I did not. If it was as I expected, I had learnt all their names and all their titles in the abbey long ago.
As I shook my head, Asmodeus’ eyes glinted with a kindof pride. It continued speaking, telling me, "These are no lesser demons, not like those you have encountered on your way here. They are not spirits to be driven out with prayer. They are foundation and law. The gravity that shapes damnation itself.” Asmodeus paused. “And they do not gather except when the balance is threatened."
My throat tightened. This, though, was too much a deviation from the scripture I knew. "My Lord, I do not understand."
Asmodeus gave no answer, only regarded me in silence.
I longed to ask,Why me?Yet the words caught upon my tongue. What mortal could question such judgement? What mind could hope to fathom it? Instead, I worried at that final point, worried at this ‘balance’ Asmodeus spoke of. I asked, "Why have they gathered?"
"Because I have never done this," Asmodeus said flatly. Honesty made its voice near feeble. "And they will not let it pass unchallenged."
It turned to face me fully, one hand resting light at my side. "They will ask what you are. What you seek. They may strive to unmake your certainty. They may demand your blood. They may seek to tempt you."
My heart quickened.
"Will they touch me?" I thought of all I had surrendered to reach this place, the lesser demons I had yielded to along the way.
"No," it said, then paused to study me. "Does that disappoint you?"
What answer could I give, with a body so unfaithful, so willing? And yet a kind of relief entered me, a warring presence. I wanted to be Asmodeus’, first. I wanted this new future to involve Asmodeus alone, until I grew comfortable. I wanted to belong to one and one alone; I wanted that ascentinto its court to mark a delineation between the old and the new. But I didn’t dare say this and instead drew a breath. "I am here to be yours. Whatever you desire of me, my body is yours."
It gave a low hum of approval. I shut my eyes and whispered, "What will happen should they accept me?"
"If they do, I will mark you. I will name you mine before them all. But it will not be mere ceremony. It will be binding. I will claim you with a sigil, and that sigil will be cut into the shape of your soul."
I trembled beneath the weight of it. "Will it hurt?"
Asmodeus moved nearer still, hand pressed flat against my chest. "Oh, yes. And I am certain you will enjoy that, will you not, little priest?"
Little priest.I didn’t flinch at the thought of pain, for it always served to enhance pleasure for me, and because fear excited me. Thenamewas what still sent a thrill through me, though I had long since abandoned the cloth of God. "Can you still call me that, my Lord?"
A wicked smile curved upon Asmodeus’ lips. I half-expected a rebuke, some sharp command to remember my place, to remember that it was my Lord and would name me as it pleased, truth or falsehood be damned. But instead, it leaned in, its breath warm against my skin. The kiss that followed was sin itself, slow and luxuriant. Its tongue teased and tasted, tracing the seam of my mouth, then deeper, winding around mine with deliberate hunger. When it finally withdrew, the absence of its mouth left me aching. I stumbled against it like a blushing adolescent.
Its fingers caught my cheeks, thumb pressing beneath my chin to tilt my head up.
"Quite right," it murmured, voice a dark caress. Was that a fondness in its tone? “What shall I call you, then? My little sinner? My lamb? My vessel?” Then it tasted me again with agrowl, and roughly grabbed between my legs, squeezing the erection there. I moaned wantonly, surprised by the pressure. “My indulgent feast?”
If it wished me to offer an opinion on any of these names, I could not have managed a single sound. I was lost, adrift in the pleasure it stirred, dizzy and pliant beneath its touch. I was thinking,Take me. Won’t you just take me?
But of course, it couldn’t, or wouldn’t. Ceremony and bureaucracy, even in Hell! Frustration burned in me, for I thought I’d escaped it all when I left Heaven behind.
Asmodeus chuckled at my over eagerness and finally drew back. Its voice was a velvet coil around me. "Once your soul is claimed, you will begin to change.”
I stilled against it. Asmodeus brought its mouth to my ear and whispered, “Your body will answer the mark.”
“I already answer to you.”
“Deeper than that, little lamb. Far stronger than your lust. And you will become something. . . different. Your skin will bear the heat of my name. Your blood will carry it. Your breath will no longer steam. You will hunger, but not for what once sustained you. And you will be freed from this deathless limbo you have wrought upon yourself."
I struggled to gather my wits, to steady my voice. The concept of transformation barely made me flinch, for I had killed my mortal flesh to get here. I had eaten of Hell's food without understanding how it would bind me or change me. I had lived in this limbo for what felt like mere days but could have been years or centuries–time meant little when compared to the flow of my desire. I closed my eyes and felt the warmth of the creature against me, and my heart thudded with a different kind of longing. A deep affection filled me, and I imagined it was holding me out of care. "And I will be yours?"
It smiled then, a look that seared through me. "You already are.”
We turned once more to the archway. The shadows within had thickened, drawn inward as if by some breathless anticipation. Asmodeus spoke no word, yet the air shifted as it turned from me, and the temperature dropped in its wake.
The threshold into the Court wasn’t a clear delineation. It was not marked by any visible line, only by a subtle change in the air. But as we walked into that arch, a sensation clung to my skin like oil, heavy and suffocating. The weight of ancient power pressed upon my flesh. I was perceived, watched, judged with every step.
I followed where Asmodeus led, each of its steps measured. There was a purpose to its movement, so complete it felt like a ritual, and perhaps it was–perhaps we were engaged in a procession not unlike the one I’d just endured, climbing the stairs to Asmodeus. Accepted by the Prince of Lust, and yet still subject to the judgement of other demons. . .a petty anger grew in me. I wanted to be writhing beneath it right now, and I despaired that politics played a part here. Yet I voiced none of this: I trusted this demon, and in truth, I wanted the acceptance of all of Hell. I wanted those crones and hags and lesser demons to cheer for me, like it had been as I visited Vassago. So, I walked behind Asmodeus, bared and aching, breath shallow, my cock still half-hardened and glistening at the tip.
