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The cloaked and hooded figures around the demon lord murmur, an air of fear in the room. I can almost make out what they are saying. They meant to summon the strength of Grazrath, not Grazrath himself. But self-preservation is a powerful force and within moments the Cabal all bows, groveling before the demon lord. Keeping the knife firmly in my hand, I join them, sinking into a deep curtsey, though I keep my eyes on the demon in front of me.
“Hail, Grazrath, Lord of Pain,” intones one figure.
“Hail,” echoes the rest.
Grazrath looks over the gathered crowd, a sneer on his possessed lips. “Ah,” he says, “My Cabal. You have been faithfully serving me for many years. The pain and death you dedicated to me fed me in my captivity.”
“It heartens us to hear our service was useful,” replies the same figure that spoke before.
“Your service was nothing compared to what we will do now that I am free,” the demon replies, using Antony’s distorted mouth.
“Ah, my lord . . .” begins Sting, still deep in a servile crouch. “Is Lord Antony in there with you? Are you as one or . . ?”
“Worried about your dear leader? You should be—he has taken my place in the Nether with the death goddess Karnia and all my trapped demonic brothers and sisters. His sacrifice is . . .appreciated.”
“His sacrifice is appreciated,” murmurs the cultists around the room, repeating the demon lord. Obviously, they don’t know what to do and so are following the creature they summoned, hoping to not enrage him. It is like being locked in a room with a rabid wolf. The only thing to do is appease it and hope that it doesn’t turn on you.
The demon lord steps forward, out of the center of the room and says, “But the ritual is not complete yet, is it? I must drink the blood of an enemy and seal my place in this body. Before it falls apart.” His taloned hands come up and feel his face, as if suddenly aware that Antony’s body is being torn apart by his presence within it.
“Where is the enemy that I must drain?”
“Here, my Lord Grazrath,” says the hooded figure that is still standing next to Verrick. He takes the black chains that bind Verrick and shakes them.
“Ah, yes. The orc regent. I’ve heard of you through the prayers of my followers. They cursed you and your kind and asked that I eradicate them. I suppose I must, in order to complete the ritual. But your thoughts are not of yourself or your own doom . . . you worry about the safety of . . .”
He turns and seemingly sees me for the first time. A cruel smile twists his stolen lips.
“You,” Lord Grazrath says, pointing directly at me, “come closer.”
Sting, hurrying at my side, grabs me with an iron grip, and pushes me toward the contorted visage of my once-childhood friend. But I don’t resist. What point would there be? I’m being pulled toward the Lord of Pain and Shadow, an archdemon. I’m sure he could catch me if I ran. Besides, I still need to figure out a way to save Verrick as well as myself. From the cornerof my eye I see the orc warchief struggling against his bonds, a burning look in his eyes. Cursing me? I can’t tell. But for all intents and purposes, I must look like I’ve betrayed him. From my performance with Antony, and now my seeming worship of a demon.
I can’t think of that right now. Instead, I let Sting pull me and when I arrive at the bottom of the dais, yank away from his grip, just so that I sink into a low curtsey, tilting so that I know my cleavage is on advantageous display. I figure it can’t hurt.
“My lord Grazrath,” I say, trying to imbue my tone with the worshipfulness the demon lord probably expects.
“Stand,” he orders carelessly, his voice like nails against slate in my mind. When I obey, he lazily twirls a finger around, the tips of his stolen body’s fingers a dead black around his talons. “Spin for me.”
Warily, I turn, trying and failing to understand what is happening. When I’m done, Lord Grazrath leans back, the picture of arrogance, and looks at me with an indolent eye. “You are the woman both this body and that orc are obsessed with, are you not?”
I curtsey again. “Yes, Antony had some tender feelings for me, sire. The orc, I could not say.” I want to get his focus off of Verrick as much as I can.
The demon laughs, the sound like cruel thunder, before replying, “Whatever feelings this body had for you, tender is not how I would describe them. The orc though . . . he is desperate for your safety, even though you have betrayed him.”
He looks at me, as if gauging my worth, then says, “Very well. In recognition of the service this body has done to me, I will make you my first pleasure pet. You will kneel at my feet and wait on my whim.”
Still in my curtsey, I say, “You honor me, my Lord Grazrath.” A roil of disgust moves through me and the demon smiles, twisting Antony’s face into something not quite human.
“Your feelings do not match your words, pet,” he observes as he grins. “No matter. You’ll serve anyway.”
He walks past me, even as I am still sunk into my curtsey. Behind me I hear him sit on the throne that Antony was so lately lounging on. How things can change in just a matter of moments.
“Come here, pet. I have a few moments before I must drain the orc. I rather like that thought of him going to the Nether with the image of you servicing me burned into his mind first.”
Slowly, I rise from my curtsey and turn around. I smile, even though I know he can read at least surface thoughts and thus will know my smile is not real. I don’t think he will care, though. Males of power seldom care whether you actually enjoy servicing them. They just want the appearance of enjoyment. With a demon of pain, perhaps he even takes perverse pleasure in my disgust and helplessness.
“But of course, Lord Grazrath. I live to serve,” I say, walking carefully toward the hideous demon. His human skin is stretched too tightly over the overgrown bones of his transformation. His wings are too big, dwarfing the throne behind him, and his smile is stretched too wide, like a horrifying mask of flesh. He really looks like his body is falling apart. I can see why he needs to finish the ritual. But leave it to a sadistic monster to want to mentally torture Verrick before killing him.
I can’t think of my plan too much. I don’t know how many of my thoughts he can sense, so I move purely on instinct. Kneeling in front of him, I smile like it's carved on my face in stone. All I know is I can’t let him hurt Verrick.
