Conquest

“May I touch you?”

Asked the wretched archfiend. The wailing heads of babes had long gone silent.

Elfmort chuckled softly. He nuzzled that demon’s massive head.

“What makes you think you’re worthy?” He chided gently. Enjoying the last of his orgasmic high. Demons certainly knew how to be rough in just the right way.

Alas, Like all the others. He built up a tolerance.

The euphoric drunken state fled from him all too soon. Pathetic.

After he conquered the continent again for the third time…

He’d … Visit this place again. Fumigate the vermin. Separate the grain from the chaff.

This loathsome weakness among demons was simply intolerable. He wanted topshelf smooth. Not this wretched bitter aftertaste that signaled cheap liquor.

They just didn’t make demons like they used to.

Such a pity.

Elfmort jumped off the shoulder of the archfiend. He rolled to his feet and dusted himself off.

“Where do you think you’re going?” The archfiend demanded.

His glass bottle clinked free from his robes. All on its own.

How curious. He picked it up as he ignored the demon.

Who would be so foolish as to attempt to free someone he had imprisoned? The whispers of dark sorcery at work.

A sorcerer at work… As he slid his finger down the bottle and tasted it.

Sorceress. Someone was certainly naughty. Her malicious acts infused her magic. She had terrorized. Had murdered many.

But there was an altogether unexpected flavor. Love.

Someone had pulled her from the brink of monstrosity.

She wasn’t a monster. Yet, she was using dark sorcery. Elfmort certainly was… intrigued.

Even given aid. To be at the cusp of the losing one’s humanity. To step back from the void of no return.

That took strength of character.

Easily lieutenant material.

Well, he did have to recruit anew since his lieutenants apparently decided to die without his permission during his absence.

Granted it was a centuries long enforced absence through time.

But who took a gamble to save someone so nearly lost? They’d be unstable, dangerous to themselves and others. Just like Three and Four.

He chuckled to himself. It certainly wasn’t the disciple. No that one had turned his daughter into a dedicated farmer.

Elfmort struggled to recall. He was after all facing his daughter in battle at the time.

Oh right. The forgettable one he had inadvertently caught along with the disciple.

“What do you think you’re doing whore?” The archfiend demanded and pulled him from his musings.

Elfmort sighed as he quickly pulled on his clothing. While he enjoyed being covered in the fluids of demons.

It wasn’t clothing…. Well not clothing any of the six races would recognize. His people had a much more lax attitude of clothing.

Why he hadn’t worn the stuff in so long….

He stopped himself.

“A whore you say? What would that make you?”

Elfmort’s inner fire glinted dangerously as the shadows coiled all around them.

“Besides my current favorite sex aid.”

 The archfiend roared and lept off his throne. The tendrils of darkness slammed it back into its throne.

As the pale green flame of conquest ignited around them in an unmistakable display of power.

The firestorm swirled around them both. It was a vast difference in physical size. A titanic demon with a ribcage filled with the heads of babies.

And a half elf engulfed in the pale green glow.

The difference between them however was deeply inverted.

Elfmort dressed slowly held the bottle tightly in his hand.

“You’re all alike. Archifiend, demon lord. Merely titles of the biggest bullies on the yard.” As the pale green flames drenched the demon’s already horribly mangled face.

Its panicked howl of agony reverberated.

“Howl all you want. I’ve sealed your precious throneroom off for a little… us time.” Elfmort explained to the archfiend exactly why none of his entourage, nor court answered his call.

“I wonder what your minions would think to see you in such a state. Isn’t weakness the greatest unforgivable crime for demons? And yet here you are. Your head aflame, stuck on your throne.”

Elfmort snapped his finger and the flames enveloping the archfiend’s head flew off to join the pale green firestorm.

“I never bother to learn your names. After all, what would be the point? It’d be like naming your sex toys. Perhaps, the next one will be of more use.” Elfmort monologued.

As bits of demonic essence came free. It swirled around the bottle.

Elfmort smiled as the archfiend realized just what he truly was. The fear of a demon was exquisite.

As the flames of conquest coalesced around the bottle.

“It’s always a treat when demons realize that the Demon-Eaters aren’t as extinct as they thought. In case, you haven’t figured it out yet. I remain.” Elfmort’s declaration was soft.

The archfiend pissed itself.

A doorway opened.

The archfiend was a burning bridge.

The catalyst and fuel. 

Elfmort stepped through. The bottle leading the way as the archfiend’s essence was stretched across existences. An unending scream of agony. The last gasp of a pathetic thing dying… and would remain incoherently in agony unending until the last drop was gone. Scattered across all creation.

The sorceress's lingering magic providing the perfect hold.

“Looking for your lover?”

Elfmort asked as he shook the glass bottle.