Chapter 4
I ventured to the Borja boss room, hoping to find a request from a client waiting for me. When none was to be found, I called out for the Spirit of Death to send me a messenger.
A woman made from various parts of several people appeared.
We called her Miss Misc., and I found her quite attractive.
She was an A and a C cup at the same time–two different chests stitched together.
She also had two different hands. I wondered if it would feel like two women touching me instead of one if I bed her.
She took my letter and told me to return the next day.
When that day came, I found a letter addressed to me on the floor of the boss room. It read:
I have heard your inquiry for a merchant from the hells. If you wish to discuss this business, tear this letter vertically. Do anything else to decline.
I initially thought that the demon who appeared before me was a lamia–a beautiful woman with the body of a snake from the hips down–but I was wrong.
Her lower half had the shape of a snake's body, but when I looked more closely, I saw that it was a sort of living clay.
Vaguely slime-like in its sheen, the demon had the ability to reshape her lower half at will.
She slithered through the tear between planes and was initially a little shorter than me. When she noticed the height difference, she stretched her lower half to make herself taller.
The demon looked down, her gray hair flowing as if underwater.
Her face was human, but with the eyes of a snake.
Her naked torso reminded me of Ashley's, long and slender, but the demon's breasts were much smaller, gumdrops that were just shy of being totally flat.
Everything below her waist was her malleable half, and I had a thought that was incredibly common for me: what it would feel like to have my dick in that?
“I am intrigued, human,” she said, her voice a permanent whisper. “No one from the material plane has proposed a neutral zone before. You believe demons would respect you and humans would trust you for their safety?”
“I do.”
“Demons do not fear humans. Therefore, they do not respect humans.”
“I killed the Gol-Gol brothers and claimed their dungeon.”
The demon's lower half condensed, lowering her to my eye level. “I heard such rumors. You did this?”
I nodded.
“Demons would respect this. Such a thing is true indeed. You believe humans to be the same?”
“Yes,” I answered, “but it is not respect for me that will bring them to the table. Greed will.”
“I see. I see. Demons have no use for human coin. Have you considered this?”
“Yes. I expect the transactions to be trades, with both parties returning to their worlds to sell what they acquired. If the hells have goods that would interest humans, that is.”
“Weapons, armor, magic items, books, art, slaves-”
“No slaves in Sanctuary South. Non-negotiable.”
I knew slavery shouldn’t be such a sticking point for me.
I didn’t actually care about whether or not people or other beings were enslaved, but I knew my dad did.
Of all the mental gymnastics I could perform to convince myself that he would still be proud of me, I couldn’t get around how he felt about slavery.
He would undoubtedly be ashamed of me if I betrayed him on that.
The demon’s head tilted slowly as she studied me, and she continued, “reagents, metals, gems, potions, drink.”
“Drink?” I asked.
“Distilled debauchery is a favorite among our kind. It tastes like the satisfaction of bedding the wives and daughters of a defeated rival.”
“Can humans drink it safely?”
“If its potency is reduced. I believe even a human alchemist could manage such a feat.”
My mind raced with ideas over the potential of distilled debauchery, and I had to remind myself it was too early to celebrate. We were far from agreeing on terms. Yes, I could fund a kingdom on the sales of one beverage alone, but that didn’t change the fact that I needed to move carefully.
“Does our plane have items that would interest the hells?” I asked.
“Virgins, the first-born, some enchantments that do not appear in demon systems, your silk weapons, reagents, cotton, wool, meteorites, fruits, candies.”
“We will have to strike anything that entails buying or selling people, but the rest would be in great supply. It sounds to me like there is an opportunity here. Your thoughts?”
“Perhaps, perhaps,” she mused. “How would such a venture operate?”
“No different from any other market,” I replied. “Traveling merchants work out of wagons or stalls, and the permanent merchants open shops and warehouses.”
“With a tax, one would assume.”
“No tax. The rewards that come with active trade will be enough to fill my coffers.”
The demon tilted her head back in the other direction. “The lack of greed is suspicious.”
I laughed. “I made that choice because of my greed. I will make more money doing it my way. If taxes were the best path for profits, I would use them.”
“Very well. What terms do you propose?”
“I will pay you to invite your merchant network to Sanctuary South.
If you want a shop there, you can have first pick, and I won't charge you for it. I get exclusivity to distilled debauchery sales on the material plane. And absolutely no offering oaths or soul contracts to anyone in the city. That goes for every being in the city.”
“Our kind is not to blame for human folly,” she replied.
“I didn't say they were. I know humans are not intelligent. If I don't ban soul contracts, I'll lose all of them before the week is over. I need them free and healthy to profit off of them.”
“Clever for a human.” Which I think she meant as a compliment.
“I already said no slaves or buying humans, but I should repeat that for clarity.”
“I have decided the fee for my services,” she said, straightening up again.
Already? That was a good sign, so I waited for her to continue.
“One of your cocks.”
“Huh?” I retracted the belief that it was a good sign.
“If you give me one of your cocks, I will agree to your terms.”
I had 11 extra dicks, and I loved them all equally. Parting with any of them was out of the question.
Wait.
Byron, if Abaddon kills you, then you will have no dicks. Having no dicks is worse than having 10 dicks.
“You are weak, viceroy. You are a disgrace to stoop to this.”
“Will it hurt, and do I get to pick which one?”
Her grin spread. “No and yes.”
Sanctuary South had to succeed for my plan to protect myself from Abaddon, and this demon…
“Will you give me your name?” I asked.
“Mammoni, Mistress of Covetous.”
“Alright. I will give you one of my dicks.”
“A pathetic decision for a pathetic human.”
Invia and I walked through the streets of Zaglis on a pleasant morning, basking in cool saltwater air and a warm sun. We were on our way back to the Water Temple after an aimless stroll through the markets, looking at whatever this or that caught our attention.
“Do you ever think about hurting me anymore?” I asked.
“No. Do you doubt that?”
I shook my head. “That was the wrong way for me to come at this topic. You once described it as something primal, like you didn't have complete control of the impulse. What was that like? Did it come as a feeling? Some kind of inner dialog?”
Invia didn't speak for several steps.
“I didn't mean to upset you. I'm sorry.”
She shook her head. “I'm not upset. I was thinking about whether to admit this, but you deserve to know everything.
I don't feel it for you anymore, but sometimes I catch myself fantasizing about choking one of the initiates to death with my hands or putting a knife between the ribs of a random stranger walking in front of me on the street. I realize something is possible, and a part of me latches on to it like it was the best idea I ever had.”
“So the words and reasoning are your own?”
“I think so. Sometimes it comes on so strongly that there is no inner discussion. I feel the… need. I need to breathe. I need my heart to beat. And I need to stomp on this girl’s jaw to hear what noise it makes.
Other times, it’s like a second me encouraging me to act on those impulses, justifying it for me. ”
I put my arm around her waist. “You were worried I would be upset to hear that?”
Invia nodded.
“I have thoughts like those too. I want to do it just because I can.”
“What makes you ask?”
“Sometimes it's more like a whisper for me,” which was as close to admitting I still heard Aurketzu as I was willing to get.
“That's how it was for Valice,” Invia said. “We talked about it once. She heard the ideas and the reasoning like that and heard them often. She decided it was her own voice in a different form, even if that's not exactly what it felt like.”
“What did it feel like?”
“Something close to another entity but not. That's the clearest way she ever described it. I didn’t admit this to her, but my whispers were like that too, sometimes.”
After a long pause, Invia added, “Becoming queen has made them stronger for me. The feelings I get, I mean. I know I can do anything I want. I could round up a thousand people and have them run over by horses if I desired.”
“I understand. Any person with power can't help but imagine how far they could take it.”
“You think that's true? Any person?”
I nodded. “I do.”
“What does your whisper say?” she asked.
“Awful things mostly. It's more like an enemy to me most of the time.”
“That sounds really hard,” Invia said.
“It can be.”
“Does anything quiet the whisper?”
That was an interesting question. Were there times when Aurketzu’s voice was weaker? How could I tell if the voice was being repressed versus just not happening?
I knew that fighting it or trying to force it from my mind didn't work. Raging against it or talking to it didn't work either. I could out-fuck Aurketzu’s voice sometimes, or I could drown her in dreamdust.
But that wasn't controlling or silencing Aurketzu. That was just surviving.
“I don't know if anything helps,” I admitted to Invia.