel suspected otherwise. And he was not alone.

Aya bounced up to a sitting position on the white bed.

"What?! That bitch!"

Rafel dropped his touchscreen, watching the light fade before diverting his attention to his angered succubus. She was so beautiful this morning. Her hair came all around her in rich plasticine ebony, tumbling and sparkling in dawn. Her lavender iris looked more queer in the frame of her lovely face, and her ripe skin was fairer than ever. Oh, and she was wearing his fucking shirt.

Gosh darn it!

"You think she knows?" Aya folded her arms across her chest, near dropping Rafel's eyes.

"We have to act like she does." He told her. "All bets are off at this point. It may be war."

He jumped off the bed. Aya's high voice was instant.

"Wait. Are you leaving? Are you really accepting the invite?"

Rafel paused to look out the billowing curtains into the loch that funneled out near Dragongate. Then he answered and told his [Bond] of his plan.

"Yes, I am. Trust me Naamah, I wish nothing more than to lie here in bed with you; spend as much of our free periods as we can together before the evening games. But we need to act on this. And fast! I've already told my system to exact [Psychic Cell]. But I'll need you to go get the others.

Get Ravenna and Corazón, and Brunhilda and Rosa and anyone who knows about the Countess and the Headmistress's part in the plot. Form a unit of casters and conjure a [Vanquish Covenant]. Keep the coven small. And tonight at the games, seat as far from the topmost levels as you can."

He walked back to the bed and took up Aya's face. "Look at me," he met her violet eyes, "I want you to be safe. All of you. This means I gotta to go this alone. We don't know how powerful Nicara is. If she got a blood witch as her hound, she must've a real [vice].

A patron deity, maybe. You must do this, Naamah. For me. For us.

I will try to use our time this evening to Garner what I can off of her. In the meantime, keep your distance."

Aya still reached for him when he turned around.

"Wait, where are you off to now?"

"I'm going jogging." Rafel looked down at the rager he was spotting, "I have to cool off somehow. Do as I ordered. And I'll see you all this evening."

Aya shut her eyes not to cry.

Everything was changing. Every darned thing! The sound of the shutting door let her know he was gone. She gently rose off the bed and padded to fetch her things. She walked out the room like that, into the dorm halls in Rafel's shirt, trudging in the pale light of dawn for Brightburn Hall. She had to tell Cora first.

She was the strongest of them all, emotionally. [Vipera] of the fighting pits barely got the tears.

Rafel had his plan.

They'd have to make theirs.

Aya Naamah was certain of one thing though. She would never let harm come to her Dominus. She could smell war though, coming in the air. And it wasn't just the spring Games.

Rafel ran miles around the stretching meadows of the campus till it was noon. His only class for the day was a lecture with the Doctor of Poisons. He skipped it, knowing Miss Ivy would understand. No one called the Lady Ivoria Sephora Grimm by her full name. Not since the Hunt and that brief tease of her delicious nudity. In fact it had enamored Dr.

Ivy in the eye of many a pupil. Rafel thought to seek her out later.

He was of the inclination to ask her help. Dr. Ivy was a weird skyling, yes, but he did not think she was part of the Headmistress's scheme. He wanted her in his corner for when the time came.

Rafel ended his jog at the Guildhall. He moved past the mess hall—which had being switched back into training grounds after the attack on Dragongate and filed for the boys locker room. He still wished he had at least gotten in a feverish dry humping session with Aya this morning as he frowned under a shower rain.

Evening came fast. And before long, the telltale chanting of loyal fans filled the air.

Noises casted up into the Corynthian skies and the island itself seemed alive as crowds of spectators rushed into the amphitheater. Even the usual geeks, laissez faire about sports that sat the former rounds out joined the student masses into the mammoth rotunda.

If this spectacle was to be anything like the Riders Tournament, even the booknuts wanted to see.

"Dude, I heard seven of the competitors have died this round of the games, do you think we'll get to see a gator rip up someone?"

It was two boys conversing as they ran in. "I sure hope so." The second offered, grinning as he ran a loose hand over his huge glasses and gelled pink hair.

Rafel entered to the waving of electic flags. It was a motley atmosphere: stacks of young boys and girls in diverse colors of factions yelling and grilling one another on ascending colosseum levels. He took an inner stairwell, ushered by a uniformed sentry of the [Crow Corps] to the silent passage that led to the topmost pedestal of the stadium: the perch of the Headmistress.

Nicara Shetty waved him in. "Come, sit Israfel. Thank you for coming."

Rafel was grateful when he spied Corazón by her shock of lightning hair in the far southern levels, very distant from Nicara's tier. She was with the others: Percival and the girls. Should Nicara decide to drop her act and lunge at him, Rafel was glad to know they were safe. The Headmistress was in her usual Spartan apparel of purple for the Games and smiled from her elevated position.

The announcer took to the floating bridge, and as the fanfare blared, he called out the participants for the Aquarian Dance.

—because who wanted to call a swimming fight in which kids wrestled against man-eating alligators and equally terrifying opponents exactly that?

No one!

The fancy name lessened the morbidity of the true game. Since this was the singular round before the finals, every Arc of the academy was on standing on their very nipples—in a manner of speaking.

As the contestants, four, representing each [magus] faction stepped out from canopies and into the lined area under the announcer's floating [Light Bridge], a bright blue saber shone in the waning dusk, pointing to the glinting helm in a case. A silvery tiara. The trophy of the night. The eyes of every combatant and spectator alike ogled the piece.

Nicara leaned in to tell Rafel, keeping her voice down to a conspiratorial whisper. "It's said that the helm of the Aquarian hosts the real form of a water sprite and can harness the powers of the god Oceanus.

She chuckled, covering her mouth with one hand, "I don't know who came up with that rumor. Really, it's just a shiny bauble. Don't tell anyone. No one will swim with alligator for a trinket."

Rafel couldn't bring himself to laugh.

It wasn't funny.

Those people down there were kids! Even he, the bloodthirsty one, felt some type of way.

He watched ten [Water Bearers]: third-year pupils of Pegasus Arc begin to sway their arms outward and summon the water into the stadium. The sands below soaked up and water flooded the arena. It was something to watch. But Rafel wasn't really looking in as the water rose and rose, until it was sufficient enough to hide a baby whale.

The blue streams touched near the foothold of the lower levels. Hissing sounds joined the calls of the evening doves as the alligators were released from underwater cages into the water. Correctly, the water where the contestants would be swimming.

Hiss! Hiss!

Their tongues and tails struck up water as they coiled and swam around, their rugged skins and wide mouths drawing frightened and excited sounds from the crowd at the same time. A girl, a mermaid girl, jumped in her seat when one of the fat reptiles hissed and slapped the water near her. She didn't run away though.

Everyone knew merfolk and croc didn't mix, but that's how much the students were loving the Aquarian Dance.

Rafel was thinking: how was the Headmistress of this [Magus Institute] different from his aunt up in Titans Landing, the Dowager queen.

The Cold Sea might separate them, but not their evils.

[Ding!], came Peitho's notification. It was devoid and secular of emotion this time, like she knew Rafel was pissed.

[System detects Host's desire for blood. Upon further interpretation, the desire to bathe in the blood of the Headmistress.]

[Warlock Mage ability equipped!]

[BLOOD ARTS: DESTRUCTO WIZARD]

[Does Host wish to retrieve BLOODTHORN?]

[Y/N?]