Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions

The corpse of the Persuadå had to be lugged off in a wheelbarrow.

The many, rotting parts.

It was the arm of a bear. Forelimb of a chimpanzee. Eyes of a cobra. Jaw of an octopus' face. A croc's tail. Jellyfish stingers running in torso like entrails.

All the horror merged into one, now forsaken as it was carted away to the pyre. There was no burial for the monster—and the school Headmistress wouldn't even let the fish have at it.

"Too vile a creature," she said. "The sharks would be better off starved." In the aftermath of the tragedy, the badminton court was sealed off for the rest of the week in yellow tape. Werewolf trackers and monster detectives were brought in to trace the path of the creature, back to its master.

—If they had any idea it was a mistress.

Israfel woke up sometime during noon the next day. Corazón was still soft and warm under him, cradled into his chest. He had only ever cuddled with two other women: his auntie—because her titties were some fine pillows, and Ravenna. He could tell she was awake, but numb. And so, as he gently pulled off the bed, he took her with him.

He kept her glued to his body the entire time, as he started warm water and ran the tub.

He magicked off their clothes and stepped into the porcelain bowl with her. Rafel settled her into his lap and let the water ease the blood from their flesh. It had dried into their skin but the steaming in the bathtub slowly softened and washed the red away. His eyes were closed. Her head on his chest. He listened to her breathe.

She had stopped crying sometime during the night. She was strong.

Superwoman strong.

Rafel started a slow hum he knew by heart. He had no idea where he heard it from—either his [Cow Succubi] wet nurses or the gypsies nomads that had camped in his estate at Emberfall one winter. Still, he sang. His voice was strong and sure; a herald's song, and Cora loved him more. He was in the third stanza when Peitho's voice rang him up.

[DING!]

[I'm deeply sorry to interrupt your bathing ritual, Lord Apollyon. But I have good news:

I conducted a postmortem—an arcane autopsy if you will on the remains of the Persuada creature before the undertakers arrived yesterday and it met the fire. It turned out well. I found a bloodmark underneath a finger nail—hidden well. The mark is the ladybird and cross banner of Avila D'aqua.]

Rafel pressed a wet towel to Cora's forehead.

"Avila? Yes. The Highfather had mentioned a certain mysterious Countess on the school board, who made his crucifix burn and whatnot. Hmm," his hand trailed to Cora's neck, "...earlier, she had also cast a watcher's spell on my dorm room, spying through a séance ball. The Countess again? It was she who sent the Persuada, was it?"

[Yes, Lord Apollyon. My calculations are 99.3 percent accurate. And I have also currently accessed that she is staying at the Grand Tourniquet Inn off the streets of Buckley—]

"What is her name?" Rafel interrupted.

[SYSTEM is currently accessing all records of royalty in the kingdom, across the isles of the Cold Sea and capital of Titans Landing...]

[DING!]

[Information verified for HOST!]

[The name you seek is Constance Juliana Medici.]

[She is Countess over the villages of Avila, widow of the deceased Viscount of the dukedom. Her reach was sworn to the papacy of the Highfather, but recently excommunicated by the Holy Church for shadowy crimes such as virgin sacrifices and banned torture forms. Lady Constance is a blood witch. RANK A. And of a powerful matriarch, Hecate.

The runes of the dark goddess were found all over the carrion of the beast. The Countess of Avila is the strongest sanguine summoner in Corynthia.]

"Fuck." Rafel heard a small voice below. It was Cora. He looked down and stroked her silver hair, wet with ascending vapor. It was the first time she had spoken in hours.

But she was right.

'Fuck' hit it spot on.

If this Constance Medici was commiting hate crimes against her duchy, surely the emissaries of the Court of Whispers would have swooped up on her like vultures in a desert. Should have. But the fall of the Capitol had sent everything to shit. The Court of Whispers: the highest witch sect across all nine realms of the continent, was now ruled and commanded, and only glorified by demons.

The supreme druids and Grand meisters who would've curtailed the Countess's practice of the dark arts right in the udder had been reduced to alive bullseye boards, where the Principalities could practice their dart throwing.

Constance Medici was left unchecked.

And Israfel wasn't on speaking terms with his auntie at the moment. Else, he would've asked her to command her black dragon to pour holy fire upon the blood Countess and her occult altar. Bomb the bitch to ash and rubble. And let the smoke be seen for miles as a warning.

This was how Hel handled things.

Fire and Blood.

The Arc Crystal had chosen right in manifesting to him the [Phoenix faction].

Rafel asked of his system. "Tell me Peitho, just how many virgins does it take to raise a creature like the Persuada?"

[North of a thousand, Your Eminence.]

Cora answered too: "Approximately one thousand, nine hundred." As a witch, she knew these things.

"Jesus Christ!" A new voice entered the space.

Rafel and Cora raised their eyes at the same time to find Rosamunde standing by the glass partition of the bathroom. Her hand curved around the sliding door. The glass was fogged in steam. Rafel greeted her with his version of a smile. She waved her fingers. "Sorry to just show up.

Do you mind? I let myself in. I heard about Cora. . .and I wanted to reach out. Is that okay?"

Rafel raised his hand from the lily-white water. He beckoned Rosa in.

"You're always welcome, bellisima."

Rosa stepped through and shut the sliding glass behind her. She knelt beside the white curtains and in front of the massive ivory tub. For some reason, she didn't seem to mind their nakedness. Rosa, herself was fully clothed in a pair of blue jean shorts and shortsleeved turtleneck. With her right hand on the rim of the tub, she reached out with her left and touched Cora's snowy hair.

"I'm sorry, Cora." The girl's head didn't leave Rafel's chest. Rosa met his worried eyes. "Grief's a bitch. It sucks the soul like a stubborn billy goat." To Rafel's ears only, she added, "give her some time. Imagine how WE felt when you thought you lost her. There was nothing we could do.

It wasn't our fault. We knew this. But it still hurt like hell."

Rosa collected the loofah from Rafel's hand and squeezed on Cora's shoulder. She proceeded to scrub off the remnant blood from her pale skin.

Her own caramel complexion was a lovely addition.

"How long were you standing there?" Rafel asked.

Rosa replied, "long enough to hear all about this Countess cunt. And know that we need to kill her."

Rafel did a doubletake.

Rosa didn't fuck around.

He really did like his women.

After about another hour soaking in the tub and ten more minutes under the streaming rain of a hot shower, Rafel finally wrapped Cora in a fresh towel and walked her out of the bathroom. Rosa was waiting by the bed, knives out.

Cora saw their shared look when she dressed in flying leathers and strapped a dagger to her thigh. Rafel's mouth was already opening. "Don't even try," she said, "I'm coming with. You can't order me out of this one. Shit's personal."

Not wasting a smidge of time, Cora made the fingers of her left hand into a [Casting Hollow] and drew circles in the air.

A bright blue portal whooshed to life in front of them.

On the other side was the very expensive, lavish, black gold lobby of the Grand Tourniquet.

"Let's get this bitch!" Cora snarled.

___

"ROOM SERVICE TO ROOM 11!" The clerk at the hotel's front desk called over a mounted transmitter rune. "And there's complaint of a gas leak in Room—" The clerk's voice went out when he saw three furiously dashing people step out a glowing door, right in the center of the hotel lobby.

"Hello? You there?" The person on the other end called. "I AM HUNGRY HERE! I've low blood sugar and—"

"Uh. . . let me get back to you Sir," the clerk offered and smashed the receiver shut.

He stared out as the portal vanished, leaving three mysterious new patrons standing on the vast Florentine marbles. They were a bit like the Viking gods painted into the domed ceiling high above: the Drowned god and the Thunderer, the Maiden and the Warrior; in a sea of colors. Rafel, Cora and Rosa began striding directly for the front desk. Behind the burnished counter, the young man gulped. Hard.

"H-Hello, Sir and uh—ma'ams. Welcome to the Grand Tourniquet. How can I help you?"

Rafel looked amused at the frail clerk's stutter. Cora's face was blank. Rosa slammed on the counter a good chunk of coin. Gold solidi rattled in the purse. Her gray eyes sparked no humor as she said,

"We need a room number."