Love's Labors, Part 22


Before you can wonder for too long at the new developments with your Brand, the void fades away. As the final memory takes hold, you once again find yourself in the Second Circle of so very long ago.

The Incubus King strides through the streets of the capitol, flanked on either side by guards and attendants. But this is not the withered, paranoid figure that you saw in the other memories. Much less the warped, cancerous form you fought in your own dream. No, he looks... strong. Virile. Effortlessly confident and charismatic, without any hint of the rage or corruption that stains the monster you've been struggling against. The very image of an ideal incubus.

The succubi in his retinue follow subserviently after him. All of them wear collars, and bow their heads deferentially to any incubi who they interact with. It's so strange to see them like this, when you're so used to them being the ones in control. Ruling over the incubi as their subjects.

Though at least they never made you wear a collar.

"This is the place, my lord," says one of those succubi, her tone worshipful. "I'm told she works here."

The retinue pauses outside one of the innumerable Houses of Sin that fill the Second Circle, where the souls of lustful mortals are instructed in true Pleasure, their ecstasy feeding the demonic host. This one is a small, humble place, tucked away on the outskirts of the City of Carnal Delight. The overseer must have been of low status; you see no sign of the luxurious ostentation typically found in the Houses run by older, more powerful demons.

It pricks an unexpected pang of remembrance in your heart. You were trained in an unknown, low-status House very much like this one. Before it all came crashing down. Before the Brand made itself known.

The King approaches the door, opening it slightly without announcing himself. As he peers inside, you can feel the intensity of the stolen memory spike. So many violent, contradictory emotions. All of them wound about this one, single instant. This first, unforgettable glance. The moment he caught sight of the succubus dancing with her eyes closed in the center of the room.

Her long black hair hangs down behind her in a series of carefully-crafted braids. She is tall and statuesque, with a heart-stopping figure. Even among her own kind, she is an astonishing beauty, but her soft, comforting expression prevents it from intimidating any of her audience. She wears nothing but worn strips of cloth wrapped in tight patterns around her voluptuous figure. Yet even those simple garments are worn expertly, enticing as much for what they don't show as what they do.

Her dance is mesmerizing, to the point that even you forget your purpose for a moment. She moves with perfect, bewitching grace, catching the eye of mortal after mortal in the crowd as she tempts them. Each one she treats a little differently. When she looks at some, she is playful, others sultry, others imperious, others tender.

And somehow... it always seems to be exactly what each of them most yearn for. Always the allure that will most inflame their desires.

The Demon Lord is captivated. His eyes trace her every movement, as he studies this diamond he's found in the gutter. No sooner has the dance ended than he steps out into view. Everyone in the pleasure house hurriedly prostrates themselves, their foreheads pressed against the floor as they realize who has arrived. The Incubus King pays them no heed at all, his attention on the succubus as he walks over to her. "Rise," he commands. "What is your name?"

"Lehatial, my lord," the succubus says, nervously getting off her knees.

"Lehatial..." the king murmurs, his eyes roaming up and down her body with desire. "It is clear that you are wasted in such a lowly place, Lehatial. You shall come with me, to my personal harem. No longer shall you want for anything, and your only concern shall be your service to me."

The succubus' eyes widen in shock. "My... my lord..." she says, faltering. Her eyes reflexively flicker to the side, looking at the dismayed patrons of the house. "You are... too kind to one such as me! I... I do not deserve such an honor..."

Your perceptive gaze, however, can tell she means more than she's saying. Humble though this place and its patrons may be, she's formed a deep attachment, both to it and to them. She tries to phrase it in terms of her own unworthiness, but it's clear she has no desire to leave this home she's made, not even for a life of luxury.

But with a chuckle of fond amusement, the Incubus King just walks over to her, cupping his hand under her chin and turning her gaze up toward himself. As he touches her, her eyes dilate and glaze over, her breath quickening as her opposition starts to waver.

It's eerily reminiscent of your own succubus seduction. The uncanny ease with which Rysanial—a trained seductress herself, with an order to kill you—completely submitted with such ease. The strange asymmetry in how succubi seem so utterly vulnerable to incubi. Unable to resist.

The king pulls her into a kiss, and she melts against his muscular body. Within moments he's torn her wrappings off and is fucking her against the wall as she moans helplessly, demonstrating his ownership to everyone there. She cries out as he claims her, clinging helplessly to him as he finishes, her carefully-braided hair now disheveled.

As she slumps against him, the Incubus King gives her a gentle caress. "Never fear..." he says confidently. "I will make you forget all such worries. Let me show you the true meaning of Pleasure."

More memories blur one into another as you watch. Days turn into weeks. Weeks turn into months. Months turn into years. So many times you see the king taking Lehatial into his bed, their bodies moving in sweaty, carnal congress. And while she still seems wistful for her old life and friends, she also does seem to develop a growing affection for the Demon Lord.

How much of that is simply getting to know him, and how much is prolonged exposure to that uniquely irresistible influence over the succubi you have no idea. But it's clear that—one way or another—she is coming to care for him as well.

Ironically, the same is true of him. And if anything, it's to an even greater degree. For as many memories that you see of them having sex, just as often you see them simply lying there together, his head in her lap. He holds her hand, their fingers interlinked as he confides his own doubts and worries and burdens. Opening up to her like he can to none other. Somehow, she always knows exactly the right thing to say. The right reassurance, the right encouragement to give.

It's only much later that she works up the courage to explain why.

"It's infuriating..." the Incubus King says, as they lie close together after one of their trysts. "I want to tell you how beautiful you are. I want to say how much you mean to me. But words... they just aren't enough."

Lehatial smiles. "Don't fret," she assures him. Then she hesitates, before continuing. "You don't have to say anything. I... can sense it. It's my own demonic power. I can feel what other people feel. Not quite thoughts or words... but the more basic things. Their pleasure. Their pain. Their intent. Their desire. It helps me, when I'm with someone. Helps me know exactly how to give them the most joy."

Your eyebrows go up. She's an Empath? You have heard stories of that particular demonic power. But by all accounts it's astonishingly rare. Far rarer than the more... archetypal... powers that have been manifesting from your Brand. And even when such an Empath is born, fear of what they can learn of others' inmost selves has often led to their persecution.

But the king's raw desire for her already surpasses such concerns. It's not even primarily for the sex itself, though even there she is clearly in a league of her own. But even more than that, he depends on her, especially the way that very gift of hers allows her to speak into his life with such unerring intimacy. Something no other member of his immense harem had even dared to attempt.

The years of their life together continue to blur past. Until you finally sense another memory approaching. A memory seething with a tangled web of feeling attached. Rage. Recrimination. And regret. All of them twisted into a knot so tight that it's impossible to tell where one emotion ends and the other begins.

The two of them are lounging together in his bed, his arm around her naked body, resting in the afterglow of their lovemaking. The Incubus King looks down fondly at her, playing with her hair... and impulsively makes an offer. "All this time you've been with me, and you've never asked me for anything," he says. "Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all that would make you happy? You have but to name it."

Lehatial tilts her head to look up at him, hesitant. "You've... already provided so much for me," she says, resting a hand on his bare chest. "I already have more fancy clothes and artwork from you than I have room here to store. Those kind of gifts would be better served elsewhere."

He notices her slight hesitation, though. "But there is something you want," he insists. "I can tell. There's something I can do for you. Tell me. Please."

The succubus looks down, conflicted and uncertain... before finally nodding her head. "My lord..." she says. "I know this matter is too great for a mere request to decide it. So... my request is only that you hear me out, and then do as you will. Thelial's rebellion... it was so long ago. I have never even met a succubus who was alive back then, let alone participated in it. And I know to the depths of my soul that there is so much more our kinds could offer each other, if we could be equal partners in the art of pleasure again!"

She looks up at him. So impassioned. So earnest. "Please, my lord. Please consider lifting the geas that you placed on our kind."

Your jaw drops at what she just said. You would be incredulous at the revelation... except it makes sense of so much that you had already been wondering about. The "strange" asymmetry you noticed in how succubi seem so utterly vulnerable to the incubi, yet not the reverse... it isn't strange at all. Nor is it a natural phenomenon. It's something that was inflicted on them deliberately, after a defeat so ancient that it has been lost to memory.

This explains why the incubi of today are kept under such careful control. Why the succubi absolutely forbid the incubi from ever having any congress with one of their kind. Because of this ancient weakness that they have gone to such lengths to conceal, to expunge from your histories. A weakness that could lead them back into the slavery that they so fear.

Still, even with all that, the sheer scale of such a geas is still mind-boggling to consider. You'd struggle to believe it had the evidence not been so conclusive. To still affect succubi spawned so long after the event... Does a true Demon Lord really have such power?

Turning to look at the Incubus King, you see that his expression is stricken. Of all the requests he might have expected from her, this was not one of them. He was so accustomed to the way things were... so used to the worshipful deference he'd been shown... that he hadn't even thought to consider that some of his succubi might still yearn for something even more than just that, when given permission to ask.

Now it's his turn to hesitate. "That is..." he begins. "What you're asking, it's... The consequences through the realm... The impact could be..."

But you only need one single look to immediately know that he's lying. The reason he's hesitating has nothing to do with any fear of instability in the Second Circle. He isn't worried about future rebellion, nor of any other political consequences.

No. He's hesitating because her question has forced him to remember how, in truth, that very geas was instrumental in how he won Lehatial over. That very geas was a part of how he made her such a willing pillar of support for him. And he's realizing that it's possible he might lose her heart, if the hold he has on her soul were taken away.

It's such a small thing, the seed that takes root in that moment. A doubt he hadn't even considered, now brought into sharp focus.

Would she really still love him in the same way she does now, if she were not his supernatural slave?

And would he be willing to release her from that slavery, if that were the result?

But worst of all... Lehatial is an Empath. She knows, in that moment, the true reason why he doesn't want to do it. And he knows she knows.

Strained, fearful silence hangs in the bedroom. The two of them look into each others' eyes, as the Incubus King wrestles with how to respond, his answer balanced on a knife's edge. Does he dare risk the bond that has grown so close to his heart? His most precious support? His most precious possession?

Slowly he looks away, unable to meet her eyes... before finally speaking. "I... I cannot."

The answer hits Lehatial hard, and she looks down as well. "I understand, my lord," she assures him hurriedly. "Please, pay it no further mind. It was your decision. I will trust that it is correct."

But it's a mistake.

Caught up in her own emotions, Lehatial has—for once in her life—accidentally said the exact wrong thing in her attempt to please her master. The Incubus King knows full well why he made his decision. And he knows she knows. The fact that she is still so desperate to placate him... it only breeds more creeping doubts. Doubting how much of the affection he so cherishes is merely compelled by his power.

He cannot bear the thought that her affection could be false. But to know for certain if it is true... he would have to risk losing her affection entirely. And he cannot bear that either.

And so the seed of doubt continues to grow. Its roots twisting deeper into his soul.

He pulls away from the supposed source of his pain, rolling out of the bed and back to his feet. Now fully panicking, Lehatial scrambles out of the bed as well, kneeling down behind him and placing her forehead on the floor. "Please," she begs, nearly in tears, not knowing what else to do. "Please my lord, forgive me. I don't... I didn't... Please forget I ever said anything so foolish."

The Incubus King clenches his eyes tight. Her subservience is such that she will react like this, when he was clearly in the wrong. The realization only adds fuel to his guilt and doubt. For a moment he looks back over his shoulder, down at her kneeling, shivering form. And even then, there's a glimmer of hope. Like he almost might find the courage to risk everything. The courage to face her as she truly is, no matter what the cost to himself might be.

But it isn't quite enough.

With the inevitability of an event that was set in stone so many centuries ago, the Incubus King turns and strides out of the room, futilely trying to run away from the trap he's created for himself. Leaving his cherished slave still kneeling on the floor behind him without a word, while he searches for some other solace he will not find.

As he does, the memory fades away. You're not sure exactly where these events will go next, or how all the remaining pieces will fit in. But you can see the trajectory clear enough. And you already know where it ends.

It's only going to get worse from here.

The memories speed up again, flowing past in quick succession. The king ignores Lehatial for a while, attempting to get his thoughts in order. He spends his time exclusively with the other members of his harem, who gleefully capitalize on the ostracizing of their chief rival. This lasts until—with a sudden, mercurial change of mind—he commands her to start attending him again.

No mention is made of the previous conflict. But the Incubus King makes a transparently redoubled effort to secure her affection. Instead of the one thing she actually asked him for, the Incubus King instead smothers her with a never-ending stream of costly gifts and privileges, each one more exorbitant and ostentatious than the last.

Lehatial accepts them all graciously, showing her master as much gratitude as she can. But deep in their hearts they both know how meaningless the gifts truly are. And with each futile attempt, you can see a frustration—an anger—building in the king. An anger at her, because what he's willing to do isn't enough.

An anger at her, for the unfamiliar shame that he feels.

Worse, this is not the only trouble vexing the Demon Lord of the Second Circle. Some level of tension between the Realms is ever-present, no matter the age. But as the memories flow onward you notice a particular flare-up of conflict between the Second and Fifth Circles. The demons of Wrath are always spoiling for a fight, and with their latest grievance, clashes between the two infernal domains are on the rise. And those clashes have not been going well for the Second Circle.

As on edge as he already is, the Incubus King does not take the news of these losses well. To the point that he starts to take the field himself on a regular basis, something he had rarely done for such minor skirmishes. Lehatial tries to caution him against the danger of such reckless action, but it falls on deaf ears. He even has her accompany him, turning even this into a desperate attempt to prove himself to her. To demonstrate his worth.

He arms himself with the Night's Embrace, legendary sword of the Second Circle's Demon Lords. Every succubus and incubus knows of it, though you've never seen it in person before now. It is a relic of the first War in Heaven, created using lost techniques of smithing and enchantment. A blade of pure Thanatite, not the mere alloys that are made in this era. Its dark, rune-encrusted length radiates the very essence of the Plane of Death from which it was forged. A true god-killing weapon.

And, for the first few battles, the unexpected appearance of a Demon Lord leads the Second Circle to resounding success. The enemy shatters against his overwhelming power, the Night's Embrace cleaving through their ranks with wounds that their regeneration cannot heal. He exults in the victory, reveling in the admiration and awe from his watching forces.

You, however, turn to Lehatial, and see that she is clutching herself, trembling. Like she wants to curl in on herself and disappear. You stare at her in stunned disbelief, incredulous that the Incubus King actually brought an Empath to a battlefield.

Was he really so self-absorbed in his desire to prove himself that he didn't even think what being so close to all this pain and suffering would do to her? Or... does he already resent her so much that he didn't care? Just so long as he could tell himself that she'd seen how worthy he was?

Whatever his motives, Lehatial is just trying to withstand it as she feels the pain surrounding her. Her eyes are clenched shut in concentration, and you suspect that she has some degree of control over the scope of her power. But she clearly can't turn it off entirely. And even what's getting through is reducing her to shuddering tears.

Two battles play out this way, as resounding victories for the Second Circle. Then, during the third battle, the Wrath demons set an ambush.

The clash starts the same at first. Until, without warning, a hulking, musclebound demon hurtles into view. He's covered in thick, rune-covered obsidian armor. Yet despite his immense frame, he's still somehow moving so fast that even your eyes can barely track him.

You know instantly what the Fifth Circle has sent in response. This must be a fucking Duke of Hell. The greatest of the demonic nobility, only a single step below a Demon Lord. And while the Incubus King may have more power in theory, a large part of that power is tuned toward manipulation, control and seduction. While the Wrath demon...

This Wrath demon is—in his very essence—a living engine of pure physical destruction. Every fiber of the Duke of Hell is bent toward exacting brutal, close quarters retribution on his enemies. And he's managed to get the drop on his target, blindsiding him.

A heavy gauntlet slams into the Incubus King's face, its spikes tearing through flesh and sending blood spraying. The king tries to retaliate, tries to swing the Night's Embrace. But the Wrath demon is already inside his guard, one hand clamped on the king's sword arm, keeping tight with his opponent as he savages him. The king's wounds are healing... but not as fast as they should be healing, and you recognize that the spikes have some potent anti-regeneration magic of their own.

The Wrath demon laughs, a deep bellow of battle-lust, and it's obvious that the Incubus King is in serious trouble. The enemy set up their ambush perfectly... and in his frustration and desperation to prove himself, he walked right into it. The Wrath demon doesn't let up, each gouging blow more savage than the last. Until, with a final punch, the Demon Lord of the Second Circle crumples around his gauntlet, tumbling backward along the ground to land in a bloody heap.

"No!" Seeing him fall, Lehatial breaks into a run toward him. But even if there was something she could do, it's clear she won't make it in time. The wounded king tries to struggle back to his feet, only to be stomped back down by an armored boot on his chest. The king can only kneel there, helpless, in the very place he'd meant to show off his own merits, as the Duke of Hell raises his fist for a killing blow.

Then a bolt of pale green magic slashes through the air, slamming directly into the Wrath demon's chest. The sheer kinetic force sends him flying back across the battlefield until he slides to a stop on his back. With a roar he rolls back to his feet, turning to look at the new figure that has appeared on the battlefield.

You, however, already recognize him from the previous memories. It's Zethuriel.

His fingertips still crackle with arcane power, even as behind him, a large wave of Second Circle reinforcements swoop down toward the battlefield. With a frustrated snarl, the Wrath demon signals to his own remaining troops. Together they begin a fighting retreat, falling back to the Hellgate they used to get here.

It's then that Lehatial reaches the king. "My lord!" she says, worried at seeing him in such a state. "You're hurt! Please, let me tend you."

Even now, she still has such concern for him. Is it all because of the geas? The ingrained submission she can't help but feel toward her master? Or... could she actually still have genuine affection from all the many years they spent together? Despite everything he's done to trample on it?

Either way, that concern is the last thing the Incubus King wants right now. This was—by any account—an utter humiliation. He wanted to show off, to prove himself a mighty champion. Yet his impulsive attempt saw him beaten to a bloody pulp by a lesser demon.

Right in front of the very succubus he had done all this for, in his obsessive attempt to impress.

"Be silent," he says through gritted teeth, unable to even look directly at her in his shame. "It will heal soon enough. I have no need of any help!"

"But my lord, these wounds are—"

"I said be silent!" The words echo through the air with the crack of command. And, her eyes widening, Lehatial finds that she is completely mute. Her mouth moves in increasingly frantic motions, her hands going to her throat... but her body simply refuses to make any vocalizations. She looks up at him, pleading, but he still does not look at her.

A chill runs down your spine. For the first time, you understand the true extent of the geas that the succubi are under. For the first time, you truly understand why they hold such a terrible fear of the Incubus King's return. The weakness they have to ordinary incubi is nothing compared to what the true Demon Lord, the author of their curse, can do to them.

It's not even a question of "power". If the Incubus King returns to the Second Circle, he won't need an army to defeat the succubi. He could to it with a single word.

Shit. How in all the Hells did they ever manage to kill him in the first place?

For a while, that horrible silence stretches on as Lehatial looks at him imploringly. Finally, he speaks again. "Go. Leave me. You may speak again once you're back in the capitol."

Instantly she jerks to her feet, her body moving in immediate response to the order. And so the Incubus King is, indeed, left alone. Without her present to see his shame.

Of course, he isn't completely alone. While most of the reinforcements keep their distance, murmuring between themselves, Zethuriel approaches, hands clasped behind his back. "My lord," he says. "Is there anything I can do to be of service to you?"

The Incubus King lets out a ragged breath. "No," he grinds out. "There is nothing."

The demonic mage walks closer to the wounded Demon Lord, until he's standing just beside him, looking his liege up and down with a calculating gaze. Then he continues to speak, his tone the model of placid circumspection. "I find it a curious thing, my lord. The variations between the Nine Circles. The paths that we find our destiny divided between. One specializing in this gift. The other in that."

The Incubus King turns to look up at his subordinate, a dangerous look in his eyes, unsure whether the mage is mocking his failure. "Are you suggesting that I should accept what just happened?"

"No, my lord," Zethuriel says calmly. "Quite the opposite, in fact. I have long been fascinated by such questions, even before I became a demon. The nature of the Circles, and the differences between them. The nature of Sin. The nature of Lust. The nature of Desire."

Then he kneels down, looking his liege right in the eye. And though his expression remains perfectly composed, you can see a fire burning in his gaze. "True, our origins can shape our destiny," he says. "As you have just been reminded. But it is my belief that, whatever else those truths are... they are not immutable constants."

The wounded, humiliated king frowns, watching the mage warily. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

For the first time, Zethuriel smiles. Then he leans down to whisper into the Demon Lord's ear. But before you can hear what he says, the thread of memory comes apart, tearing apart as you reach a gap that you were unable to wrest from the Incubus King's memories. You exhale in frustration, wishing you could hear what the two of them agreed to do.

But that knowledge escapes your grasp, leaving only the twisting emptiness of the mental void.

It's difficult to tell how long the gap lasts. Sometimes, you think you can sense faint fragments of what might go in the emptiness. Emotions. Sensations. Nothing you can pin down, nothing except for a gnawing vortex of rage. All you can do is speculate. Wondering what motives could drive an incubus like Zethuriel to propose... whatever he did. Wondering what abominations he and the Incubus King wrought together, during the time you can't see.

But the memories never show you what they did. When the thread of memory picks up again... all you can see is the result.

It's the same Duke of Hell as before, come back for a rematch. Those of the Fifth Circle rarely let go of a grudge. But this time, the result is far different. This time, you don't see a self-absorbed, insecure, selfish incubus.

This time, you finally see the monster that's even now lurking inside you.

The battered, bleeding Wrath demon swings his fist with a furious bellow of rage, but the Incubus King just catches it in his own palm, then twists the arm, snapping it. And worse than the violence itself is the rhapsodic glee that the Demon Lord feels as he inflicts it. Seen this close, through the filter of memory, the sadistic brutality feels...

...it feels frighteningly like how sex feels to you.

The Incubus King could end the fight at any time, with a single slash of the Night's Embrace. But he doesn't. He draws it out, slowly beating the demon who humiliated him to death. The vindication, the release he feels with each shattered bone is orgasmic. On and on it goes, the Incubus King losing himself in the rush of this new sensation, until the Wrath demon is little more than a quivering pile of meat. Until the Demon Lord is fairly bathed in his blood.

Then, with a savage grin, he turns to where Lehatial is—once again—watching. Exhilarated that he has avenged his defeat. Eager to see her reaction, now that he's shown that he's not a weakling.

And somehow... somehow the fool is actually surprised to find that she's looking with horror and fear at what he's become.

For a moment, the two of them stand there. You wonder if, in some small way, he realizes in that moment just how low he's fallen. Just how obsessed and self-destructive he's become. How fucking pointless it all was in the end.

Maybe a part of him does see it. But, now far more than before, that part of him is so much easier to just drown out with rage. Why should he feel pain? Why should he feel guilt? How dare she not appreciate his victory, after everything he's done to prove himself to her? How dare she spurn him like this?

His descent spirals quickly after that.

Whatever he did to himself, he embraces it. He revels in the mind-twisting corruption of his newfound power, in the twisted pleasure that his fury gives him. The supernatural rage becomes an armor against anything that would cause him to feel pain or doubt.

And, most importantly of all, it becomes an armor against anything that would cause him to regret.

He spreads the "baptism" to many of the highest-ranking incubi, increasing their power as well. They become the new ruling class, as the Second Circle descends into a cesspool of sadistic, sexual violence and cruelty, led by their mad king.

It's the geas on the succubi that makes it all the more horrific. He makes sure to bind them with explicit commands, making them utterly unable to resist the depredations he and his inner circle inflict on them. Even filtered through the blur of his rapidly-flowing memories, it's a sickening display. Sometimes, the lucky succubi are killed. But far too often, the corrupted incubi take careful advantage of their regeneration to keep the depraved game going indefinitely.

Through all of it, he never lays a finger on Lehatial. Not directly. But he makes her watch. And for an Empath like her, there's barely a difference. You can tell that she's trying desperately—for her own sanity—to cultivate more control over her power. But no matter how proficient she's forced to become at shutting out her sisters' pain, it's never enough.

She fundamentally cannot resist him. But the mad king seems irrationally intent on provoking her anyway. Like he's trying to prove to himself that she is against him. Like he's trying to prove that she really does deserve this.

Even when anything that could be mistaken for affection for her has long since withered away in him, his desire, his obsession with her has only increased. Does he even remember how he used to feel about her? Whether he does or not, one thing is obvious. Regardless of whether it's expressed through care or contempt... he remains every bit as incapable of letting go of her.

The insanity continues to escalate, the Incubus King and his cohort long since having lost touch with anything resembling reality, holding on only by the raw dint of their incredible power. Even if the succubi are trapped as his slaves, it gets to the point where even many of the lesser, uncorrupted incubi are muttering against him and his ruling caste.

In response to the unrest, the king starts to spiral down into the erratic paranoia you saw in the other memories, some part of him realizing that he has no one at all that he can truly trust anymore. Soon, even among his supposed allies he never goes anywhere without his weapon, the Night's Embrace always sheathed at his side, ready to be used at a moment's notice.

The more paranoid the mad king becomes, the more he resorts to the geas, layering command after command after command on the succubi in a never-ending attempt to cut off any loophole he can think of, preventing them from ever acting against him. Ironically, he soon starts to surround himself more and more with only succubi.

Not that he trusts them either, of course. But by this point the only thing he has left that he does trust is the geas that he refused to give up. Which means he's left alone, mostly surrounded by those he knows only serve him because of his artificial control.

With a sense of inevitability, you feel yourself approaching the most tormented memory yet. You are in the Incubus King's throne room, transformed into a pit of demented horrors. Succubi are broken on racks. Succubi are hung on chains, suspended by spikes driven through their wrists. Succubi are flayed alive, kept agonized and near death, denied the Lust to properly regenerate.

On the throne sits the Incubus King. He's even farther gone now than in the previous memories, all but unrecognizable from his former self. Barely more than a desiccated husk. And yet his sunken eyes still radiate that unfathomable, maddening power. Before him kneels Lehatial, prostrating herself before the throne. Interceding for one particularly young succubus cowering terrified behind her.

"Please, my lord," she says, in the broken voice of someone who does not expect to be heeded. "Please have mercy on her. She intended no slight. Let me bear the penalty if you must. But do not do this to her. Please. If ever you cared for me... please hear me now."

Defeat and despair hang heavy on her. But her despair is not enough to satisfy the mad king. He snarls at the reminder of how things used to be. It's the last thing he wants to remember.

No, he wants to hurt her. He wants to hurt her until she tries to resist. He wants to hurt her until she "proves" that she was against him all along. He wants to provoke a response that will give him more twisted, rage-fueled self-justification.

He glares at her, trying to figure out how he can wring more out of her when she's already this beaten-down and hopeless. Then... a smile of terrifying cruelty crosses his face. He's come to a realization. A way to hurt her, even worse than what he's done to her up to this point.

"Very well," he rasps out, rising to his feet. "Never let it be said that I would not heed the request of my beloved. I will not harm this little bitch."

Lehatial looks up. But it's obvious from her expression that she knows something worse is coming. Reaching down to his hip, the mad king draws his sword, revealing once again the dark, rune-covered length of the Night's Embrace. Then, with a crazed, sadistic smirk, he tosses his weapon at her feet. "You do it," he intones, the force of his geas crashing down on her. "You kill her. Right now. Make it slow."

The broken horror that fills Lehatial's face in that moment is gut-wrenching, but her body is already reaching out for the blade. Then she rises to her feet, her limbs moving in jerky spasms, as the king drinks in her agony. She raises the legendary blade, looking the young succubus right in the eyes...

...and impossibly, you see her hesitate, frozen in place. For all its power, even this geas is not actually omnipotent. Faced with something so utterly against her nature, Lehatial is able to resist... if only briefly.

But you can tell it won't last. It's all she can do just to stop herself from bringing the blade down. And even that will not last for long. Her will alone simply isn't enough. Not in the face of the Demon Lord's raw power.

She struggles there, arms trembling, tears running down her cheeks as the young succubus looks plaintively up at her. But there's no way out. No possible escape. Nothing any of them can do.

Except...

As you watch, Lehatial closes her eyes, then draws in a deep breath. Like she's steeling herself. And then, in a flash of horrified insight, you realize what she's about to do. For so long, simply surviving here has forced her to develop greater and greater control over her Empath power.

But now... instead of trying to shut out the maelstrom of unimaginable agony that surrounds her... she opens herself to it. Reaching out as far as she can. Reaching out for all the suffering of her sisters, across the entire demonic city.

And pulling all of it into herself.

She screams. It's a scream of pain, a scream of rage, a scream of such primal, broken vengeance that it seems impossible to come from the throat of any sane being. Something changes deep in her spiritual nature, something horrific, as she uses the pain to sear away any part of herself that would prevent her from doing what she needs to do.

She turns. So many times the king has layered on command after command after command on all the succubi never to harm him. But even the geas cannot stop her. Not now. Not the thing she has become in that moment, something beyond even a demon. She launches herself straight at him with incredible speed, pushing her body beyond all conceivable limits.

The mad king stares in utter incredulity, unable to comprehend that this could happen. As a result, he has time for only one action... and it's the worst one he could have chosen. Acting on sheer reflex, he reaches for the one thing he ended up putting his trust in. The one thing he chose over her.

"Stop!" he cries out, holding out his hand as he invokes his geas with renewed force.

She doesn't stop.

The Night's Embrace skewers him right through the center of his chest, the ancient god-killing blade piercing his heart. The force of her charge carries them both along, until it finally impales him into the back of his own throne, the two of them clenched together, staring into each other's eyes.

The Incubus King tries to form words, his mouth moving uselessly. For a long time they're simply frozen there, the other succubi in the throne room looking on in absolute disbelief. Finally, the dying king manages to croak out his final words, barely audible.

"I... should have killed you... the first moment I set eyes on you..." he whispers spitefully. "It was... you who drove me to this. All of this... your fault."

And with that, the memory spirals into darkness and death.

You awaken to find yourself in the Witch Queen's fortress, with Khaytala pinning you to the ground. She isn't attacking you directly, just hanging onto you with everything she has. Using her powerful body as a shield, to prevent you from getting to Lily as you wrested back control from the parasite inside you. You notice that she's bleeding in multiple places, her body gashed and rent by what you can only assume were your attempts to break free while the dream battle was taking place. But she did not let you go.

A look of relief crosses her face as she watches you slump weakly back against the ground, as she once again sees in your eyes the demon she recognizes. "Thank the goddesses, Talavar..." she says, smiling warmly. "I knew you wouldn't let him beat you."

Lily rushes forward as well, kneeling beside you as she worriedly checks you for any ill effects from the battle. You smile weakly back at them, wanting to say something in reply... but your very thoughts are slurred, and the words just don't come. You're spent beyond all endurance, and before long you lose consciousness yet again.

By the time you awaken again it's morning, with sunlight filtering in through white curtains across the bed whose sheets you're wrapped in. A slight weight on your body causes you to look down, to see that Lily was standing vigil over you... but has eventually fallen asleep across your chest after her own extreme exertion in the battle. She's so defenseless in that moment, freed from the worries and anxieties of the deadly situation she's trapped in, as the young queen unconsciously rests herself against you.

Not willing to disturb her yet, you raise your hand, looking at the Brand once again, reflecting back on what you've learned. You've wondered before what manner of demon it would take to become the kind of corrupted parasite whose existence threatens your own. What manner of incubus would twist himself so far beyond recognition?

Now you know. The kind of incubus so afraid to risk losing what he thought was his... that he ended up tearing it apart with his own two hands.