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T he Grand Order of Dread was established in a time before counting by an assemblage of beings that remain a mystery for their names alone would cause incurable madness and entire realms to collapse—at least, that’s what the current iteration of the Grand Order has to say when asked about their history of poor record keeping. One certainly couldn’t write things down once upon a time on account of the madness and the collapsing and the other inconvenient possibilities, so inadequate archives were just an unavoidable misfortune. The fault belonged with no one, least of all with any of the Grand
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“I mean, yes, we’re doing the ‘have her bathed and brought to me’ shtick, which is a little cliche, but I think you’re going to feel better cleaned up, and you’ll definitely do a lot better if you smell nice.”
There were ornate illusions of some war gone past cast onto the grimy walls, a landscape painting of a hydra wreaking havoc in an armory hung at a slight but infuriating angle, and a pithy wood carving in Chthonic that read Kill, Cackle, Condemn.
WE NEED NOT LOOK FURTHER. ALL IN FAVOR? AYE. ALL OPPOSED? NAY. THE AYES HAVE IT.
“And?” AND? He held out his hands, waiting. OH, YES, YOUR GIRLFRIEND. SHE WILL BE RELEASED ON THE CONTINGENCY YOU WILL COMPLETE THE TASK TO BE SET BEFORE YOU. Face heating up, Damien stuttered too much to properly ask what that task would be. YOU ARE DISMISSED. GO NOW, AND DO ENJOY THE REST OF YVLCON.
“Damien,” she said, voice small, eyes wide. “I did something bad.” He swallowed. “You can’t say those words, not dressed like that.”
“I wish I could properly express my remorse, Ammalie, but I am sincerely sorry.” She wanted to tell him to not be, that was always her impulse, but she knew he would not accept that, and also that his words meant more if left as they were. “Thank you.”
“Is it all right if I share the bed with you?” Amma nodded and moved aside, giving him more room. “Good.” Damien yawned and slid down beside her. “It will be safer this way.” “You don’t think it’s safe?” She sat up, gaze darting to the door. “No, I—” He paused, cocking a brow, and then held up the linens as if in invitation. She scrambled beneath them and right up against him, and he covered them both. “Did you fasten the lock?” “I don’t remember,” he sighed, wrapping arms around her. He didn’t remember? He may have been a blood mage, but that was far too lax for Amma. “Damien, if you don’t
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“So, do you know what I did?” he asked in a tinny voice from behind his metal mask. “You gave them the plague?” Damien guessed, corner of his mouth ticking up. “I gave them the plague!” As Norasthmus laughed, the hollow sounds echoing as he threw his head back, Damien turned to her and whispered, “It’s always the plague,” to which she chuckled, and he nudged her like that wasn’t what he expected to elicit despite grinning himself.
“Beautiful, delicate, sharp,”—he turned it over, and the blade caught the blue lights in the hall—“it’s your perfect match.”
“Oh, you’d like consequences? Because I would be delighted to give them to you.”
IF TRUE STRENGTH RESIDES IN SUBMISSION, THEN WHY DOES IT MAKE ONE’S KNEES ACHE?
“What happened to all of your superiority about where you put your cock?” “Realized it was already blighted by where it’s been.” He gave her a quick look up and down.
He nearly fell to his knees right there, ready to devote himself to a goddess for the first time, the whole of evil be damned,
YOU MUST COMPLETE THIS TASK WHEN THE BLOOD OF THE CHOSEN IS DRAWN. BEFORE THE ECLIPSE OF LO BY ERO, AFTER THE CONSTELLATION CHIMERUS HAS CROSSED THE CELESTIAL POLE, PRIOR TO THE REVEAL OF ABARATH IN THE NIGHT SKY, FOLLOWING— “Don’t make me do the math. You’ve an exact date in mind, yes?” THE TWENTY-THIRD.
“You’re the one who abducted her, Bloodthorne.” Damien could have spun and hit him, but reined the anger back in, standing. “It’s more complex than that.” “Yes, I’m sure you could fill two, maybe even three whole tomes with all the complexities of your internal conflict,
Amma felt her eyes go wide. “That pit thing isn’t your dad, right?” “No, no, my father is only a demon, not a swirling vortex of entropy. At least that’s not how I remember him.” His face screwed up. “He would have said something by now, surely.”
If only she could just stop being so wonderful for a moment, he could figure out exactly what to do with all of his feelings for her.
That appealing thing was hope, of course, but feelings were to Damien as object permanence was to an infant—confusing, slightly frightening, and likely to inspire tantrums.
After the oracle, I will drive you to madness with my tongue so that you believe you were born only for wickedness.
“You know,” Damien said as if a thought had just come to him and he hadn’t been mulling over what to say for the past two hours,
Damien grinned. Darkness, did he like the sound of Mistress Bloodthorne when he looked on her.
Vanders scurried down her shoulder and dove into the front of her tunic, curling up in the pocket between her breasts, just poking out his little muzzle to watch the way ahead. That made her chuckle a bit more deeply, and when she caught Damien staring at the vaxin—because that was clearly what he was staring at—asked, “He looks happy there, doesn’t he?” The redness that crawled over Damien’s face was at least a bit satisfying.
“I know you think demons have tails, but that isn’t one.”
“If it is any consolation, I am much less concerned about all of the horrible, impending possibilities now.” He grinned, waiting for her to ask why, but she didn’t, which was going to be a terrible waste of a very good joke, and he didn’t get to deliver those often. “Don’t you want to know why?” “No, but I suppose you’re going to tell me whether I ask or not.” “Because if it all does end up going wrong, I’ve properly seen you naked now, so I can die utterly satisfied.”
“It is you then, but of course it is—arrival on the wings of the hooked-beak twice encompassed will come The Cleansing Rodent, Death’s Vessel, The Eclipse of Destruction, and The Wrong Cat. No, not cat,”—he squinted at the parchment—“that’s Kaz? Well, whatever that means, it must be you lot. Come on, they’re ready for you.”
The argument could be made that oracles themselves, in using future speech in past times, were the true sources of languages’ evolution, but etymologists didn’t want their careers to be obsolete, so would never confirm the paradox.
If I tell you, instead of all that other stuff, that the wandering lady will displace the earth to upend tyranny and usurp the salvage throne, I create a mystery, everybody plays along, and by the time anybody ever figures it out, it’s probably already happened.”
“You’re telling us that you purposefully shroud your visions in metaphor and extravagant language so your visitors don’t understand them?” The oracle was taking a very long drag and then coughed. “Totally.” “What’s the point of prophecy then?” The oracle shrugged. “I’unno.”
“Misery personified shall descend upon a winged beast to unknowingly rescue her own undoing, but when the pieces are reforged, the downfall of the hallowed son, the chosen, and the heartless mother is inevitable.”
“But I thought you had to know the question to be able to answer it. If I never ask it, how can you possibly give me an answer?” “Oh, you will ask, it just comes in the, hmm…” The oracle thought and then shrugged. “Well, if you’ll excuse a little more mystery, it comes in the epilogue, I guess.”
When the day is night, and the corners of the realm have fallen into rot, the hallowed son shall release the Harbinger of Destruction upon earth once again. Only by the spilling of the descendants’ blood may It rise, and by the spilling of the heart of the earth’s blood to beseech the gods may It fall.
“Okay, but the prophecy says the hallowed son will release the Harbinger of Destruction on earth. I thought your father was the numbered lord of temper tantrums or something?” “Zagadoth the Tempestuous.” He gave her a withering look. “Ninth Lord of the Infernal Darkness and Abyssal Tyrant of the Sanguine Throne.” “Sure, that.”
“All hail Amma,” one of them called back to the rest in the cave, “King of the gobbies!”
“All hail new king, dieder of old king! Bow to great and mighty Amma da Enormous, Wielder of da Boulder of Doom and King of da Gribtoss Clan!”
“Majesty Amma, me Gribtoss Visor to King. But, if wish, can call as old king called.” At this, he peeked up sheepishly. “What did your old king call you?” “Shithead.” He swallowed. “Sometime Big Dumb Shithead.” Amma covered her mouth to hold back a chuckle. “Please, no, what’s your actual name?” The goblin’s lip trembled, still in a deep bow. “Mama call Skoob.”
Skoob’s eyes roved up to Damien then. He pointed at the blood mage, and his lip curled in a sort of repulsed way. “Dis concubine?” Finally, the all-too-pleased smirk Damien had been sporting fell away and he crossed his arms tightly over his chest, giving Skoob a look. Too bad it was about five minutes too late. Amma finally had a chance to giggle out a bit of relief. “No, no, that’s—actually, yes, he is.” Damien was so stunned he was, for once, at a loss for words, mouth falling open and nothing coming out. “No account for taste,”
“You will be punished for this,” he muttered in a voice reminiscent of the blood mage she had met in Aszath Koth. Amma only grinned, wiggling her fingers in farewell. “I look forward to it.”
the Gribtoss clan owned the entire mountain. Well, most of the mountain. Half of the inside parts at least, but the best half. Except for that one part, the scariest part, because something called Big Spicy had stolen it, a problem for later.
The duelists tried valiantly to get up, but beyond being physically difficult, it appeared the one with the dagger had been bonked so generously on his head he didn’t seem to know which way was up. “Dis new gobbies.” Skoob dragged one of them up to his giant, bare feet. “No understand good fight yet.” “Maybe helmets.” Amma propped up the knocked-senseless one. “And blunted weapons for beginners?” Skoob gasped. “Enormous king have enormous brain. Hear decree,” he shouted at the others. “Do that!”
By the time he’d fended them off, insisting he was more than capable of rubbing dirt from his skin on his own, some enterprising goblin had absconded with his clothing and armor, the things too fast and small to properly keep track of. His bracer had been dropped though, and he grabbed the sheathed dagger, convincing Moghart that their new king had a peculiar fondness for him wearing it. That only worked once though, and they refused to bring the rest of his clothing back when he insisted Amma preferred him dressed to naked. He supposed it wasn’t a terribly convincing argument anyhow,
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“Wait!” Amma held up her hands, and he froze. She dropped the scepter, scurried across the messy chamber, and climbed up onto the raised, bizarrely-adorned chair in its center. Crossing her legs and draping herself backward, she tried to nonchalantly lean on her elbow but missed the armrest, flailed for half a second, and then composed herself again. “You may proceed.” Damien ran his tongue over his teeth, rolled his eyes, and tapped a bare foot. “This experience has been illuminating, but I think I’ve learned my lesson.” Her smirk said she did not believe him. “Oh, have you?” He groaned.
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Damien Maleficus Bloodthorne was rarely brought to his knees willingly, and he could not remember a time he was sincerely happy about doing so, but as he lowered himself before Amma, a sort of euphoria spread out in his chest. He held Amma’s gaze as he went, the haughty amusement chased off her delicate features. She uncrossed her arms and legs to lean forward and look down on him, shocked. No, of course, she wouldn’t expect this, but then, if he’d ever worked up the courage to tell her the absolute torment her presence had been waging inside him, it would never have been a surprise to find
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Damien dropped his elbows onto Amma’s thighs and raked fingers through his hair. “It is as if some sadistic god refuses to allow this until an unknown objective is met,” he grumbled. “What in all the planes must I do to—” “Damien?” Amma tapped his shoulder with urgency, and the waver of her voice made him sit up. “Something bad is happening.”
something hard hit Damien’s chest, a pan thrust upward, an offering from one of the goblins. Damien spun his new weapon by the handle. “You see? I am more than adequately equipped.” “Dat’s a brave concubine,” Skoob whispered, and the armored goblins agreed.
Amma pressed a kiss to his lips that made him forget dragons even existed. He melted into it, limbs going weak as fear was chased out of him by flaring passion. When she pulled back, her eyes were steely. “Come back so I can do more of that.”
Damien had told her he felt as though he were falling interminably through the Abyss every moment he was not burying his cock in her, and also that her incessant kindness had broken him and made him good. Or something like that; who could really remember? It was not as if it were written down in some tome, and he could flip to chapter sixteen to repeat it.
Amma would marry Erick, he could already see it manifesting more clearly than the fucking shadows above. Lord Solonedy was charming and handsome and, Abyss, if he asked, Damien would even have had a difficult time saying no because the man was soft—soft like Amma. He was a human who was kind and thoughtful and practically made for her. Murdering him was an option, though, the thought creeping in coldly then sparking an unscrupulous kindling in his brain. Killing Erick would be easy, the man probably wouldn’t even put up much of a fight. He wouldn’t be messy about it, just send in some shadows
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“You failed to lock your door,” he finally said, voice low. “Dangerous.” She lifted her head. “Not if there’s a blood mage in the room with me.” “On the contrary.” He eased the door to behind him. “And what if it weren’t me?” There was a lilt to her voice in the dark. “Then I’d scream, and you would come running, and I’d have you here either way, just like I was hoping.” Damien shifted the lock into place. “Well, now no one can come in. And no one’s getting out either.” She put her head back down. “Guess you have to sleep here then.”
“If the talisman weren’t inside me, we would be apart.” She was whispering, but the arcana still lingering under her skin made her voice thunderous. “I haven’t been able to separate myself from it because I don’t want to be separate from you. Not ever.”
