The Countess of Avila D'aqua slaughtered nineteen hundred [1900] virgins from the east isles to power her monster. The creature of utter darkness was birthed from a contraption of shadows, trapping the arcane energy of dark magic and that very pure blood coursing in the twisted gears of the deathly machine. Even Hecate could not ignore when the Countess called upon her to give life to her monster.
The Persuada.
As the goddess of witchcrafts had appeared to drink up the offered sanguine sacrifice, then the Countess presented her ask: that this grotesque creature—carved of a hundred bones, flesh, and scalps—may yet breathe living air. And very few vampiric deities could refuse to grant a mortal's boon when confronted with such running, flowing, delicious, untainted, virgin blood.
Blood than ran rivers and circles around the machine where the monster lay.
Hecate, in her macabre glory and tunic of raven feathers, had hovered over to the sarcophagus contraption where in the lifeless fright lay; it was stitched together in rotting flesh, bearing blue arms of a Nephilim, serrated back of a crocodile, whipping tail of a Lord cobra, and head like the Kraken. It had tentacles for a beard and stingers for hair.
The suckers dangled from its heavy shoulders and hairy bear chest, running as large veins under decomposing flesh. Oozing with green retch.
The eyes belonged on the face of a Spectre.
And even Hecate, in all her dark casting could not fathom from what hellish trench the Countess had fetched those appalling trunk legs. By the joining of so many carcasses of spoiled corpses, parts hewn and scraped and sewn together—like scrap metal—this untoward beast rested at fifteen feet of height and just about dwarfed the laboratory table on which it was formed.
Hecate looked from the blood sacrifice to the face of the Countess.
Avila was a nice small town. A praying town. And the woman was beautiful. Franky, Hecate saw no reason why the Countess wanted to raise to life a creature of death. But she could see in the woman's eyes there was no persuading that'd change her mind. Besides, the witch goddess was in no mood to lecture a mortal on the ills of trifiling with occult rituals.
Hecate's black lips split in an unnerving smile. Jagged teeth showed through; in her place beside the hovering deity, the Countess was unmoved.
She hadn't spent a thousand candles and twice as more virgins to be queasy now.
Even thought Hecate's very form could make a warlock piss his kilt.
"And they say mortals have a conscience." The words echoed upon the cavernous blood altar; no one saw Hecate's lips move though.
A deal was struck. A bargain, made. And that dim night, eerie purple lightning flashed in the skies, barreling at one point for the rod meant to catch it. It blazed upon the altar, lighting the contraption up in blue electricity, sparking purple zaps.
Just as Hecate, supreme mistress of witching floated in her cloth of feathers to the glowing machine and put on the dark creature's head a drop of her own blood.
The carrion flesh of the grim beast that had begun to sizzle upon the altar healed. The rest of the machine overheated, exploding in a break of lightning.
BOOM!
The shockwave sent the Countess to the floor.
When she could stand, she looked around. Half of her laboratory was ash and cinders. But upon the fiery ruin of her blood altar stood her spawn. Her beast. Her monster. At almost 20ft, the gigantic octopus man shrilled out a bloodcurdling growl and moved its clawed hands.
It knelt at her feet, in the circle of thrashing lightning. Her most dark invention. The Countess of Avila reached out for the beast and touched a firm finger to the twisting sprout of a tentacle, emerging from its face.
The creature was ugly: a Frankenstein oddity.
But she loved it. And anyhow, "You shall serve my purpose," the Countess whispered in her burning lab. Hecate was gone. The blood of the nineteen hundred virgins was gone. Her own personal sacrifice, gone. But it had birth her beast.
And with it, a chance at vengeance. Her lover would be proud of her. She knew it. She just had to tell her. Soon. Once she could visit Avila from that fucking academy.
Their plan, it had worked.
Rafel was a bit surprised when Peitho made no mention of Giselle. The former Fae Queen had been a particular fancy of his. And his cock. Why wasn't she on the list? And there was Sekhmet too? His filthy, whore nurse.
That woman's mouth could end a war—if she sucked the battling kings off. Just one blow. And then Hèla. And Brunhilda. And her mom. But oh well, he had asked Peitho for the ones he was most concerned about.
It was like a game of marry, fuck, love.
"Who's the sixth?" Rafel finished his soup.
[This is surprising, Lord Apollyon, but by my calculations, I believe it is I. The one whom you call Peitho.]
"Wait, what?"
But Peitho couldn't lie. Not to him. He knew that. It was in the make of systems binded to The Fallen, for obvious reasons. You didn't want your AI lying to you. What was strange was his connection to her.
But it made sense; she was in his head 24/7. Peitho went on:
[Of this six females, their ranks differ according to waifu and concubines status. Your wife, the Ocean Goddess is an outlier. You bear her ring, and share her DIVINE mermaid mana. Hence, she is beyond this order.]
[To be blunt, Lord Apollyon, there are two in this group you haven't fucked.]
Rafel chuckled. That was quite blunt. He didn't ask who. He already knew.
Ravenna and Peitho.
"Well, I have a free day today." Rafel said, rising as he made his tray float across the canteen to the counter by [Umbra Manipulation], an ability most of the First Years had learned to use now. "I think I'll hit the gym." He headed out. The cafeteria was filling up. Guys and gals were walking up.
Good, Rafel thought as he jogged around the blocks in serene daylight to the other greystone high rise: Brightburn Hall. It was good because she'd be awake. Peitho asked in his head.
[Who, Lord Apollyon? Who'd be awake?]
Rafel smiled long. "Corazón."
He spoke on to Peitho as he went past a couple of werewolves returning from their morning run; the Luna of the pack smiled and nodded. "I must have a thing for the strong female type, or fighter females, or tomboys of whatever, because between Bolta and Cora I don't know who makes my dick harder. Just thinking of her now makes me wanna pin her to her to bed in front of her girlfriend."
[Skyla?] Peitho dinged.
"Oh fuck Skyla. She can watch."
Rafel just as soon entered the entrance lobby of the luxury student lodge. He kept up pace on the squeaky clean floors and ran up the stairs to a room number he knew by heart. He only stopped to catch his breath at the door; realizing then, that he wasn't even breathing to begin with. Rafel raised his hand in the gothic hallway, just about to knock when the screen door purred open.
Corazón stood at the other end.
She was so beautiful in her badminton white. His demonic eyes raked her slow from pristine canvas shoes to immaculate sports bra.
Blue eyes narrowed on his stare.
"What the fuck are you doing here?"