It's been a long time, yet again, and once again, I'm sorry. Doubly so, as this chapter's shorter than usual. This time however, I promise to have the next one up sooner.
Expecting sleep would have been foolish, expecting the pain to end wouldn't have been much more sensible, but expecting Liasha not to take as much pleasure as she could from manipulating the wound was so ridiculous only someone so delirious with pain and blood-loss as Zaan was could possibly have entertained the thought. She only tired of her game when to continue would leave Zaan no chance at all of any kind of recovery. Even so, she showed no compassion; roughly licking the wounded area clean in preparation for what she described as a healing.
Any magical healing performed by a proficient and caring practitioner would numb the pain and speed up the replacement of the damaged flesh; leaving the patient whole and refreshed. Liasha had her own methods.
Rather than lying Zaan down, and allowing the magic to flow into his wound, she propped him up against the first solid surface she could find, sat across his lap and drove her fingers once more into the torn flesh in his shoulder. She leant back in ecstasy, drinking in the sounds of his pain, before forcing her chaotic magic directly into the abused muscle. With her free left hand, she drew the mark of her god on his chest with his own blood, before matching it upon her own. With her right hand still buried in his shoulder, pulsing waves of agonizing magic through him, she pressed her body against his blood slicked skin and forced her mouth onto his, writhing in pleasure as Zaan's tired and confused mind tried to cope with the utterly different sensations. Gradually the pain in his shoulder seemed to lessen and though he made no conscious decision to do so, his body began to respond to Liasha's movements.
-
After Slaa'Khar's appearance from the shadows, Zaan could remember very little about the previous night. Or perhaps more accurately, this morning. The sun was high, and the ground well warmed by it. In spite of the warmth, he had wrapped himself completely in one of the many sheets strewn liberally around Liasha's tent. It's silken touch and garish design seemed a deliberate distraction from his attempt to find some semblance of normality. He could at least avoid looking at it, focusing on the simple sight of the trees he knelt near. The silk was harder to ignore, but he was grateful that it was at least smooth against the still tender flesh of his shoulder. He was amazed at how little pain he felt from it, however, conceding that, whatever torments he had been subjected to, the healing had worked.
Before his subconscious could throw up any coherent memories, Zaan forced himself to focus on something else. He was less than confident in the idea that Liasha would have simply healed his wound and let him sleep. Whatever she may or may not have done, dwelling on it would not help him achieve his goal.
Letting his attention drift away from his surroundings, he repeated the knight's code of chivalry to himself; centring his mind on the unchanging nature of a knight's honour. A code his family had followed for generations. He was contemplating the showing of mercy to one's enemies when he heard movement from the undergrowth. His mind flashed to the way he had dispatched the last beastman who tried to attack him. Remembering his cold-hearted decision to leave the creature impaled, he felt utterly ashamed. True, the beast was less worthy of mercy than any other foe he could think of, but the code of chivalry did not teach the giving of mercy to those who were worthy. It was a knight's duty to treat all foes in the same way, be they a chaos worshiping fiend or a noble-blooded duelling opponent.
The pitiful image emerging from the tangle of branches looked as though she had never seen a hand extended in mercy. Her hair was long, matted and knotted; though it must once have been golden, it's shine was faded.
Even her eyes showed the signs of her enslavement. When she saw the fine silken cloth around his shoulders and the mark branded onto his face she immediately assumed that Zaan was one of the Slaaneshi who held her here. The hatred and fear she felt for them became focused on him. And he wondered just how long she'd been held here against her will. Thinking back to the girl he'd seen in Slaa'Khar's tent, broken in mind and spirit, he could only guess.
She backed away as he approached, but something about his stance seemed to surprise her. The silk fell away from his wound and she blinked in surprise, her eyes locked on to the single hole she could see and the fear drained away. She was far from comfortable, but nor was she running away.
When she heard her pursuers approaching, she immediately decided that he was, at least, the lesser of two evils. With remarkable speed she was behind him; cowering at his shoulder like a frightened child. What surprised Zaan was less that she didn't notice the four holes in his back and more that there was almost no pain when she put her hand over them.
Azyrash's appearance as the source of the pursuit also came as little surprise. Whatever deity might be manipulating his life, clearly took pleasure in pushing him closer and closer to the Slaaneshi's breaking point.
She in turn seemed to almost have been expecting to see him. After a moment of silent fuming she lost her composure. Rather than anything overtly hostile, she rolled her head right, then left. The utter lack of femininity of the action, combined with the audible cracking sounds seemed far more sinister than any other, more conventional, display of anger.
"Its you. Of course its you! Who else would be stupid enough to intervene in a slave hunt?"
If nothing else, it explained how anyone so militant and disciplined would be lax enough to let a slave escape.
"Step aside."
She strode toward the two slaves, clearly confident that her order would be heeded without hesitation. She only stopped when she was within arms reach of Zaan. Now her eyes began to blaze with naked fury. Without warning, her left hand swung out and clasped around Zaan's throat. The speed of her movements combined with the unusual style negated any reaction he might normally have made. He was left helpless, desperately trying to loosen her grip and failing completely.
"I gave you an order slave! You dare to defy me!?"
Had it been possible, he would have enjoyed nothing more than to spit in her face. However the angle she had forced his neck into meant he could barely see her face. Knowing that whatever he did would undoubtedly lead to the same result; he refused to surrender. Readying himself for the impact, he swung his left leg across to her shoulder and pushed with all the strength he had. Azyrash's fingers scraped at his neck as she lost her grip but she damaged nothing below the surface.
Though he had managed to land on his right shoulder, the impact ran through his wounds and he barely managed to suppress the pain. He was slow to stand however, much slower than Azyrash, barely rising to his knees before she was standing over him.
It seemed that through the anger, Azyrash had failed to notice that Zaan was already wounded. Had she seen the wounds, she would undoubtedly have taken advantage of it in the way she now took obvious pleasure in doing. Her foot smacked into his side, knocking him to the floor. With his face against the grass he had no chance to defend against her attacks. Unlike Liasha's extended manipulations, Azyrash just stamped on the wound repeatedly. With each blow he was convinced that the barely healed wounds would tear open again. Each time he felt a screaming pain flood through him, but not once did he feel the blood he feared would begin to flow.
On the edge of his awareness, Zaan heard a sound like thunder and the pain began to recede. It took a moment before he realised that Azyrash had stopped. He managed to drag his head off the floor just in time to hear the warrior's angered exclamation;
"You psychotic Bitch! What are you trying to do?"
The voice which responded was much softer and tinged with mischief. It was also unmistakable.
"Are you still having trouble with this, my sadistic prince? He belongs to me. So I decide how to punish him."
If anything, this drove Azyrash to even higher levels of rage.
"Punish him? You've never punished a slave yet; all you ever do is play with them!"
Zaan pulled himself to his feet, much to Liasha's evident glee.
"You just have no imagination Azyrash. It doesn't matter how many times you beat this one, his will is too strong for you to break. I'm almost embarrassed for you." She walked towards Zaan as she spoke and caressed the brand on his face before moving on to Azyrash.
The sudden jolt of magic she flashed into Zaan's head was undeniably pleasurable; utterly unlike any of the other magic she had ever used on him.
He felt compelled to watch her movements, taking in every sway of her hips and the way the bronze rings in her hair swung from side to side. The wind behind her was just strong enough to ensure that the pale pink cloak she had draped from her shoulders enfolded her body seductively closely.
Liasha took Azyrash's chin in her hand and drew it gently down to her own level. She spoke softly, but just loud enough for Zaan to hear;
"You can't resist me, you never could."
Before Azyrash had any chance to speak, Liasha had pulled her into a kiss and after a moment of resistance, Azyrash surrendered to it.
In that same instant Liasha pulled away, unclasping the cloak from around her neck and letting it fall to the ground. Her dark skin shimmered like the silk of her cloak, as the sunlight shone down on her.
Zaan tore his eyes away and saw that, again, the girl he'd taken so much to rescue had fled without a word. He had to admit that it was the sensible thing to do, but it still seemed a little unfair.
He assumed that Liasha would be preoccupied with Azyrash and wouldn't notice if he left. Though part of him wanted to stay, he pushed the thought from his mind and walked away. He was still close enough to hear Liasha moan in pleasure.
"You still belong to me where it counts. No matter how much you try to hide it."
History thrown open for the hero concealed,
Perfection and Torment; Their union revealed,
Temptation's surrender; Posession's Demand,
Lust, Hate, and Fury all ride hand in hand
