Fan Fiction ❯ Yasha: Saga of the She-Devil ❯ Tale Two - Deals with a Devil ( Chapter 2 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

YASHA
SAGA OF THE SHE-DEVIL

Tale Two: "Deals with a Devil"

Lord Zan'nin was lost in deep concentration. He as sitting on a large cushion filled with exotic feathers from birds that were too big to fly. The caravan had been traveling for three weeks since leaving the small band of homesteads in the North. They were deep in the heart of the desert now. For the night, they had set camp: pitched tents, started a great bonfire, and tied up the horses and cattle.

Zan'nin's thoughts were wild, darting to and fro. He seemed oblivious to one of his concubines that worked diligently on his penis. The young and nubile girl, no older than seventeen, continued to manipulate his throbbing member in her mouth. She gripped the top of his head and slid her mouth down the long, thick shaft. She moved so that it slid slightly down her throat as she reached the base. Then, she pulled back, massaging his penis with her skilled hands in the wake of her mouth.

All around Zan'nin, his concubines were engaging in various acts. To his right, lying on the desert floor, were two girls - one a sandy tan color and the other a rare import from the land of Nubia - groped and licked each other wildly. To his left, a group of five women, ranging from twelve to thirty, became a writhing mass of pink flesh as they each pleasured each other for the warlord's amusement.

"Lord Zan'nin?" The voice came from beyond the tent.

Zan'nin was snapped out of his trance. He looked around, regaining his sense of reality.

"Come in!" he commanded.

A flap in the tent moved and revealed one of the warlord's advisors, Taichyou. The man entered the room, bowing his head subserviently. He was an older bald man who had been a mighty warrior in his day, as shown by the battle cars that marked his body. He stood in an elaborate robe of overlapping layers, denoting his importance. As he entered the room, he diverted his eyes when he saw the carnal scene.

Zan'nin, taken aback by Taichyou's reaction, looked around and realized what had offended him.

"Enough!" he cried to his women. He back-handed the woman as she was still in the middle of attempting to pleasure him. She fell hard against the sand and grabbed her jaw, which had begun to bleed. With a stern look, the concubines quickly stopped their activities and rushed out of the room hurriedly. Zan'nin pulled back up his pants at his leisure, and sat attentively waiting for the news Taichyou had brought him.

"Well?" asked the warlord patiently.

"My lord," began Taichyou. "Reports come that opposition forces are gathering in the Far South. They say that two of the groups have banded together. I fear, lord, that our raiders may not be up to the task of vanquishing two whole imperial armies." As he finished, Taichyou took a deep breath. Despite his years of loyalty and his mentorship of the adolescent warlord, Taichyou feared the mighty wrath of Zan'nin.

The warlord was silent for some time. Then, finally, he spoke. "I feared as much. I've felt our army weakening. We took casualties in some battles that we should've won easily. Our troops are lazy. They are weak." He took a pause. "I fear that our campaign will end with this next battle."

"M-milord?" Taichyou was shocked at this last statement. He had seen the boastfulness and arrogance of the Warlord Zan'nin. It did not occur to him that Zan'nin could possibly consider his own forces' defeat.

"Do not be so surprised, Taichyou. I may be conceited, but I am not a fool. I have realized that this day was coming. Though I did not expect this Southern Alliance to form… its existence matters not. I have surmised a way to ensure our victory." Zan'nin's voice was grim.

"H-how, lord?" Taichyou faltered.

Zan'nin stared off. "I have a plan. That is all you need to know for now. We will not move come morning. Next nightfall, gather around the top officers of each division and sect amongst the raiders." A melancholy smiled scrolled across his face. "And bring my new wife."

"Yes, sir," nodded Taichyou. He turned to leave, knowing that any further questioning would not yield him any more information. He began to open the tent flap.

"Taichyou!" called Zan'nin after his servant. The elderly man turned. "Also summon the sorcerer Mahou… and tell him to bring the Faustian Scrolls."

Taichyou nodded, but he was worried. He left the tent and hurried through the desert night. Zan'nin sat comfortably on his large cushion. A sinister smile spread across his face. He looked around his large, empty tent. He laughed to himself.

"Send in the concubines!" he yelled.

* * *

Otomo awoke to a start. The bright light from an oil lamp hurt her eyes. The first thing she realized was that her body hurt. She had been sleeping a ramped iron cage covered by a tarp, and her body was bound in chains. She slowly rose to her feet, trying to adjust her soiled kimono, which she had not changed or washed in over three weeks, to become presentable.

The light of the lamp revealed the greasy, harried face of her own personal prison guard. She didn't know his name and she didn't care. She hated him almost as much as she hated Zan'nin. The greasy man unlocked the cage and grabbed Otomo harshly.

Otomo grunted at the brutishness of his grip on her arm.

"Shut up, bitch!" the man replied gruffly. "Maybe after Lord Zan'nin's done with you, I might get a little taste of that myself!" She smiled a gap-toothed smile. As he escorted Otomo across the sand, his free hand snaked under her kimono and harshly groped her sex.

Otomo winced at the pain, but kept her mouth shut. She had learned to deal with the abuse; to distance herself from it. She silently trudged through the sand between various tents and shelters and small herds of horses or cattle. Finally, they approached a large, multi-colored tent: Zan'nin's tent.

She was rushed inside violently. She had expected only Zan'nin to be there alone, or perhaps with a few spectators. She believed she was being ushered in after her lord had been… entertained enough by his concubines, and now he wanted her to accept his seed as she had on and off for the last three weeks. She was surprised to see the tent was packed with the various generals, stable masters and field commanders.

"Ah, my beautiful wife!" The voice was callous and full of spite. Otomo looked over to the center of the commotion. There, on a plush pillow surrounded by scantily-clad slave girls, sat Zan'nin; her husband.

"Come here, wife." The sound of that last word was like poison off his tongue to Otomo. She lowered her head and inched forward towards him, her movements restricted by manacles attached to her feet. She bowed down in front of him.

"Come, come," began Zan'nin. "The place for a wife is not at her husband's feet!" His large hands grasped Otomo by the waist and hoisted her up. He planted her down hard on his lap. She could feel his length rubbing against her leg beneath his pants. His arm wrapped around her tightly.

"Now," the warlord began. "Present the sorcerer!"

"Presenting the sorcerer!" an official-sounding voice cried.

The crowds parted to each side, each showing both reverence for their lord, but also showing an unexplainable fear and apprehension. As they moved, Otomo could see a dark, masculine figure at the end of the tent. The man seemed to draw all light from the room into himself. He glided forward, as if floating, towards Zan'nin.

"My lord." His voice was raspy and hoarse.

He bowed his hooded head. He pulled back the hood to reveal a young, bald head. Otomo noted that he didn't look like Zan'nin's chief - a man she knew as Taichyou - due in most part to the fact that this new, strange man's head was covered in intricate and foreign tattoos. He appeared inhuman.

"Do you have the spell prepared, Mahou?" All sense of demented pleasure had faded from Zan'nin's voice. He became serious and sullen.

Mahou nodded. From in the folds of his robe, he produced an old, rolled-up parchment. He placed it on a blanket which had been laid upon the sand. On closer inspection, Otomo realized that it wasn't a scroll at all; it was some sort of paper mat covered with a pentagram and numerous occult symbols that Otomo had no knowledge of. To her, it seemed as if all sound had vanished from the room. Yet she swore that she could hear a faint rippling and moving of the symbols on the motionless paper.

Mahou then reached back into the seemingly limitless folds of his cloak to produce a small satin bag tied with a glistening gold piece of string. He slowly undid the sting and placed it back in his cloak. Then, turning the bag upside-down, he began to move around the ancient parchment in a large circle. From the bag poured a powdery white substance which Otomo took to be salt. When he had finished pouring a seemingly impossible amount of salt from the bag, he threw it back recklessly into the confines of his deep black robe.

"It is ready my lord," grunted the sinister sorcerer. He bowed his head before Zan'nin, awaiting instruction.

"Well?" asked Zan'nin impatiently. "Proceed!"

Mahou hesitated, but nodded. He stepped inside the white circle, careful not to break the line of salt. Once inside, he dropped to his knees and began muttering. Otomo could not distinguish the words, as she assumed it was some old, dead language. As his muttering got louder, it appeared to be more of a chorus of muttering and whispering.

Otomo began to become afraid. She had thought that all her emotions had been numbed in the time she had spent as a willing captive to Zan'nin. But as the room began to glow as if on fire, Otomo felt fear again.

As Mahou's chanting grew to a climax, he motioned to one of the nearby soldier. Suddenly, Otomo saw one of her husband's slave girls pushed forward unexpectedly into the white circle. In what appeared to be one fluid motion, Mahou twirled around the girl, pulling a jagged knife from his robe. In a swift stroke, he slashed her throat. Blood sprayed onto the center of the pentagram on the parchment. Mahou tossed the girl's limp body outside the circle. It lay on the sand, bleeding from the neck.

With a brilliant spark and raucous boom, the pentagram exploded. Fire and noxious smoke billowed from the center. Slowly, a figure took shape. A tall, lanky figure emerged. As the smoke cleared, the entire room fell dead silent.

"It worked," whispered the sorcerer in awe, looking up at the new figure.

"Indeed it has," agreed the figure. It flashed, as if sweeping out with his hand. After a moment, Mahou fell dead back on top of the blanket. His face was mangled and a pile of burnt and melted flesh.

From the center of the circle, the figure emerged. He was tall, nearly seven feet tall. He appeared human, but his skin was reddish in complexion. He appeared menacing. His face was twisted into a sinister grin. He wore what appeared to be a black, regal suit. But what struck everyone in the tent was his hair; it stood nearly another foot taller. It was shadowy gray with streaks of bright red running through it.

After a moment of silence, Zan'nin spoke up. "Well," he said. "Welcome stranger, to the land of mortals."

The new figure ignored him. He looked around at all the people who had backed to the edges of the tent. They were scared to a degree that their skin had become several shades lighter than normal.

"Now," began Zan'nin again after a moment. "Let us discuss the conditions of our agreement."

The new figure turned. "Agreement? Why, little mortal, what makes you think I won't just devour the whole lot of you right now? Why shouldn't I crush your little head between my claws?" He began to approach Zan'nin, but stopped at the white salt line.

"Why O Great and Powerful Demon," began Zan'nin with an arrogant laugh. "Maybe I should ask why I shouldn't leave you, trapped in that circle for the rest of all existence?"

The demon paused. He stared intently at the warlord, studying him. "Very well. What do you want?"

Zan'nin composed himself. "I am Zan'nin. Lord of the Eastern Lands. Decimator of armies. Pillager of villages and rap-"

"ENOUGH!" As the demon spoke, the ground quaked. "I grow tired of your talk, mortal! Now, tell me what it is you desire so that I may return to my infernal home and be done with your living stench!"

Zan'nin gulped hard. "V-very well. As I was saying, I am the general of a mighty army. But even at our strength, I fear we are not invincible. My request to you is simple: allow my army to become unbeatable in battle, a force to rival all the armies in the world."

The demon paused. Then, he began. "I will not grant your request."

"What!?"

The demon smiled. "You see, mortal man, a demon does not bargain for his release. We barter in one currency and one currency only." The eyes of the demon began to glow a hellish red. "Souls."

On her husband's lap, Otomo could swear that she felt Zan'nin shutter.

"I will not sell my soul to the likes of you demon," he growled.

Again, the demon smiled. "No, no, foolish mortal. I need not take your soul. Merely a soul in your possession."

Zan'nin was quiet for a moment. Then, he motioned to the man at his side. Taichyou stepped forward reluctantly.

"Then I give you the soul of my general, Taichyou."

A rumble began in the demons throat and broke through his mouth. He laughed. "You simple, simple creature. You cannot speak for this man. His soul is his own."

"But he willingly sacrifices it for me." Zan'nin turned to his general. "Don't you Taichyou!"

The demon sighed. "Even if he did, his soul would not benefit you. I will not accept a soul by proxy."

Zan'nin's eyes darted around. He began to grow worried. "You!" he cried, pointing violently at one of his other concubines in the corner of the tent. "I give her soul to you. She is my property, including her soul."

The demon grew sullen. "Your efforts are growing tiresome mortal! Though you may own this woman in body, her soul is still her own. Unless she willingly indentured herself to you…"

"That's it!" cried Zan'nin. The force of his revelation knocked Otomo to the ground. "This bitch!" he cried, pulling Otomo up by the hair. "She willingly gave herself to me. Take her!" With this, he threw Otomo forward. She fell, face first, into the salt circle.

The demon was upon her in seconds. He gently lifted her to her feet, inspecting her. "Is what he says true?" asked the demon sinisterly.

Otomo only winced.

The demon sniffed her deeply and licked a single drop of blood from a cut she had obtained from Zan'nin's violence. He made a pleasurable noise. "Yes, it is true." With lightning-fast slashes with his hands, Otomo's clothes fell to shreds. She stood naked before the entire assembly, including her demon captor.

The demon inspected her more closely. His nose traveled all across her naked body. His claws traced the generous mounds of the young woman. He sniffed Otomo all around her, stopping at her flat stomach. He took a deep whiff.

"Yesssss," he hissed. "This one will do just fine."

Zan'nin sighed. "Then it's settled? You will make my army invincible?"

The demon smiled. "Oh yes. In return for this soul and all that it entails, your army will never fall in battle so long as they live."

Zan'nin sat back, relieved. "A small price to pay." He laughed to himself. "Oh, and my dear Otomo, before you leave…" He reached beneath his cushion to produce a katana sword. He threw it towards his wife. "In case you need to kill the devil." He laughed.

Otomo grabbed the katana instinctively. As she silently stood, the demon wrapped its hand around her. Otomo felt the world begin to spin. Everything turned dark and Otomo was suddenly very cold.

The demon and the girl vanished from the circle. In their wake was only a pillar of smoke. Zan'nin sat silently on his cushion. His face was stoic. Then, after a long moment, he spoke.

"Well," he began in a boisterous and confident manner. "Remove the tent stakes! We leave at dawn!"

TO BE CONTINUED…

(NEXT: THE WILD FIRES)