Sasha Distan

oh, many of HIS years

oh... not for many years.

Kiorl would not like you to make him choose between the King and the Prince, but choose he would.

heck, getting me to like Nate was a tough sell! Took a damn long while tbh. Bless Taylor and his desires to share the delights of soft furnishings and massage oils.

Jahke is officially, The Cutest.

Thank you! I really think the new versions, and as the stories go on, the demons get to be more multi faceted than before, which makes me and them very happy. Just wait until you get the watch them having their easter festival - it's really cute.

“You are joking?” Jahke looked between the two powerful demons with a horrified expression. “Sitka, stop them.” The faun’s horned lover shook his head, wrapping both arms around Jahke’s slender form, and very wisely pulled him out of the way. “I can’t make either of them do anything, remember.” “Tobias!” Jahke protested. “They want to tear each other to bits, let them.” The chef glared at his lover and the panther facing him across the room. “But you aren’t doing it here. It’s Nonae, go to the Arena if you want to hit each other.” Nassau’s voice, unbidden, slid into the minds of each of the assembled party. Why don’t you all come? We’ll make a day of it, and there are several other bouts lined up. I swear if you bet against me… Kiorl directed his thought to his friend, but Tobias’s smirk told him the other empath had heard him anyway. “Well, let’s go.” Zinkara Rumah was an important house, a popular house, and when the entire cohort spilled from it’s door and out into the Inner Circle, other demons stopped, watched, and moved smartly out of their way. Only Shindae and Jin-Ha were missing, both on separate errands Upstairs, and Kiorl smiled politely at minor demons who bowed or genuflected as they passed. Everyone said Zinkara Rumah was the most favoured house on the hill, and Kiorl didn’t see why anyone else should be allowed to forget it. They were met at the tall doors into the Palace by Nassau’s favourite attendant, even though Kiorl knew his way intimately through the maze of passages, it was a relief not to have to watch every single one of his minor demons and their recruits quite so closely. The very last thing he wanted was to lose one of his housemates in the Palace; it would damage his reputation. The tiered seating of the Arena was fuller than Kiorl had seen it in many decades. That’ll please Sathriel, he thought to himself, He always likes it when the Palace is busy. He turned to Zai with a snarl. “I’ll see you on the sands.” “Fuck yeah, you will.” The empath shot back at him, and Kiorl left his housemates to find seats and friends, and began to lope his way around one of the upper tiers. Nassau was sat by himself, about halfway up the amphitheatre, wings draped across the step above, dressed in a pale cotton chiton and looking every inch the relaxed Prince-at-leisure with his long dark hair spilling over one shoulder. “My dear friend.”Nassau stood as they embraced, and Kiorl knew that almost all eyes in the Arena were on them. There were lots of demons present who would never appear at court, and the chance to see the Prince with his closest advisor was not to be passed over. “And what is it you and Zai are arguing about today?” “He and Tobias have gotta learn to mind their own fucking business, that’s what.” Kiorl grumbled. “And you should be better at keeping them out. You have plenty of time to practice.” Kiorl’s tail whipped behind him with a snap, his ears flicking back over his hair. It was growing back in nicely, though it had reached the annoying stage of too long to stay where it was put, and too short to tie up. His frustration with his hair getting in his face had been what started this particular vocal and physical bout of argument with Zai to begin with. “It’s my house,” Kiorl griped. “If I have to fight him for it then-” You are not fighting for the house! Nassau’s silent voice was like the slap of a branding iron. “Yes Nas. Sorry.” The panther exhaled deeply, letting himself sink back against the stone steps, grabbing an extra seat cushion for his shoulders. “So who’s up next. You said there were other bouts?” “Kage chose Phrize as his candidate for this year’s Games Champion. Baccha is training him up.” Kiorl leant forward, elbows on his knees. He knew the fire elemental well, his frozen-blooded brother was a favourite companion of Shindae’s, and everyone was aware of Baccha’s status as undefeated in the Arena. “Training bout… you going to let them really go at it?” Nassau nodded, the storm clouds in his eyes swirling. “Oh goody.” The big black minotaur stood in the centre of the sands, arms spread, as his fur was pasted to his skin with stripes of thick white paint, applied by another minor demon. Kiorl sought through his memory for the major demon of their house, and came up with a six-armed, spiny creature called Ghianda, someone he often came across in the court of the King. He found the other demon in the stands, and made the common symbol to place a bet. Ghianda nodded happily, confident in the abilities of his friend, and smiled with all three rows of teeth on show as the minotaur hefted his enormous battle axe onto his shoulder. Phrize needed no such ceremony, but took up a thin curved sabre and a whip-like chain flail which instantly sizzled into flame at his touch, and turned to face his opponent across the sands. The fire along his back crackled, sparking blue with intensity. Two Palace servants came in, bearing a stone dish and bone handled brush, and blessed both demons with the blood of a landesser, slaughtered especially for the occasion. The sand was marked all around the ring with the blood, more smeared in complex patterns over the arches of each entrance, and the air shimmered as the spell sealed itself. Both figures within the Arena sands shivered visibly, but it was Phrize who tightened his grip on his weapons and readied his stance. Kiorl smirked, pleased with his wager. Every injury would count, everything would hurt… it would be a fair fight, right up until the moment the blood was washed from the walls and disturbed in the sands. If the God Ender of Worlds chose Phrize as his champion, he would want the elemental in perfect fighting form, regardless of how excruciating his training had been. Phrize was fast, agile, light on his feet and skilful with his dual wielded weapons. But Baccha was undisputed champion, and he could absorb blows like a mountain resisting the wind. When the whip lashed his arm for the second time the big minotaur grabbed it, not caring for the fire, and began to wrap it around his arm, hauling the physically smaller elemental into range of his axe. You’re gonna lose that bet. Nassau smirked silently. Not fucking yet, Kiorl replied. The stands were thick with cheering and shouts, but on the sands, all was quiet… right up until the moment Baccha roared in pain. Phrize shimmered, all but invisible, his flames replaced by a heat haze as he used all his powers to super-heat the whip far beyond the point where the minotaur could stand it. He dropped the handle and fled back into his own shape – significantly dimmed – as Baccha sunk to his knees. Whip removed, many in the stands including Ghianda gasped audibly at the blackened mess of their champion’s arm, burnt through to the bone. The minotaur bellowed, the sound reverberating around the Arena, making Kiorl’s teeth vibrate uncomfortably. The charge was quick, too quick, and the one handed swing of the axe was both broad and precise. There was no way it could have been avoided. Even with one arm in tatters, Baccha was physically incredibly strong, and the axe chopped straight through Phrize’s torso and sunk several inches deep into the wall. Baccha stepped back, panting, clearly pleased, and froze as the razor edge of the elemental’s sabre pressed up right enough under his chin to draw a thin line of bright red blood. Gasps and cheers abounded in equal volume and Kiorl grinned across the stands at Ghianda. “Pay up!” “I’ve not seen anyone use that skill in a long time,” Nassau’s tone was entirely complimentary, and Kiorl wondered if, once returned to full strength, Phrize might be making a private appearance in Nassau’s court. “Form compression like that wouldn’t have worked if he hadn’t already spent so much of his fire...” Oh yeah, flame-boy is definitely going to be getting lucky. Kiorl stood and smiled at his friend. “Shall we?” The attendants were wiping away the blood blessing, and as they did the elemental champion glowed strongly as his flames were replenished. Baccha’s arm healed from the inside out, a process which created a stench of burnt hair and seared meat across the Arena. Various spectators used skills of their own to clear the air. “Hey Kiorl!” The panther glanced up at Jahke’s voice, the pale little faun sitting across his mate’s lap, looking smug. “I told you books were useful!” Kiorl flicked an ear. “Whatever do you mean, Jahke dear?” Nassau coated his voice in silk as he addressed the recruit. Jahke in turn blushed attractively. “Sire...” He dipped his head observantly: no one was required to show full obeisance in so informal a setting. “I found a book of elemental instruction on a trip to Stores. It’s very old. Last time Phrize was over I loaned it to him.” “You taught him how to compress his shape and heat flow across the Arena?” Kiorl was impressed. “Well, he taught himself. But I did find the tools for him.” Jahke beamed, wiggling his hips. “See, I told you books were useful.” “Very well done. Bravo Jahke.” Nassau gave him a smile and then shot Kiorl a sidelong glance. I think we should find a job for Everybody’s Favourite Faun, don’t you? Kiorl smirked, then scowled as Zai descended the tier toward them. “Let’s be getting on with it, shall we?” The mere fact that Nassau walked onto the sands with them was enough to focus the attention of every soul in the room. When both began to shed clothes and bits of armour, Kiorl was sure he felt the tension in the Arena rise like an expectant wave. Nassau spoke. “Master Kiorl and the enforcer Zai of Zinkara Rumah wish to settle a private dispute.” There were jeers, someone let out a shrill wolf whistle, and an idiot sitting close to the group of Kiorl and Zai’s housemates looked at Tobias and made an explicit and rude gesture. Inai backhanded him across the face without hesitation. No decent friend of the house would think it was Tobias they were fighting over: the boy had made his preference for seclusion, privacy, and monogamy very plain. Kiorl didn’t understand him, but he respected the kid enough not to want to break his rules. The food was worth it. “No weapons, no powers, no magic,” that last was directed at Kiorl, “and no abilities.” Silently, the Prince glared levelly at the pair of them. No powerplays, and no bragging rights. After this is done, I don’t want to hear of it again. Zai bowed, Kiorl inclined his head. “A fair fight, for the settlement of an argument.” And with that, he left the sands. There was no blessing, but everyone, Kiorl included, turned to watch Nassau as he sketched glyphs of power in the air. Kiorl closed his eyes and opened them twice in the way he’d been taught by Sathriel – so long ago it was like a dream of a dream – to see the patterns which made up the world. Nassau’s magic bent and changed them, creating a cage the size of the arena sands in layers of transparent and translucent wefts of power. It was the kind of magic which was useless in a fight, it was too complicated and took too long, but deeper and more skilled than anything Kiorl could do, and he was one of best magicians in Hell. With the final symbol in position, the pattern was complete, the visions Kiorl was watching vanished, and all his powers, along with the last dropped item of his clothing, disappeared. It was strange and oddly chilling to stand there facing Zai, and have nothing to call upon. All his abilities, some gifted at his creation, some gained in battle, were gone. There was no cloak of seduction to throw out, no shadow to vanish within, no magic to wield, nothing. Kiorl wondered what it was like for Zai, who as an empath was so connected to everything, to be suddenly stripped of all those links. It’s probably rather freeing, he mused, and focused bright blue eyes on his opponent. Naked, the differences between them were only heightened. Zai might have worn fur, and his long tail was beautifully tufted at the tip with steel grey which matched his short hair, but he was not feline like Kiorl was. The panther flexed his paws in the sand, each claw gouging noticeable streaks as he did so, joints bending in readiness for the strike. He laid back his ears, and sneered. “Don’t worry Jahke, I won’t let them kill each other,” Nassau’s voice carried – it was deliberate – as he spoke to the faun. “First to yield, or fall unconscious, loses.” He sensed Zai’s move before he saw it, fine feline insight doing its job, and dodged the pounce and blow. But not far enough. Zai’s claws raked his calf, and blood splattered onto the sands amid the deafening shouts of the spectators. Kiorl snarled, rounded, swept the minor demon off his feet, and then they were grappling, arms locked around each other, claws scratching and scraping, small injuries ignored, fighting for purchase and position. The roof and the sands flipped several times, Zai snatched back a growl as Kiorl whipped him across the eyes with his tail, then used his hind paws to push Zai in the chest, scoring him deeply, rolling up and away. Kiorl grinned. Zai stood, turned, and even with blood dripping down his abdomen, smirked, gesturing with two fingers with an unmistakeable ‘come hither’. Kiorl laid back both ears and hissed at him, all fangs on show. Kiorl was not expecting the punch, because they both had claws and Kiorl always used his, but Zai was strong – he was an enforcer who trained daily after all – and knuckles to the jaw were no laughing matter. Kiorl grabbed Zai’s shoulder, puncturing the muscle, but Zai was fast. The following punches landed – temple, jaw, up under his muzzle, sternum, jaw again – faster than Kiorl’s heartbeats, and the panther realised he’d underestimated Zai’s capacity and desire to cause pain. Just because he has Tobias now… I thought that made him soft. Kiorl was proud he didn’t scream as Zai rent his shoulder open. He twisted away, defensive, and the pain followed round his ribs as Zai moved with him across the sands, fingers in his flesh. It was the bite – unexpected and excruciating – on his upper thigh that made him scream. He lashed out with his tail again, flinging sand in Zai’s face, and scrambled away from the ash-furred demon. Zai grinned at him, lips bloody, obviously proud. Kiorl took a step, and winced as his bitten leg took his weight. He hadn’t bothered to catalogue his other injuries, and there were obviously others. Zai took the opening without mercy. They wrestled, but Kiorl spent more time on his back than Zai did, wasted energy blocking punches which turned into claws, yowled as the other demon bit three neat holes right through his ear. Kiorl spat blood, felt one of his ribs break, and realised he was going to lose. Lose? Lose to Zai? On the sands of the Arena in front of everyone? How long do you think you’ll keep the favour of the King as a loser? Zai smiled at him, expression evil even as he cracked another rib with his hand, clearly enjoying himself. Kiorl’s world narrowed along with his slit pupils. Not for nothing was he the only demon besides Nassau left alive who had trained alongside the Princes. He had grown up sparring with Nadavun and Nathaneal, trained by Sathriel personally. Kiorl might not have had his abilities or his magic, but he was better trained in combat than any other occupant of the Inner Circle. White hot feral rage snapped through him, wound around a core of discipline which he’d honed for millennia. It took two heartbeats, and then Zai was on his back in the sands, the muscles of his abdomen sliced through, half gutted. Kiorl’s hand was around his throat, squeezing hard as Zai’s tail thrashed, then twitched. “Stop!” It was Tobias’s voice, half a strangled shout, full of distress. “Stop it!” Kiorl snarled. Nassau’s rules were very plain, and it wasn’t the chef Kiorl wanted to hear from. Zai stilled underneath him, sun-yellow eyes dimming. “Y-yield,” he gasped, barely the suggestion of a word. Kiorl growled, fingers flexing. Zai coughed. “Yield!” The panther let go and stood in one motion, though it was not smooth. He blinked, folding his ears back against the cacophony of cheers and shouting, and belatedly realised his vision was blurry on his left side, and there wasn’t a bit of him which didn’t ache or screech in pain. He moved back from Zai’s prone form, clearly limping. He’d won, but he knew it was Zai’s reputation which had risen, because he had nearly beaten a major demon of both royal courts, and that made him better than any other enforcer for several centuries. There was a flood of sensation as Nassau ripped the central glyph from his spell, and Tobias was sprinting across the sands to his mate. The look he speared Kiorl with was intensely hateful, but faltered when Nassau spoke to them softly. It is done. They have argued and it is settled. There is no more reason for you to hate Kiorl now than you did this morning. Everything went quiet as Nassau entered the sands of the Arena, the attention of entire colosseum trained upon the resplendent winged figure. Nassau smiled, and Kiorl gave him a lop sided grin in return. You’re a mess. You should see the other guy. I have. Oh Kiorl… He asked for it. Kiorl thought, and hoped it was mostly private, because Nassau had never enjoyed gloating in anyone. The Prince turned to Zai, took a breath, and sent his magic to the demon with the push of one palm. It was the kind of thrust of power none of them could hope to achieve in several lifetimes. Nassau’s magic was trained to his desires, as all magic was, but the Prince had woven every strand of that power himself, laid the foundations over decades when tiny eeks of magic was all he had to work with, and so the effect of his impact was not only stronger but perfectly formed. Zai glowed, his whole body suddenly like his eyes, and as the assembly stared, he was released by the Prince’s magic, whole, healed, refreshed, and standing on the sands as though the entire fight hadn’t yet taken place. He turned and kissed his mate hungrily, obviously roused. Kiorl rolled his eyes. You two are fucking ridiculous. You don’t want me in your head Kiorl, then stop inviting us in. Piss off. Kiorl replied without feeling, he turned to Nassau. “And what about me?” Nassau smirked, eyes full of mirth. “I’m sure Zai will take care of you.” If you ask nicely. Kiorl growled at his friend and sovereign’s retreating back. He gathered his power around him, and whilst a thick pad of magic could temporarily staunch the worst of his bleeding, it did nothing for the pain. Pride and stubbornness allowed him to limp from the Arena without challenge. “Kiorl.” I’mma fucking kill him this time. “Kiorl!” “Go away Zai” Kiorl could feel his injuries worsening. He just wanted to go lie down in his rooms and not think about anything for a while. “Go back to Tobias.” He staggered, one hand reaching out to the intricately mosaicked wall. “Seven Hells, Kiorl!” Zai caught him under the arm, supporting his weight. “Your stubbornness is going to kill you one day.” Kiorl snarled at him, fangs bared, but the hand which should have shoved the other demon away missed, and Kiorl realised belatedly his vision in his left eye had gone from blurred to practically non-existent. Zai let out an aggravated sigh. “Fuck’s sake Ki! You won! Everyone just saw you beat me to a fucking pulp before you barely spared me my life. You’re the boss, but I'm not letting you kill yourself over it.” Zai wrapped a strong arm around his waist and pulled him away from the wall, keeping him anchored with his tail bound around Kiorl’s other shoulder. “Now, which way is it to your room? I fucking hate this stupid maze of a Palace….” Kiorl supposed he should have at least been grateful that Zai was good at following directions, because by the time they reached his suite, he was dripping blood steadily onto the floor, smearing the pattern with his tail as they went. The door opened under his touch, and Kiorl groaned as Zai laid him down upon the padded and many-cushioned seating platform. The dense geometric patterned cloth above him weaved in and out of focus. “Fuck me… Gods Ki, why on earth do you ever sleep at the house when you have this much space here?” Zai sounded impressed, and Kiorl wondered if the other demon would care that he was the first person other than Nassau to enter Kiorl’s room since Kiaza had left. Then he remembered that Zai was in full possession of his empathic powers, and would now know that anyway. “Kiorl? What’s wrong?” Kiorl growled, then grunted in pain as he tried to stretch torn muscles. Zai frowned. “Hold still. Let me sort you out.” The panther had watched Zai use his power plenty of times, but he’d never had occasion to experience the shiveringly strange sensation of Zai’s healing tongue lapping at his flesh, joining muscle and skin with each pass, his fur regrowing and smoothing at an unnaturally fast pace. It was an exceedingly good gift, and Kiorl wondered which of Zai’s original siblings it had belonged to. The ash-furred demon knelt beside him bent double to lap at the long scores he’d opened across Kiorl’s ribs, and the panther turned himself at Zai’s silent instruction as he continued to work across his back. “You can talk to me Kiorl, if you want to.” Kiorl snorted. “So you can give away all my secrets instead? How wonderful.” Zai paused, fingers tightening uncomfortably on Kiorl’s damaged thigh. “Nassau knows all our secrets anyway. And you know Tobias would never tell anyone anything he learnt. Fuck, he’s the only one of us who even gives a crap about any kind of privacy.” Zai finished healing the long lash in his side and began to attend the deep bite in Kiorl’s thigh with the soft drag of his tongue. “C’mon Ki, you can’t just spend the next century haughty and pissed off and not talking to anyone.” Kiorl sighed, all his breath leaving him in a juddering sough, and he found his good arm, moving to stroke Zai’s short steel hair. Zai squeezed his thigh gently in response, and continued with his ministrations. “Everyone was very impressed with you today. The best enforcer in the Inner Circle… you’d best not get picked by one of the Gods as a champion though. Tobias would be miserable.” Zai arched an eyebrow at him in surprise. “Oh fuck you Zai, of course I care. He’s the best chef there is.” Kiorl exhaled again, then knuckled his friend’s scalp softly. Zai paused to look at him. “I never thought it would work between you. I’m glad I was wrong.” “Thank you.” “That doesn’t mean I want to find either of you in my head again though.” “We’ll do our best, but you are rather loud.” Zai moved, stretched, then lay along side him, and Kiorl frowned as he scooted in close, a hand on the back of Kiorl’s head, tilting his face downward. Kiorl stiffened. “Kiorl… your ear.” “Oh.” The panther relaxed, and huffed as his nose was pressed into the centre of Zai’s firm chest. “I still don’t know why you bother though Zai. Keeping him happy seems to take such a lot of effort.” “He’s worth it.” Zai replied between licks. “Anyway, I like to spend my time thinking of him, finding things to please him.” That was enough to make Kiorl jerk upward, leaning on one elbow. Zai followed the motion, kissed his cheek, and began to set about fixing the swelling of cheek and brow which had caused his eye to shut. “Dear gods, why?” “Because I love him.” “You sound like an idiot.” Kiorl told him, but the other demon merely shrugged. Zai leant back with a purr, surveying Kiorl with a critical gaze, and the panther knew that whilst his most obvious injuries were mended, his friend intended to fix all the damage he’d done. He held out an arm, and Zai threaded their fingers together, bending to his task. Kiorl watched him, all soft and supple, the same way he was with Tobias, especially when they thought no one was around to see them, and realised that Zai genuinely didn’t care if Kiorl thought he sounded stupid for loving Tobias. It did not matter to him, not one bit. The knowledge irked him. Caring what people think of you is all you have, his inner voice told him with a snarl. What are you without your reputation? I am the left hand of the Prince and the right hand of the King, he assured himself firmly. A position you gained with what skills exactly? Being really fucking good in bed. Kiorl didn’t realise he’d snarled aloud until Zai froze, lips and tongue at his wrist. “Sorry. It’s not you.” “I can tell that much.” Zai’s yellow eyes dimmed as he frowned gently. “What bothers you, my great friend?” “Nothing,” Kiorl rumbled, knowing the empath would be fully aware he was lying. Zai finished, sat up fully and leant in to kiss him properly. Kiorl purred against him happily enough: Zai was a good kisser, strong and sure of himself, and careful with his fangs. Despite that, as they parted he was still frowning. “Kiorl, may I make a suggestion?” “Go on.” “Maybe try loving somebody more than once Ki. You might surprise yourself.” * There was a room in Zinkara Rumah where no one went. The door was not locked, it never had been, but the room had been unoccupied for more than a century. How much more, Kiorl couldn’t say, because he never bothered counting the years, not from that long ago. The first bedroom at the top of the grand staircase was different from the others, and not only because it had no marks upon the door. The name plate Nassau had gifted Tobias and Zai had started a trend which Jahke had improved upon – though why the bathroom needed a label, Kiorl couldn’t understand in the slightest – and even his own door had a letter carved into it which indicated his ownership. The first and empty bedroom also contained an enormous fireplace, and it was on the stone ledge there that Kiorl sat, wondering what had become of the tufted woven rug which had once rested there. We had fucking terrific sex on that rug. The bed was like his own, a broad stone dish, brimming with layers of furs, myriad in their hues and patterns, but though the furs looked clean and new, the bed had been empty for as long as the room had been, and no fire had burnt in the swept out grate since it’s previous occupant had vanished. Kiorl let out a deep sigh, and touched his fingers to the floor of the fireplace, expecting but not encountering, a layer of soft ash under his hand. “Where did you go, old friend?” he asked into the silence. Kiorl hadn’t dared step into the room, let alone linger, in many years. The only reason he was allowing himself the indulgence now was because Nassau had gone to the Garden and Kiorl could allow himself the very rare luxury of keeping a secret from his oldest friend. When they had first moved to this house, the fire in this room had never burnt out- ‘We can’t have sex in the actual fire Kiaza...’ The boy tugged again on his hand, all smiles and shimmering scales. ‘Why not?’ ‘Oh Treasure… not all of us are fireproof.’ Cold magic, so unlike his own, travelled silkily up his arm, even as Kiorl drew the boy into his embrace. ‘I got enough skills to keep you safe. Don’t you trust me?’ ‘After last time? I’m not sure he should.’ They both turned to the doorway with broad smiles. ‘Nas!’ But now… Kiorl would have been surprised if Sitka even remembered what Kiaza looked like, and Inai had never even met him. Kiorl wrapped his tail around his knees and gazed at the blank expanse of hearthstone without really seeing it. Unlike his wounds – which were perfectly healed and, apart from the bruising under his jaw Zai could not fix, appeared as though they had never even been – Zai’s observations of his general mood stung. Kiorl was the highest ranking major demon in the Inner Circle, he wanted for neither friends nor lovers, he could have anyone he wanted, for just about anything…. But who the fuck is there to talk to… it’s not like Sathriel ever gives a shit about the things in my life. Not unless they pertain to his son, his inner voice reminded, unhelpfully. Would it kill the two of them to talk to each other? Kiorl stood, flicked his gaze from the fireplace to the bed and back again with a sigh. Come home Kiaza. He knew he would never say the words out loud. Come home, I miss you.

His Majesty's desires change on a whim, and prayers don't get as far as the Inner Circle.

Kiorl shouldered the door open without bothering to knock, and rolled his eyes at the sight which greeted him. Zai was naked and blissfully comatose, arms and tuft-tipped tail wrapped around an equally nude Tobias, his skin showing the pale pink marks of recently healed wounds. For a moment, Kiorl wondered if the punishment of being caught looking at Tobias naked would be worth it, then he scooped up a handful of cloth he assumed was one of Zai’s tabards, and threw it at him. Zai was on his feet, over the bed, claws ready to slash at the perceived threat before he was even fully awake. Too many years of living feral Upstairs had left their mark on him, even though most other demons thought Zai remarkably powerful for a minor. More than once Kiorl had heard people question why he was not a member of Nassau’s court. “Kiorl!” “Why aren’t you up?” “It’s my day off,” the grey-furred demon replied, glancing longingly back at the bed. Tobias had rolled over, and Kiorl smirked at the newly presented view. “Knock it off Ki. He won’t feed you if he catches you thinking like that.” “Fucking empaths...” Kiorl muttered. “Gods dammit, why didn’t Nassau wake you too?” “Again… it’s my day off.” Zai had dropped his fighting stance, stretched, and took a step back towards the bed. “Excuse me Ki- hey!” “Special mission Zai.” Kiorl pushed the other demon forcefully towards his wardrobe. “I’m going to need you.” “What? Why?” “Because lying to an empath is a fucking stupid idea. Wear armour.” Ten minutes later Kiorl left Zinkara Rumah with Zai still grumbling about being hauled out of bed. The enforcer had at least taken the instruction to dress seriously, and the pair of them were rather conspicuous in combinations of hardened leather and forged steel armour. Zai had a pair of shiny vambraces with silver inlaid scrollwork Kiorl found himself being rather jealous of, and the other demon frowned as he saw that Kiorl, as well as his belt knife, was also sporting a black bladed scimitar with a notched hilt. “I’ve not seen you geared up in a while, Kiorl. Where are we going?” “Something came up in the Reaping Fields which his Highness doesn’t trust to just anyone on the enforcing team. Which is why we’re going.” Zai visibly shivered, hand going to the pommel of his rapier. “Rebellion?” Kiorl was grateful Zai knew how to keep his voice low, nodded tightly, and approached the Portal. The Sphinx on duty nodded gracefully and moved aside with the soft grating of sandstone to allow Kiorl to access the dial. The panther span the concentric rings, only needing the three innermost ones, and touched several symbols in crystal and bronze which glowed under his fingers. “Keep your portal stone close,” Kiorl muttered, and stepped through the portal as it opened. It was not a long journey to the Reaping Fields. The outer rings were only on the other side of the fire mountains, but they were as inaccessible from the Inner Circle as any other world in the ‘verse. They stretched in an encirclement of misery and torment for more miles than Kiorl had ever seen with his own eyes, because once you’d watched one acre of wretched demons raising and harvesting wraiths, you’d seen them all. No one who didn’t have to ever went out there, and Kiorl knew it was the least favourite part of Zai’s job. He felt, momentarily, guilty for forcing the empath out into the realm of silently screaming souls, but there was no-one else he trusted to work with him on so sensitive a task. They arrived on an unpopulated platform high above the Reaping fields, and Zai moved quickly to stand within Kiorl’s reach as the panther grasped his portal stone. Normally, neither of them would bother going closer, but this was already far from a normal day. Kiorl wrapped a dark hand around the back of Zai’s neck, and reminded himself not to read too much into the tightness with which the other demon held his waist as the portal stone glowed fiercely. As long as he minds his damn claws, I’ll forgive him for being needy. The overseer of the Field was waiting for them when they appeared, and Zai instantly straightened up, and Kiorl remembered again why he had chosen is housemate to accompany him. He’s a fucking imposing bastard when he wants to be. They’re all terrified of him. They’re scared of you too. Everyone is scared of me. Kiorl grinned deliberately, showing all his fangs to the overseer. Doesn’t count. “My lords,” he bowed deeply, his wings folded stiffly against his spine, “your appearance brings me great relief. These are the demons who were caught plotting to break from their torment.” “Tell me.” Kiorl barked as the felt the presence of his Prince slide in alongside his own. “They have begun to build a-a-a construct. Hoping to breach the fire mountains. I am sorry y’sire, I should have found them sooner.” “And these are the ringleaders?” Kiorl gestured to the pair of demons who were bound in bone, both with bloodied faces, staked firmly into the red earth at the edge of the field. One was vaguely similar in shape to the overseer, the other had a rainbow carapace and barbed forelimbs. Kiorl didn’t recognise them, but their very presence as workers in the Reaping Fields told him enough. They had committed a crime severe enough to banish them forever, whether against the King or the Prince made no matter. “Yes y’sire.” Kiorl went to stand in front of the beetling creature and snarled. “Get up.” The demon struggled to it’s feet, back and neck bowed by the short length of spinal bones which kept it tethered. Dark eyes looked up at Kiorl with a hard expression. “I take no notice of the judgements of the false prince.” It barely got the last word out before Zai stepped forward and kicked it sharply in the head with one heavy soled boot. Upon trying to rise a second time, Zai stepped on it’s neck, sword hissing from its sheath. “Fucking try it,” he snarled. Kiorl turned his attention to the other demon. “And are you as stupid as your friend?” “You do not know the abomination you serve-!” Zai’s fists were just as fast as his feet, and Kiorl rolled his eyes, wondering if a simple ‘yes’ in answer to his question wouldn’t have been easier. He glanced at the overseer, who hung back nervously. “You did well to catch them and bring this to our attention.” Nas, verdict please. “Their associates?” “We left them chained at the site where we found the construct y’sire.” Kill and harvest the demons, destroy the construct. Nassau’s silent voice vibrated with barely contained rage. Break the bodies of the ringleaders and feed them to the Ankhara; let there be no trace of their souls left. He paused, as if considering something. If they have any useful talents, you may eat them first. “Take us there.” They left the two demons, still chained, and both now bleeding slightly more than they had been previously, and walked with the winged overseer to the chasm between two fields where the construct was. Zai had not bothered to replace his sword in its sheath, and having been told of Nassau’s order, set about dispatching the chained demons with quick efficiency. Kiorl knew his friend was a deeply twisted individual, even for a demon, but there was little pleasure to be found in killing a number of such lower creatures, and ones who’s minds had been so easily swayed at that. Zai wiped the mixed colours of blood from his sword with a small cloth, and followed Kiorl closer to the machine. It was not finished, that much was clear, but the sheer scale of it was worrying: a vast number of pieces and bones, all forged, blended, or twisted made up it’s creation. Kiorl had no way of knowing if it would have worked, because nekros didn’t appear in the same way as thaumaturgic energy, and it was not the sort of magic he had ever worked with. The idea of the thing crashing through the fire mountains was monstrous. But it wouldn’t have sparked a rebellion. Everyone in the Inner Circle is too loyal for that. Are you sure? Yes. We were very thorough in cleaning out Nathaneal’s supporters. Anyway, Father wouldn’t allow it, Nassau interjected. I’m his only remaining heir after all. Indeed. Burn it. Zai stepped back, and Kiorl knew the empath had heard their Prince’s instruction too. Kiorl held out a hand toward the construct, shaped a sigil in the air, and threw the fistful of blue fire at the machine. The front section burst into flame too bright to look at directly, and Kiorl repeated the performance at two other major junctures. Zai hovered at his shoulder as they watched the dread thing disintegrate. They returned with the overseer, who was visibly less nervous now, to the place where the two other demons were staked. Kiorl glared down at them. The construct had been quite advanced, in both construction and magical prowess, and neither looked the type to posses such skills. “Are there any others who flocked to your cause?” “No.” Zai’s snarl was hot and sharp, and Kiorl knew his friend well enough to be assured that the winged demon had lied. Idiots. They don’t know he’s an empath Kiorl, the Prince reminded him. We kept it that way deliberately. Doesn’t make them any smarter. “You got a fix on who?” He asked Zai offhandedly. “Oh yes.” Once again Kiorl was reminded why Zai was an enforcer, for all his empathic talents, because he watched the other demon stalk away into the Reaping Field, uncaring for the wails around him, moving as though bits of bone were not growing from the ground and forming slowly into wraiths which, still incomplete, tried to reach for him as he passed. Zai’s tufted tail never stilled, and the rapier in his hand gleamed with murderous intent. Nassau had given Zai everything he could have wished for in making Tobias immortal, and there was no one more loyal. It took Zai ten minutes to find his target, and only two to return with the bone covered, bird-limbed creature, one wing held at a clearly broken angle. He threw the necromancer at Kiorl’s feet. “What does his Lordship want done with them?” Zai snarled, his desire for blood clearly not abated in the least. “To the Ankhara.” Zai gestured to the figure with the shiny carapace. “You’ll want to tear out his throat and eat it first.” “Oh?” Kiorl arched a dark eyebrow at his friend. Zai’s grin was obscene. “He has no gag reflex.” Escorting multiple chained prisoners through The Way was not the simplest of tasks, and Kiorl linked his tail with Zai’s as each of them held an end of the bone restraints, completing the circle. The weakest of the three traitors, bleeding freely from his ruined neck, was in the centre – the least able to pull them from the path they had to take – and they made it to the circle of the Ankhara without incident. The noise was an assault the moment they stepped from the portal. Fuck, I hate it here. Think how he feels. Kiorl glanced over at his friend. Zai was very good at pretending not to show pain, but he was still pretending. “Let’s make this quick.” They dragged the three demons to the edge of the chasm, and it was there, so close to their impending demise, that the two who could still talk began to denounce their beliefs, back track on all they had said, and beg for mercy and forgiveness. Kiorl snarled, the sound lost in the cacophonous mass of growling which rose like a howl from the chasm. “The Prince is not known for his mercy.” He drew his scimitar as he spoke, approaching the demon who had nearly escaped Nassau’s verdict. “You will be fed to the Ankhara. Your souls will be shredded and consumed. No trace of you shall remain. You will not join the horde at the campfires now or through eternity.” “You are not an enforcer,” the demon spat, “you’ve no right to pass judgement.” “I am the right hand of the King!” Kiorl thundered, rage flashing through him as he raised his arm. The scimitar was sharp, magically so, and the cleaved open body of the demon toppled backwards into the chasm. Kiorl watched the carcass be instantly subsumed by the roiling mass of biting jaws, each snapping and holding into another, so that the impression of the Ankhara was an ever moving sea of eyes, teeth, tongues, and lips pulled back in never-ending rage and destruction. It filled the chasm, still churning out of sight on both horizons, and Kiorl knew from the time Nadavun had insisted they all walk around it, joined onto itself, circling the entirety of Hell. Neither of the remaining demons bothered to beg, argue, or plead, and Kiorl despatched them quickly, cleaned his blade on the earth of the chasm’s edge, and retreated quickly to where Zai stood, vibrating with his desire to be gone from the place. “Zai, I swear if you take all your tension out on Tobias before he gets a chance to finish cooking dinner...” “You’re getting as bad as Sitka,” Zai managed, his acid yellow eyes wide and touched with a fear Kiorl understood well. “Let’s just go. Please.” “Don’t compare me to the kid.” Kiorl huffed, but he took his portal stone and looped an arm over Zai’s shoulder as his friend came close and wrapped his tuft ended tail about his waist. “Come. Time’s a wasting.” * The little serpent sat, coiled happily, on a slab of black volcanic stone, scales glistening in the light of the campfires. It hissed at Kiorl as they approached, lifting it’s slender head, tasting the air with a vibrantly green forked tongue. “Yes?” There was another hiss, and then the voice of the King of Hell issued from the snake’s open mouth as it regarded them, unblinking. “Fetch my favourite. Tell him to come to my chambers.” A pause, and Sathriel sighed, sounding uniquely bored. “Don’t wear anything too precious.” The snake hissed again to signal the end of the message, and Kiorl rolled his eyes as he saw Zai’s grin spread. “My, my… summons from the Palace so late in the day?” “I see you’re feeling better.” Kiorl observed. “I’ll tell Tobias to keep a plate for you. Have fun, Kiorl.” Its message delivered, the serpent slithered away into a crevice between boulders, and Kiorl watched Zai depart toward the house. Zinkara Rumah sat on the hill, commanding the view, a welcoming sight Kiorl wished he was heading for. He wanted a bath, a hot dinner, and ten hours sleep, preferably in that order. But who cares what I want. Not the King for sure. Don’t knock it, he told himself sternly, a dozen others wish for his favour, and you have it. True. And you have a brand new skill to try out… He was met at the red door of the Palace by one of the myriad attendants. Apart from Nassau’s particular favourite vodyanoi, Kiorl never bothered to tell them apart, let alone ask their names. “Master Kiorl, His Majesty is expecting you in-” “Yes, I know. I must change first.” “He bids that you do not dally.” Kiorl snarled at the attendant – a collection of brittle tentacles and an intricately patterned spiral shell – and pressed his ears flat back over his skull. “I do not require you tell me that Majesty is impatient. That is my concern, not yours. Be gone from my sight!” “Yes master Kiorl.” Kiorl stalked away, angry that so small a comment had brought his temper into such sharp relief. The fur on the back of his neck stood up, and Palace servants scattered from his approach as he made his way through the myriad twists and turns of the Palace to his own rooms. Every member of court had their own sleeping quarters within the Palace, and Kiorl’s were directly beneath Nassau’s apartments. Having been denied the opportunity to go home, Kiorl would have much rather headed for the quiet reprieve of Nassau’s study to drink and allow the Prince of beat him roundly at Fourchess. Instead he found himself having a perfunctory wash in the little alcove where there sat a tall pitcher of water, softsoap, and sluice in the floor for the water to drain into. He scrubbed at the blood and dust in his fur, the crackling intense heat left from standing so close to the chasm of the Ankhara, and shook himself dry. In his wardrobe, he stood before the mirror, and wondered which garment he didn’t mind the King tearing into un-salvageable shreds. His reflection frowned at him. Oh, fuck it. Kiorl took up the knife from his belt sheath, wrapped the length of his now-fallen mohawk in one hand, and began to shear the lot off. He was left with the trace ends of the bright blue streak, and an all over length about an inch long. It wouldn’t matter, it would grow back. He found a plain red cotton chiton which fell to mid-thigh and pulled it on. It would do. The chamber of His Majesty, Sathriel Ven Plamenoche, King and Lord of Hell, was as distant from Nassau’s as was possible, and Kiorl made his way down the tightly wound spiral staircase before crossing the Cavern where Sathriel preferred to hold court on the hot sand. Another, smaller door – one which would never fit the King in one of his larger, feral shapes – admitted him into a passage lit with greasy torches, their thick black smoke obscuring everything just above the tips of Kiorl’s ears. Kiorl slunk through and pressed his palm to the stone door at the far end, which swung heavily inward. If anything, Sathriel was even more secretive about who entered his chamber than his son was – not an easy feat – and Kiorl spent a moment being happy he hadn’t been called to the throne instead. Sathriel reclined on the bed wearing his most classical form, and the one Kiorl enjoyed the most. The Devil was blood red, broad shouldered, deeply muscled, and his smile at seeing Kiorl was undeniably pleased and possessive. Kiorl stepped forward as the door closed behind him, raking his King with his eyes as Sathriel did the same. “Come.” The single deep syllable was all command, and Kiorl felt every mote of his body vibrate to the sound. The Devil had made him, along with every other demon in the Inner Circle, and Kiorl would have been lying if he’d said there wasn’t part of him which rather liked being told so firmly what to do by someone so much more powerful than he was. The Devil watched him with dark eyes as Kiorl stepped forwards to the bed. Sathriel slept on a black granite slab made soft with dozens of layers of furs, and he leant on one elbow, the arches of both sets of horns framing his intense expression. Kiorl knew better than to strip – if Sathriel wanted him naked he’d want to do it himself – but knelt between his King’s powerful thighs and stroked the heat he found there. The King was already part roused, which Kiorl took as a victory all by itself, and the thickening muscle in his hands was already far larger than his own. Training himself to pleasure his King had taken years. And it was worth it. It kept you alive. This stopped being a political move a century ago. You’re a terrible liar. Even to yourself Kiorl flicked his tail in irritation at his inner voice’s remarks, then produced a pleased purr as Sathriel stroked a large, possessive hand over his newly shorn hair, his ears, a thumb catching at the side of his mouth. Kiorl knew he used the same gesture, and wondered if this was in fact where he’d learnt it. “Attend me.” “Yes, Majesty.” Eating the throat of the traitor had been worth it for the groan Sathriel made as Kiorl managed the not inconsiderable feat of taking his entire length without any other preparation. It wasn’t comfortable, and his jaw ached after only ten heartbeats, but Kiorl closed his eyes and listened instead to the groans and half snarls of his lover which were familiar enough by now to be used as actual instructions. Deeper, more tongue, draw back, lick the head, again. Again. He likes that. Tongue the slit. “Nnnngh! Good boy.” Having a texturally interesting tongue to match his feline shape had always been something Kiorl used in his favour, but now he felt thick fingers at the back of his neck, and realised Sathriel couldn’t just pull him off by his hair as he usually did. Kiorl sat back, kneeling on his paws – all claws sheathed – with a pleased expression. That he’d gotten his King close to the edge with just his mouth was enough to stir his own lust. Sathriel did not have his son’s stamina or capacity for multiple orgasms and Kiorl had known from the message that the King intended to make full use of him. “Grow your hair back.” “Yes, Majesty.” “Now come here.” Kiorl wrapped his tail around his own calf as he slid into Sathriel’s lap, the short skirt of his chiton bunching up around his thighs, doing little to hide his own erection, and groaned as he felt the thick muscle of his lover pressing against him through the fabric. He was not expecting Sathriel to pull him close, open his mouth with the intense pressure of his fingers either side of Kiorl’s jaw, and kiss him savagely. Sathriel kissed like a King, all entitlement and desire. He took everything he wanted, everything Kiorl offered him, more, and stripped the panther of even the illusion of free will. Kiorl panted, half fighting to breath whilst he was plundered, but kissed back with greed which was not false. Sathriel dragged rough fingers down his spine and Kiorl purred. “There’s my favourite…” Kiorl whimpered against the deep red chest as he was lifted and spread. “Open yourself for me.” I’ll never not wish for lube… Kiorl thought silently, forcing himself not to wince and grit his fangs. Such actions not only made the discomfort worse as muscles which needed to loosen tensed instead, but Sathriel did not like him to show outward signs of pain. At least, not like this. If his lover wanted to hurt him, Kiorl would know about it, in detail. He panted, using every scrap of self discipline to control his breathing as he was split open by the Devil’s enormous cock. Only once his arse rested upon Sathriel’s hips did he groan. “Good boy.” He was expecting the familiar sharp, bone shatteringly hard thrusts which were usual in their coupling, but instead Sathriel simply ground against him, the motion shifting the girth of his cock, making Kiorl shiver as his nerves were set alight with sensation. Sathriel held his hips in one hand, stroking his body boldly with the other, keeping him exactly where he was as he became less and less articulate with each subtle, mind-blowing tremor. When the King wrapped a hot hand around his aching erection, Kiorl practically screamed. “I watched you, my favourite, at the Ankhara.” That Sathriel’s voice was unaffected by the rising heat between them seemed distinctly unfair to Kiorl. “Most loyal and obedient of all my creations… yes, there’s a good boy...” Kiorl felt like he was coming apart at the seems, direct praise from the Devil was incredibly rare, and to have Sathriel stroke him whilst he spoke, reaming him gently, was quickly too much to cope with. “You are the right hand of the King, my strength will be yours to do my bidding...” “Ahhhh! Sire!” “Yes, come for me. There….” Kiorl couldn’t look away, trapped by the power in Sathriel’s dark gaze as he lost the hold on his self control and came messily between them. The Devil anointed him with his emission, and Kiorl felt the thrum of power as clearly as if the ritual were being completed properly. He was not tired, not even remotely, and the drew himself up, away from Sathriel, twisting his body as he rose up the great length before thrusting back onto the Devil’s erection once more. New power, fresh and clear like glacier ice from Upstairs, sang through his veins, and Kiorl gripped his King’s waist with his thighs, and set about reminding the Devil exactly why his favour strayed so rarely from Kiorl’s finely furred body. Sathriel came within him, snarling wordlessly, holding Kiorl so tight he already had bruises under his fur, and pulled from him too soon and too fast, making the panther whine at the sensation of emptiness within. Even more so than usual, his legs felt wobbly and Kiorl was not looking forward to putting on a good show as he left. It was a pleasant surprise to have Sathriel pull him to his chest, relaxing back into the thick furs of the bed. Kiorl unwrapped his tail from his leg, and tried not to show pain at the stiffness of his joints or the soreness of his well-used arse. “Tell me of my son.” “He is well.” You two could fucking talk to each other of course. Kiorl was eternally grateful the Devil did not share his son’s talents as an empath. “Sitka, a scavenger of my house, has recruited. Nassau seems to enjoy him.” He deliberately did not mention Tobias, with whom Nassau spent a great deal of time, physically, and in the kind of mental gymnastics which gave Kiorl a headache even to think of, because keeping Zai away from Sathriel was a habit ingrained over many centuries. More empaths in Hell would be the very last thing the King wanted. “And what of you?” Sathriel asked, with a quirk of his lips. “I have always made my feelings on trying to mate with mortals pretty damn clear.” Kiorl replied crisply. Even even if Jahke is the best cocksucker in this, or any other, world in the ‘verse. Sathriel laughed, the deep noise something akin to a rockslide, edged with a dragon’s roar. The shiver which ran up Kiorl’s spine was not entirely pleasant, but also not wholly unwelcome. “I am so glad that on this we have always agreed.” The King stroked a firm hand down Kiorl’s spine, and the panther flexed automatically into the touch. “And how long have you been my favourite, Kiorl?” “I would never presume-” Kiorl began, but he was unexpectedly interrupted by Sathriel’s large hand, wrapping around his tumescent member. “Unnnghhhh!” “A long time, I think. You do very well to please me.” “T-t-thank you Sire.” The Devil smiled. “We must ensure our favourite is happy, mustn’t we...” It was rare that his pleasure was considered at all, and though Kiorl knew there would almost certainly be rough treatment to come, he gave himself over willingly to the unusual sensation of the King stroking him to his peak.

It was implied that there were disagreements about Will spending his time being a farmer.

Ah... you're not wrong. But then, he does a lot of toying with his big teaching scene in Fallen Pride, and I don't want to be repeating myself. New chapters friday's, there's some fun stuff coming, good, bad, and cute.

Thank you and you're welcome!

Toned down? Are you kidding? This is worse! This is way more bloody, calculated, and visceral. The whole thing has actually been completely rewritten, though some scenes are the same in essence. There's a lot which will be completely new as the story goes on. But I'm glad you're enjoying the story. oh the things we learn about Sathriel... Brace yourself.

It was called 'Palace life', and whilst some of the scenes are the same situations, it has been completely rewritten and massively expanded. Nassau's story is the last one, and I'm going to put you all through the wringer several more times before then!