Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions

SLEEP DID COME THAT NIGHT. And it was long and dreamless. Israfel was of certain faith that the moon knight, Selaémene had smiled down on his slumbering. It helped his mind that his version of the glorious lunar guard was female. Most of the chief gods had androgynous traits. On one side of the continent, the supreme Martyr was praised as the male omnipotent.

On the towns and hamlets about the political polis of Titans Landing, the extending republic of Rocasus and further into the western frontiers, the folk saw the Martyr as female. And there, during holy festivals, the effigy carried by the countryside people had more than a fair share of stone tits.

The face under the white cowl dangerously sexy. In lands up north here, in the vast waters of the Cold Sea and independent Corynthia, the Martyr was neither male nor female.

Rafel supposed this was part reason why the Highfather of the universal church had his cathedral on the islandic territories. No need to trouble himself on knowing when and where to exclaim: "Oh my god!" or, "Oh my goddess!" And whatever the fuck else suited the religious narrative of that place. The other reason was his insane thirst for young boys.

Now that his main squeeze had hopped the altar, so to speak, he supposed the Highfather would be seeking a new fourteen-year old butt to grab. And thankfully the location of his holy parsonage was far, far away from the trifling business of the Empire's capital; all those gossipers, just ready to get all up in the latest scandal among the ton.

Nope.

The holy father loved the isles very much.

His thoughts if read were: "Where else can I pursue my lusts and serve my God equally? Where else can I have a quiet evening of birdwatching? Where else on the fucking earth can I spot the wondrous albatross from ten miles away? Where else does the sun meet the ocean, and little lolitas dance on brown beach sands?

Where else is the sun at dusk orange and the Palm fronds blue? Where the fuck else? I'm fine here. Here is perfect. Corynthia is a paradise. The faithful at Titans Landing can listen to my words in the sermons I write.

Besides, I might as well surrender myself to the Guillotine in going back there, now that the city is ruled by a fucking demon."

And in making the sign of the cross, the Highfather would flip a page in his holy scrolls and finish his musing with, "Fuck any other place! No one can find me here. A literal sea is between us."

Rafel wasn't sure if this part of his sleep was some afterthought or if he had actually astral projected into Vallon-de-Grâce and seen and heard the old man say these things. He wiped it from his head when he awoke to the bells tolling the next morning and hit the shower. He was refreshed, and his balls were no longer ice fucking blue.

"Today's gonna be a great day. I just know it. Can you feel it, Percy!" He sang under the vapor rain to his roommate across the smoky glass of the bathroom.

Percival was at the other end of the greystone partition separating their bedchambers in the unified suite from the stately common lounge. He was in blue boxers with his sandy blonde hair stirred under a fan. He tapped furiously at a magical touchscreen. The blue of the lit pad was a mirror of his eyes. Of all Van Imperia heirs eyes.

Percival replied Rafel in order.

"Good morning to you too. Can you believe I came up third on the [Caelestes Historia] test last week? Ugh, can you believe this shit, bro? I read the darned texts right into the night, studying when I could've been jerking off to fucking pictures of Raz Fairfield. My name should be top on the list. I aced that fucking shit!"

Rafel hid his smile, glad he was in the shower.

"Third place is better than fourth." He called once again from the bathroom.

Wrapped five minutes later in a bathrobe, Rafel padded over to his Percival's corner of the large dorm room. He placed a hand on his friend's shoulder and placated him. "I usually think of it that way. Besides, your a fucking Van Imperia: a descendant of the Old gods. And not one of those lesser bastards running around with mixed blood either. You're a true blood.

Who knows Celestial History better than you? But if you still feel wronged, talk to your tutor, eh?"

Percival smiled.

Since they didn't do hugs, Rafel smacked his cheek lightly. "Oi! And find a girlfriend while you're at it. This kind of thing is what they're for. Brunhilda's single. And don't tell me you haven't seen that body on her, underneath all those goth spooky dresses she loves."

"Yep. She's a real Wednesday Addams, that one." Percival turned off his touchscreen.

Rafel looked down. "What's with the meal pack?"

"Oh, Aya packed you breakfast. She said they're serving cold cereal today, and you'd rather take your chances with a live boar. Also, she's got some water spirit lesson thing at the beach. That said, maybe I should get myself a succubus."

Rafel chuckled to this. "Oh my friend. They will eat you alive." On his way back to his corner, he added: "YOUR DICK TOO."

Percival looked down and clutched to his groin in his shorts. "Hell nah. I'm good." He hit the showers too. By the time the morning bells for first lesson period went off, Rafel and Percival were out of the Salem Hall dormitory and climbing out a buggy in front of the academic citadel. They split ways in the lobby area. Percival jogged the stone steps up to his own first class of the day:

[Potions and Poisons].

He was the last one in the plant garden of a class. Their very pretty tutor, Professor Ivoria was already in front in a floral dress and teaching pad. And as he leveled forward to a back seat, she set her bespectacled eyes on him. Rafel took his spot beside Olivar D'shenko—who had become an unlikely friend, and offered him a seat. The stocky jock looked their Professor up and down.

He clearly hadn't forgotten the Hunt; how she looked like outside her dress of flowers and labcoat.

Dr. Ivoria Sephora Grimm began:

"Hello, my young witches. I'm glad to see all of you, including my few friends from Griffin Arc who don't need to be taking this class. You're all welcome here; Potions and Poisons will always have a place for you." She cleared her throat, looking around to her students as she stepped off the lecture dais. Since it was a pretty small commune of First Years, she didn't have to stretch her voice.

"I trust the opening round of the Spring Games was eventful for you."

"Yes ma'am it was. With you in it!" One of Olivar's buddies chirped, booming with obvious risque.

The other jocks in their crisp red blazers clapped him on the shoulder and whistled loudly. They pumped fists and shook hands for their hot wildling professor. It wasn't only Olivar who hadn't how she looked like out of the floral dress.

Ivoria easily handled the jocks. She passed a hand of dismissal over their circle of seats.

"Okay, boys, enough of that now..."

Olivar was the only with his arms folded and looking rather sad. "Ugh, I hate her...w-what she did to us in the Hunt."

"No, my dude. You love her." The former dude who had spoken earlier bumped his arm. "That's the reason why it hurts so much. But get a grip on yourself; everyone loves her. She's super fucking hot. I heard that vampire chick even asked her out—"

"BOYS?" Dr. Ivoria's voice turned stern. "Please, focus." They nodded and straightened in their chairs. "Good," she gave a cute smile. "Moving on, for the purpose of this class teaching, I've invited a very dear friend of mine from the cathedral at Vallon-de-Grâce. She is also a graduant of Raven Arc of this dear institute and will be instrumental in what we'll be learning today.

Please students, meet Melissandre Trask."

A nun stepped out a portal of shadows before them all; it should frighten—the dimming lights and all, but everyone at [C.A.W] were already used to unusual happenings. Hell! The school's freaking acronym. Besides, many in the room currently were born into a paranormal world.

"Hello." The nun greeted with a little wave. She was petite. Small in that river folk way. Her voice was smaller. Her chest was not.

The circles of jocks leaned forward. Now they were definitely interested in the classroom visitor.

The nun's black habit and white veils covered everything the boys would just love to see. She even had stockings and cute little flats. Wind stirred in the many vases of carnation as the nun introduced herself: "Uh, I go by Mercy now. I'm glad my friend Ivy invited me to come along for this discussion. It is a very sensitive topic, especially to the holy church.

That being said, it's lovely to meet you all. And I'm curious to know you better."

"Same here, holy sister." Olivar ripped. The girl closest to him smacked his arm, shaking her head.

Sister Mercy nodded.

"It's upon us!" She raised hands, as if in prayer.

Just then, the sun outside dimmed as a planet came before it. The bright clouds blackened in an instant. Whiff! Just like that. The light snuffed out of the firmament. All across the reach of the isle the academy was sprawled on and the Cold Sea Rafel could see out the window was turned into the likeness of night.

It was an eclipse.

Not a solar. Not a lunar.

Then what the fuck kind?

Torches went up all across every classroom in the citadel tower and the grounds beyond. And Rafel knew; they knew it was coming. The school authority. He bet Erika knew too. Students were rushing out to figure out what was going on. The lights in the cozy classroom had gone up to fight the dark: an eerie sentience.

Since his classmates were too dumbstruck and floppy-jawed to speak up, Rafel gave himself veto power.

"What the fuck is going on?"

"Language, Master BlüdThïrste," Professor Ivoria chastised.

Sister Mercy stepped up to the quaint lamps. She unraveled to them this sudden sunset at noon.

"This, young ones, is the Holocaust Spell. A dark attraction only seen once in two hundred years. The last one was during the reign of King Baeleon the Bold. . ."