Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions

[• Lars Eotigan – the new false name of Israfel Bludthïrste | S Rank, Apollyon of Hel Colonies, the prophesied Burning One—and the MIA Ambassador of Titans Landing •]

THE EVENING BREEZE WAS CALM as Eotigan and his consort, Inaia flew through the skies later that day. Much later. He had needed that long nap after the sexual fever of Inaia's sacrilegious tongue. The girl moved fluidly beside him in the clouds, not in the least bothered that they were hurtling ten thousand feet above ground. He watched her eye the panorama; the Cold Sea was that much green from their level. Her teeth absently played with bottom lip.

"She's so cute." He thought. And quickly stole his musings away before she heard it.

Eotigan had noticed more than once that his [Subserviená] liked chewing on her lip, when she was working that genius mind. So he forced his cat-yellow eyes to move up from her ass and the way her Lucerne pants clung to her—still almost unable to believe that he'd been smashing that earlier, to focus on the opening skyline.

It was autumn in most parts of Eldoria. Of course the southernmost realms on the Continent like the Freelands, Nokmaar, and Buldwig Reef were still facing the enjoyable spring, a thing Eotigan feared was the only season in the Corynthian peninsula. 'Israfel' preferred the cold. If he was yet friends with Pereise, he'd have gifted the weather goddess his Hellfire sperm—probably in her butt because he heard she loved to get down like that—to turn her attentions to the islands. A snowing in the tropics? Now wouldn't that be a novel thing. Alas, he was on the outs with half the gods of the Aether and Nether, ever since he'd thwarted their plan to conquer the worlds, yes, 'worlds' with an s. Lilith's plan didn't stop with the green planet. Either way, no abyssal pantheon would be granting him favors anytime soon, so Eotigan just had to LOVE the tropics.

He could imagine what Pereise would say if he asked her to make it snow in the isles—even after coming in her asshole. She'd be like: "Helchild, I was there first when you were pulled out of Phlegethon's brimming vagina. You held so much promise. I have never seen one stray so much from his prophecy."

To this scene—if it ever did occur—Eotigan already had this reply cooking, "yeeaaah...a prophecy to lead millions of demons on world genocide." And then he'd go like, "couldn't you have told me this BEFORE I jizzed your butt."

This drama playing in Eotigan's head had him smiling as he and Inaia streamed through the white stratosphere. A flock of migrating tea pigeons flapped on their distant left.

He gave the red sun fifteen minutes tops before it was totally drowned out in the sea.

[Ding!]

Eotigan made a brisk halt in the sky. Humid air whooshed around him. Inaia too had stopped her flight and floated close to him. They were so far up a passing nomad and his cattle herd down below looked as locusts on a buzz of green corn.

"What is it, fine wine?" He asked her.

She hadn't spoken aloud earlier, but the pinging in his head let him know she wanted to talk. Their relationship was dynamic like that. There were parts of her that she couldn't manifest along with her banging bod as tangible; parts of her that were fully [Virtual]. Eotigan was still coming to terms with it. With her. Inaia drew even closer to him until Eotigan thought she was going to kiss. He deliberated he wouldn't mind a quickie 'up here'.

She didn't.

Rather, Inaia's right arm shot out, her palm opening, and a startling flash of crimson light lit up in the hollow of her hand. The light dimmed and a rolled scroll was laid on the bed of her fingers. It had a golden band, marking it as a [Legendary] accessory.

"I have our map, Lord host." she said.

Eotigan's red brows raised. "Did you just pull that out of the Aether?"

"Yes, sire. Permission to go ahead?" Peitho's soft voice flatlined into her official tone. Eotigan could not stop imagining that dictioned voice moaning so good. "—ahem," he cleared his throat, nodding. Inaia smoothly unrolled the map. "Since the advent of Cosmo and its legalization in the Empire three years ago, we have seen a major impact in the overall technology sphere of the Nine Realms. We have here and here," she pointed sharply to points on the glowing map, "the surge of the [Cosmo] burst. And here and here..." Her long fingers moved over the spread of Titans Landing, the Empire's mightiest state on the map, "where the ores of dragonglass are still mined."

"Mmhmm. Mhmm." Eotigan kept nodding. This was not news to him, but he obliged her. Her tits were the apple of his devilish amber eyes.

Eotigan knew proficiently about the Eldorian kingdom...or queendom—for the pro-femme among the masses. He had a wealth of knowledge stored up in that perv head of his. He had Lilith and Emberfall to thank for that; which was why he knew since the Southland Wars, the War of Three Cities, Cosmo had pushed into the market business against pure, heartland magic. All realms now had their various prominent power sources. It was the [blue cosmo], [red sun] and machine energy in the Freelands and most of Rocasus. But then Titans Landing held its use of magic—un-corrupted and abiding to the fullest, refusing to admit 'cosmo'.

The High Magus Council of the Capital viewed it as profane to the Old gods.

A vile concoction of the mechas—which they were seriously racist about.

They always called it 'that cosmo', 'that cosmo-powered vessel', 'that cosmo-reeking fellow', and a few other expletives that weren't so dignified. But, Eotigan stressed,

"What has the turn of our Empire to goth Steampunk to do with slaves?"

"GUNS!" said Inaia. "Real big guns."

Eotigan folded his arms across his broad chest. "Elucidate."

"Well, you see Sire, the wars we've fought have always been with magic, against mystical foes, with magical weapons. You see where I'm going?" Eotigan placed a wry smile and told her, "I do see. You don't believe I can go up against REAL, BIG GUNS—" he made air quotes, "—because what? I have only magical beasts in my rap sheet? Damn, woman!"

"Nooo! No. No! That's not what I mean. And you know it." Inaia peeled.

Eotigan's handsome smile stretched. He loved teasing her. The fact that they were having this conversation floating 20 000ft in the clouds would stun a mundane heart. He rumbled,

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you're not invulnerable, Lord host. In fact—"

[Ding!]

Inaia put into his minds-eye a notification panel—in silver letters. He couldn't miss it.

[CURRENT AVAILABLE STATS. . .]

[AGILITY: 90]

[SPEED: 94]

[STAMINA: 88]

[HORSEPO—]

"Let me stop you right there." Eotigan put out a hand. "I don't need you to read up my prowess. I very much know what I can handle." As he spoke, her presentation inside his head swirled away into dust. Inaia retorted, "no, you don't. That's what you need me for. I handle your shit. I handle you. I LOVE. handling you. But that also means I have to tell you stuff you may not want to hear. Like you're not particularly invulnerable to cannon fire. If I'm right about these slave masters, which I am, they are currently docked in a notoriously whorish island packed with pirates, cut-throats, and plenty other up-to-no-good bastards. And they fight dirty, with muskets and [hydra tanks], not swords and Grecian arrows. This is no spartan world, Lord host.

"Humbly I beseech you, and this might come as a culture shock to you," she tossed off the map and took his hands. "Let me do my job. Let me serve you."

Sometime during her speech Inaia's huge braids had loosened and the healthy dreadlocks came tumbling down. Frankly, Eotigan had never seen a white woman with hair so African. But then Inaia wasn't your typical 'woman', was she?

He blinked once. "Are systems meant to care this much for their Hosts?"

Thirty seconds passed with no word from her. Eotigan blinked again, his temples crinkling as he sighed. "Fine. You win. Equip whatever I need to take on 'em gun-slinging thieves."

[DING!]

Eotigan heard the pinging the very same moment as Inaia's warm smile.

[System is assigning new attributes to current window. . .]

[Host is confirmed for 1st Level Intra-volution!]

Eotigan put his faith in her. She had not once disappointed him. Plus she was hot... so that sped things along. Whatever she was doing to him, it was going to help him kill some more dumbass pirates. Speaking of, Eotigan squinted at his vassal, "hold on! Why does my Stamina points read eighty eight? I didn't hear you complaining earlier. . .under the palm tree."

Inaia blushed. "Eighty eight is astronomical, sire. Trust me."

Eotigan returned her smile as he glanced behind and spied the sun; only as slivers of scarlet ray that splashed across the sea. He looked back to her gorgeous face. "Daylight is done, fine wine. Where is this whorish island, anyway? We have been flying twenty minutes."

Inaia chuckled. "We're here."

Eotigan followed her hand as she pointed down. Way down below was a bustling port. Torches were already begining to light up the coming night. Orangey light and beer-guzzling sailor barks reached them. "Twilight masks our presence, Lord host." Inaia offered brilliantly, reading his mind. If anyone cared to look up, they would not see a mysterious man and woman floating up there, but merely shadows they would guess to be awkward clouds. "Shall we?" Inaia said.

BOOM!

Her [Host] was already off. He shot like a tremor out of the sky, plummeting in high velocity as if to crash into the water. But in the last second he steered himself to a horizontal position and began flying parallel to the glimmering sea surface. Inaia was right behind him, matching his air moves. They flew so close to the water they could take a drink if they so desired. Eotigan caught the image of himself—curled red hair and all, in the mirror water.

He slowed as he neared the shallower river and shore. The port was lit up like a birthday party and ships nestled at the docks. Night had fully descended. But not on Pirates Island.

"The Slave Masters." Inaia pointed to a yellow flag bearing a sickle and hammer.

None was upon it. But Eotigan was guessing there were plenty within its hull; humans tucked away like merchandise.

Eotigan and Inaia pulled up on the large vessel, flying up its brownside to land soundlessly on the board. They easily tossed the two watch guards overboard into the cold, black waters. In a moment, Inaia had herself looking like an exceptional First-mate and Eotigan fresh 'n fly, like a naval officer. Their capes and former outfits feathered away like butterflies with her magic into dressing made for their operation. They got into character, complete with top hats.

[DING!]

[Blueprints of THE RED VIRGIN have been saved into Helpocket!]

"Red Virgin?" asked Eotigan as they walked boldly down the slaver's ship planks into the fresh, night bungle. "Yes, sire. It is the name of the vessel." Inaia replied. Her hat made her far too sexy for this place, Eotigan noted. And this place was Gomorrah. He could tell he wouldn't survive the night without boxing someone's teeth in. "Good." He growled. "We'd need that for the guns."

"The guns? What do we need guns for?"

Eotigan stopped under a hanging sign weathered by years of sea-salty air—rusty, creaking. His gilded eyes touched hers. She felt his aura move around and envelope her. Owning her, even in the midst of drunken, milling oarsmen. "My darling, the guns...they're not for us. They're for the slaves."

Then he turned and strode for the first loud tavern in sight. Inaia skipped after him. Just what wicked plan was her Lord host cooking. Did he mean to arm the slaves? Start a mutiny? An uprising? Here on Pirates Haven, the Sodom of the Season? He wasn't called Israfel, the Hero of Rebellion for nothing.

Smiling to herself, she marched in that grimy tavern with him.