Lamb and Martyr

“Lescatie has fallen to the Overlords’ spawn to the north-east. No word has been heard about the Zipangu girl’s counterattack. We must expect the worse.” The grizzled middle aged man said, pointing out various points on the huge cured leather map on the table. 

“We are, were, the main port city for the capital.” Another, younger man, claimed. “It’s only a matter of time before they set their eyes upon us and wish to claim it for their own use.” 

“Yes, this would be a fair assumption. We must act now, if we are to hold this port. Should they choose to invade us at this second, we will surely fold underneath their forces.” A woman with flowing blonde hair added. Streaks of white were intermingled in her hair. 

Sat in a chair at the far end of the room, listening to the report, was the captain of the guard. His face was in his hands, mind heavy with burden. It fell on him to protect the interests of the Order in this holdout state. But as it was, things looked grim. The sunlight shone through the window, and a glint of light was bouncing off the golden crest of Lescatie. The man stared at the crest, pondering what to do. 

“What would you advise, Baul?” The captain asked the grizzled man. 

Baul looked at the others. His eyes had bags below them, indication of lack of rest. The Order had convinced him that the monsters could invade his sleep and tempt him. As a result, he frequently roused himself to make sure such a thing never happened. His head was bald, but the signs of hair growing back were manifest. 

He pondered, rubbing his hand on his bearded chin. He walked to the window of the keep, which overlooked the docks and the bay. He could faintly hear the sound of gulls and bells. The smell of the sea air danced in his nostrils and he sighed. 

“We cannot put the people in a panic. The yearly feast of the Chief God is coming up soon. We must continue our traditions as per norm. We cannot sacrifice our dedication to the Chief God. Should we do that, the Demon Lord might as well have already won.” Baul declared, still staring out. 

“And you, Garrick?” The captain asked the younger man sitting down, staring at the map before him. 

The younger man looked not a shade over twenty-five. With well kempt, close cut, red hair and a fine uniform of yellows and whites. The traditional garb of the upper echelon of Order soldiers. His hazel eyes darted from two points of the map; the Lescatie capital city and their port. 

“Business as usual,” the man said cautiously. “We have heard nothing. Seen nothing. Not to say something will not happen, but I agree with Baul. We must not put the citizenry into an unnecessary panic.” He finished, looking up at the others. 

“You are all mad.” The woman said. “We should close everything. Gates into the city proper, all shipments from the other nations should be inspected closely, outposts constructed to give us warning. If Lescatie, the most renowned hero producing state the Chief God ever bestowed upon us, can fall, then we are but a speck to the Demon Lord and her ilk.” She finished, stepping back. The captain and the woman stared at each other in silence.

The chamber was so quiet, the sound of commoners milling about below could be heard.

“Your counsel is appreciated, Sebille. I will think hard on this when I report the the Baron. You are all dismissed.” The captain said with a wave. 

Baul nodded and quickly left the chamber, back to his garrison. Garrick followed suit, headed back to the walls he managed. Sebille nodded at her squire that waited at the wings of the chamber. He fell in line and followed the woman. 

“Order bureaucracy at its finest. Nothing will be done.” Sebille muttered. The squire simply nodded. 

The pair walked out onto a balcony overlooking the city proper. The keep was at the edge of a cliff overlooking the bay. The city lay before the keep. Walls surrounded the entirety of the city. A sovereign state of its own right, they had very close trade relationship with the Lescatian capital. 

“The corrupted city is between us and more Order held lands. We are boxed in, and the others are convinced everything is fine. Remember today, apprentice.” She said, gazing out at the horizon.

Which was quite curious, she thought. Light shone through as normal on the town, the sun up. But it eventually grew darker and darker. As if looking into a cave, or a dark forest. Lights danced in the distance of the void, an entrancing sight to the squire. 

“I’ve been in service to the Order since I was a child, this is all I know. I’ve heard stories of monster ripping and tearing and eating and gorging on the blood of our people. But this. We have not adapted to this.” She continued. The squire somberly nodded. 

“How long has that been, Dame?” The man spoke. His long brunette hair contrasted with his incredibly bright blue eyes. Standing a solid two heads taller than the woman, his height was something of an enigma considering he had just recently came of age. He was soft spoken, a foil to the brash Dame Commander of the city. 

“It feels like an eternity. But in reality, a shade under thirty years. I inherited this position from my father, rest his soul. But this incompetence in the face of certain disaster is maddening at best. Treacherous at worst.” The balcony became steeped in the all too familiar silence. 

The silence followed the pair the rest of the day, an air of uncertainty loomed.

“Wake up.” One of the stewards of the keep said, shaking the you squire awake. The young man set up in bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“What is it?” He asked.

“Something has happened. Sebille sent for you to get dressed and meet her down in the stockade. A hero has also arrived because of this.” He explained, as he lit numerous candles around the surprisingly spartan room.  

With that, the steward left. The sounds of the crickets could be heard in the garden right outside. The squire stretched, pushed his hair back and got ready. After throwing on clothes, he donned his belt and scabbard. He shut the door as he sleepily sheathed the sword before heading down to the stockades. 

Sebille was leaning against the wall beside the door to the prison. A torch on the wall illuminated her troubled face. Something had happened in the day during their daily tasks, the squire deduced. 

“What happened?” He asked his teacher. 

“Come and see.” She said, opening the door. The pair entered, and before them lay a curious scene. 

In the cell was a girl. But not just any normal girl. This one was giggling and bouncing around, having the time of her life. Short horns had just sprout from the sides of her head and began curling. Her raven black hair bouncing all over the place. A translucent spade-tail swaying back and forth in the strange dance the pair were witnessing. A small pair of wings fluttered slightly.

She was as bare as a blue jay, with the exception that strange fur was covering her breasts and legs. It was almost as if the girl was regressing to some sort of beast. But that was not the case. She was in the early stages of transformation into a succubus.

“Where did they find her?” The squire asked. The fledgling succubus heard his voice and ran to the bars and clinged to them.

“Hey! Hey you! Come in here! It’s sooo much fun now!” She exclaimed. Her voice was almost childlike. She giggled, and stretched her arm past the bars and gave a come hither gesture to the young man.

“They found her an hour ago. She’s the daughter of the dockmaster.” Sebille explained, staring at the girl.

“And what are we to do?”

At that moment, the door swung open again. A man stood in elaborate wear. A long white and gold cloak that hovered above the ground wrapped around the man. The Lescatie regalia emblazoned on the back. He walked with a purpose to the door of the cell and threw it open. 

“What did this.” He asked, fierce brown eyes staring at the fawning girl before him. 

“What a hunk! You want to have some fun? SOMEONE wouldn’t pay me any attention. ” The monster cooed.

“What did this.” The man repeated. 

“Oh! I see now! You’re a hero! I can sense it. Lescatie is such a nice place without your kind now. I hope to visit someday.” A smug smile spread across her face. The man smirked.

He drew his sword, an immaculate gleaming sword with a golden hilt. The succubus’ eyes widened as he brought the sword down. As quick as it was, she was lying on the ground, a gash spread from her chest to the bottom of her abdomen. Blood slowly pooled around her as her eyes fluttered closed. 

“Dispose of it. Dump this wretch in the bay.” The hero said, pivoting on his heels as he wiped the blood off on his cloak. A dark red patch stood out on the white and gold of the cloth. 

With that, he left the room. The silence fell again.

The inky night sky was laced with the bright white dots of stars. The squire could not help but stare up as he paddled the dinky rowboat out into the bay. His only company was the former succubus, and Sebille. They had not spoke since they witnessed a hero of Lescatie viciously slay the girl that lay under the sheet between them. 

“He’s rightfully angry,” Sebille finally said, “I can understand why he lashed out the way he did.” 

“It was a still a human once. He cut her down with no regrets.” The squire replied, his eyes looking from the sky to the body in front of him. Dark patches had began to form on the sheet. 

“We could not save her. We can not save them all. There is no way to undo what is done.” Sebille tried to explain. She could see her ward was shaken by the events that had unfold. 

The pair sat hushed for a moment. The soft stirring of the waters beneath the paddles kept a steady, soothing rhythm.

“Why must you accompany me, mistress? This is beneath you.” The young man voiced, seemingly puzzled why the greatest protector of the city would be disposing of corpses under the dark of night. 

“To defy the will of an ordained hero of the Chief God is blasphemous. I could be stripped of rank and title. Or worse.” She sighed. “Plus, my ward going out at night to dump a seemingly dead monster in the bay? Someone has to protect such a young soul from what goes bump in the night.” She added.

They both laughed.

“This is far enough.” Said Sebille. “I’ll take her legs, and on my mark we’ll toss her over. The depths can have her.” A feeling of sadness needled in the woman’s mind. She remembered when the monster was but a child, running about the docks fantasizing about life on the sea. 

“Grim business, and a damn shame.” the squire noted as he pulled back the sheet from the body.

The body lay still, basking in the pale blue glow of the moonlight. The squire thought about how serene and peaceful the girl looked, even in this state. Pangs of guilt washed over Sebille. All she could think of is how she could have prevented such a fate to befall one of her townspeople.

“All right, on three.” Sebille said as she lifted the legs of the succubus. The squire followed suit, and grasped around her shoulders and bust. She was soft, he thought. His face began to burn. 

The succubus’ head lolled back against the man’s chest. His gaze met her gaze. He froze. It was drilled into his head that one look from such a creature would render him paralyzed and at their mercy with one single glance. But here he stood, unaffected. He wondered what would possess a person to willingly become a monster such as this. 


Caught off guard, the squire released late, the woman’s feet hit the water first, and then the body proper. Sebille cocked an eyebrow and looked at her ward. 

“Are you okay?” She asked.

“Yes, Mistress, I just…” He trailed off, staring down at the water. 

“You seem troubled. Do not set your mind on what you witnessed tonight.” She said. 

“Just seeing someone called a ‘hero’ cut down someone so readily with no whims. It seems unbecoming of a disciple of the Chief God.” He laments, plopping down on the cold wet bench of the small rowboat.

“That is borderline heresy, child. I would watch what you say henceforth in my presence.” Sebille lectured. 

The squire began to row again, headed back to the docks. Sebille sat and looked out at the sea and wondered what it would have been like to have became a sailor instead of soldier. 

“Something felt wrong. Off.” The squire thought out loud.


“Her body. Death took hold ’round an hour before we buried her at sea, yes?” He asked.

“Their bodies function differently than ours. Their bodies stay flushed with lust at all times. They are in heat at all times. It makes sense that she was still hot and bothered, even after the cold hand of death took hold.” She explained.

They said not a word to each other the rest of the night. But something picked at the young squire’s mind the rest of the night. 

His eyelids felt as if weighed down by anvils. The squire slept not a wink after he returned from his chambers from the errands the night before. Now he and Sebille sat in the cathedral in the center of town. His eyes slowly fluttered closed, and as he was just about to fall into the void of sleep, he felt a jab in his ribs. Sebille still sat watching the priest ramble on the all too familiar virtues of the Chief God. 

The priest stood at an elaborate altar of various whites and golds. Tapestries draped the walls, depicting heroes of old against various monsters of the past. The tapestry at the head of the church depicted to current Demon Lord, now Overlord, in reds and black hues overbearing on innocent women and children. On contrast, a man shined bright against this evil being, sword held high. It depicted the Chief God’s chosen standing against the seeming darkness of the hedonist hordes. 

The pews were made of hardened oak, and lacquered to a shiny dark brown. While attractive as they were, the sights did not mask the sheer lack of comfort they provided. The children joked about how it was a ploy of the Chief God to install perseverance in the face of pain. 

The insides of the building shined, a beacon of righteousness and greatness of the Order. 

But the outside was a different story.

It was as if all the riches and bounty had been scooped into this one building, and left the other buildings in near ramshackle condition. The Order put the Chief God above all, even their own people. It was for this reason, some said, that Lescatie fell as fast as it did. 

The pair began to depart, and watched as the hero from the night before strolled out of the cathedral. His cape was spotless. He caught sight of the pair staring at him, nodded, and mounted his steed and left. 

Sebille’s face was plastered with a look of deep thought. She was interrupted of her thoughts by a young boy, no older than nine. He tugged at her arm, and extended a sealed letter to her. She thanked him, and turned back to the squire. Concerned washed over her face as she read the letter.

“What does it say, mistress?” Asked the young man.

“We are to meet the others outside of town tonight. We have been summoned to parley with the new Queen of Lescatie.”

The group of four stood stalwartly staring at the setting sun. They were in a clearing in the middle of a forest on the border of their city state. Various shadowy deals were made here in the past. Now a different kind of shadow descended. 

The guard captain stared at the dull setting sun. It lazily fell behind the treeline. Dusk began to spread through the sky. The song of crickets and the various insects reverberated through the genial autumn air. 

A small campfire crackled, a dance of red embers and orange flame entranced the squire. Sebille had objected to bringing the young man. But she was overruled by the captain. While he was young and impressionable, he reasoned, he could fight. Sebille was held in high regard for her combat skill. She was a hero in all but title in the mind of the citizenry of the port town. In turn, the squire was held to high standards during training. He was taught by the very best. 

Sebille herself was calm. She stared at the treeline, wondering what would be sent. An oni could be handled byt he group. They had the hero with them, after all. But what if it was more than a single monster? She glanced at her ward. Did she just bring a ravenous monster a veal cutlet on a silver platter, she wondered. 

The hero merely stood stone still. The others felt at ease with his presence, but ever since his arrival, they found him to be something of an enigma. His golden cloak enveloped his form. He stood off to the side, waiting, watching. The other three threw puzzled looks at each other. Were all heroes this aloof? 

The hero heard it first, then Sebille. The captain’s hand began to tremble, this would be his first encounter outside the safety of walls. A buzzing, like the beating wings of a horsefly. Only magnified tenfold. It was faint, and grew in intensity.

“Sebille,” the captain said, turning to the woman. “Not one word. I do the talking, you are merely a formality.” The man said sternly. 

Anger glowed on Sebille’s face. A formality? He was scared, and did not want to go alone. Nevertheless, she grit her teeth and nodded.

“Of course, sir.” She said, contempt dripping from her words. The two glared at each other for a moment, before the captain blinked.

He shot a look to the squire, to make sure he too fell in line. The squire slightly bowed his head in acknowledgment. The captain then looked to the hero. He simply nodded, his steely gaze piercing through the captain. 

The buzzing stopped. All sound had stopped. The fire still crackled. A loud pop from the fire made the captain flinch. And then a bright sultry voice cut through the blackness of night. 

“Well, well. Wilsborod of Lescatier. Is that you?” It asked. The three turned to look at the hero. He simply stared forward into the night. 

“The one that got away. I took great pleasure in finding your friends and drowning them in all my Queen has to offer.” The voice continued, accented by a giggle. The three looked back to the where the voice came from. 

A figure slowly emerged from the darkness. She was incredibly lithe, almost childlike. Giant wings fluttered ever so slightly. Translucent, with a slight shade of purple. A grotesque skull adorned one of the wings, its face twisted into a scream. A chitinous shell extended up her leg to mid thigh, as well as her arms. Her hands were simply three sinister looking claws, with the look that it could shred one should she chose to do so. An abdomen could be seen jutting out the small of her back, ending with a pair of what could be seen as stingers. It was covered in a fine hair. 

She dressed very sparingly. Besides her shell, she wore simply a small skirt, and a chestpiece that simply covered her bust. What looked to be a a fur scarf wrapped around her shoulders. A tiara graced her head, adorned with various jewels and silver. Mousy blonde hair was tied up into two high pigtails on the back of her head. 

A wide grin plastered on her pale face, her bright yellow eyes shone bright in the night. She walked forward with a sort of strut. Confidence oozed out of her. Flanked on either side were black harpies, dressed in violet and black adorned with  inverted Lescatian crosses. 

The hero said not a word. 

“Still as thrilling as ever.” The monster girl said with a roll of her eyes. The harpies giggled.

“I bring news of your home, little Willy. First, we turned your home into a casino. I’ll leave it to your imagination what people gamble with. Your church? A pleasure palace. You should see what happened to the orphanage. Woo, boy.” The monster continued, trying to goad something out of the man. 

He remained stalwart and silent. 

The creature sighed.

“So!” The girl exclaimed, clapping her chitinous claws together. “Shall we begin?”


The creature sighed, the birds snickered. 

“I’ll cut right to it, I suppose, ” she began. “Your town will surrender and open its gates. It will do that.” She stated. 

“By who’s authority?” Asked the Captain.

A wide, predatory smile spread cheek to cheek on the monster. 

“By Queen Francisca Mistel Lescatie of course. Do you not know your own monarchy?” The creature teased. 

“A mere figurehead. Who truly pulls the strings?” 

All eyes shot to the normally reserved squire. The Captain’s mouth hung agape. He finally composed himself.

“You speak out of turn, fool, have you no –” the captain rambled, before being cut off by the minute monster with a ravenous ‘tsk’. She wagged a finger at the Captain, a smug smirk graced her face. 

“Hush you,” she began. “I’m glad to find at least one ball among you sheltered, backwater, Order brats.”

Such uncouth language turned the Captain’s face a vibrant red hue. Between an underling showing more bravery than he, and a childlike monster making such domineering requests, he was thoroughly embarrassed.

The leader sauntered over to the defiant young man.  She looked him up and down, as one would inspect a race horse before a derby. The Squire towered over the monster, which gave him false confidence. The harpy honor guard giggled again like schoolgirls about to witness a fight. 

“Tell me then, whelp, if her Eminence does not hold the power, who does?” The monster asked, cocking her head to the side mocking curiosity. 

The two locked eyes and stared at each other. 

“I suppose one that ranks above you, insect.” The Squire spat out. The monster laughed, flashing her sharp teeth and fangs.

A sudden pain shot through the Squire’s shin. Had this creature really just resorted to kicking him in the shin, he wondered. Before he knew it, he was on one knee, with the hot breath of the monster on his face. 

The monster had the man by the collar, pulled in front of her face. The man attempted to pull his head away, but the creature wrenched his head to face her again. Anger manifest on the man’s face, a defiant scowl at the creature so much smaller than him. The monster searched the human’s eyes. 

Her own eyes eventually fluttered closed, and breathed deeply. She released him, pushing him onto his back. 

“Virgin…” the monster claimed. Her eyes opened and eyed the Squire upon the ground staring up in horror at her. A raptorial grin spread on her face. She took a step towards the youth.

Sebille stepped in front and blocked the creature. 


All eyes shot to the hero, who finally at long last spoke. 

“Lescatian or not, the townsfolk see monsters as an abomination. They will not bend knee to a Queen who is corrupted.” He spoke. The beelzebub looked at Sebille’s stony gaze, and then to the Hero. With a smirk, she walked back to her honor guard.

“We will not do anything during your festivities. Your port will fall. And I will see you again very soon.”  The trio laughed, and flew off. The group stared into the blackness as the sound of buzzing wings faded into the night air.

Sebille helped her pupil up off the ground. She then stalked over to the Captain, who was still staring at the Squire. 

“You need to close the city.” She exclaimed. 

The Captain just looked at her, still shocked.

Sebille gave him a hard slap. His hand shot up to his stinging cheek. 

“Close the city.” She again said. The Captain nodded. 

They all headed back to the city in silence.


As the three approached the gate, a guard rushed towards the group frantically. 

“Something has happened! You need to come to the stockades immediately! It’s happened again, only worse. I-I just–” He began to trail off.

“What has happened?” The Captain asked. 

“Monsters!” Another exclaimed. Sebille and the Squire looked at each other. 

“Was this a distraction? You don’t think…” The Captain asked himself. Sebille approached the Captain.

“Close the gate. Me and my apprentice will go with the hero to the stockade to see what is going on.” She said. The Captain nodded somberly. 

The Squire watched as the gates lazily swung closed. For better or worse, they were locked in the city.

The cells were full. Full of giggling girls. Gaggles of giggling, glittering girls succumbing to succubi corruption. All young faces of various shapes and sizes pressed against the bars, reaching for the Squire and hero, yearning for their passing touch. Translucent tails and wings whipped in a frenzy. Sweet nothings to the two men were not whispered, but shouted. Each vied for the two’s favor.

Sebille looked around in horror. Some of the faces she knew from around the town. The baker’s daughters. The cobbler’s wife. Even an old widowed seamstress had found a newfound youth, and sat in the back of the cell eyeing the Dame Commander like a piece of hard candy. 

“What could have done this?” Asked Sebille.

“Something powerful, and not what I originally thought.” The hero muttered, looking at the faces of the captives.

“There’s so many of them, how could we possibly have rounded them all up?” Asked the Squire. 

The hero looked at the young man. He cocked an eyebrow and studied the student’s face.

“Does it matter, youngling? Something runs amok in our city on the eve of our most cherished holiday. Go now, both of you. I’ll take care of this.” He turned to face the monsters.

He unsheathed his sword.

The Squire’s face went ashen white.

“You can’t honestly mean to–“

“If you have not the stomach to separate the chaff from the wheat, leave.” The hero said.

The Squire stormed out, Sebille followed.

“Stop,” Sebille yelled after him. “Please stop, let us talk about this.” She pleaded.

“Talk about what?” The man asked, spinning around. “About how a madman is about to slaughter people we know? Or how since I’m questioning the slaughter, I’m a sympathizer? Perhaps you should strip my rank and title and find a new squire for questioning the authority of this…This outsider!” He ranted, disgust dripping from his words. 

“You know not what you–“

“Just drop it, mistress.” He mocked. “We can’t even have a human conversation because the order has bashed it into your brain to suppress our emotions and free will.” 

“You know nothing, boy.” She hissed, stepping forward. The Squire took an instinctive step back.

 “Do you think I wanted to dump that poor girl who I knew since her birth unceremoniously into the bay?” She asked in a near harsh whisper.

“There are people in there right now I personally know who are about to be extinguished.” She added.

“You mean killed? Let’s call it what it really is.” The Squire exclaimed, throwing his arms up in frustration. 

“Shh! For God’s sake, listen to me apprentice.” She retorted, matching his tone. “We must be pious to the Chief God’s teaching. Protect our heart from the darkness of the Demon Lords. We are not to question, but obey.” She tried to explain. 

“You parrot teachings that had relevance when monsters wanted to consume human flesh, not lie with it.” He scoffed.

“A distinction without a difference!” Anger washed over her face, her hands clenched into fists. She closed her eyes, and composed herself. The Squire’s eyes widened at the outburst of anger. 

“Monsters of old killed. They wanted to wipe out humans through force. The current Demon Lord is much smarter. She seeks to breed us out. Do you not see?” She was trying to clarify it as much as she could, but could see the meeting with the beelzebub had shaken him. He stared at the ground, embarrassed. 

Sebille stared at her wayward pupil for a moment. She walked forward and put a hand on his shoulder.

“You are young. You will learn. You’ve been through a lot today, so I will try to be understanding. Go to bed and rest. Be at the docks tomorrow when you awaken. We must inspect the remaining ships bringing cargo for the celebrations tomorrow night.” She said gingerly. The Squire looked into his teachers eyes, he could feel tears begin to moisten his eyes. 

The Squire bowed, and left for his room. 

“I’ll pray for you, child.” She called out after him.

Gulls cawed and salty, frothy, sea mist filled the air at the docks. Not a cloud in the sky, and the sun shined unhampered. It was a beautiful day for a festival. The holiday had arrived, and the port bustled in preparation for the night’s celebrations.

The boarding plank landed on the damp deck with a wet thud, snapping the Squire out of his daydreaming on this beautiful day. It was he, Sebille, and the hero. Sebille had said not a word to him all morning, and he feared the worst. 

“What is on the docket today, Mistress?” He asked, trying to break the ice on this warm day. 

“Inspections. We are to finish inspecting the incoming ship’s cargo for the celebrations tonight.” She stated curtly.

“Ship. Singular.” The hero corrected.

The other two looked at the man clad in whites and golds quizzically. 

“Reports have come in that sea-faring mamano have surrounded the port. This is the only ship that made it through.” He explained.

“And it’s cargo is what, exactly?” Sebille asked. 

The three boarded the ship. It was absent of sailors, yet several dozen casks sat neatly on the deck slowly baking in the salty sea air.

“Wine.” He said, breaking open a cask. He retrieved a cup conveniently placed near and filled it with the dark red liquid. He offered it to Sebille. 

She declined. 

“I’ve watched many a good man succumb to drink. I dare not touch a drop.” She said. The stench of the wine near overpowered her nose. Sickly sweet. The hero stared at her for a moment.

“I must insist. A woman of your caliber can appreciate a fine vintage once in a blue moon, can you not?” He insisted. 

“Once again, I must respectfully decline.” Sebille maintained. The two refused to budge, with the Squire feeling the conflict in the air. He decided to try and break the conversation. 

“Where are the sailors and the captain?” The Squire asked.

“I allowed them to go upon their shore leave. They brought the casks from the hold, so I seen no reason to keep them here. The dockmaster shall unload this and distribute it among the people of the city.” The hero explained, drinking cup he offered Sebille. He then filled it once more with drink. He offered it to the Squire. 

The Squire looked at Sebille and then back. He shook his head.

“Suit yourselves.” The hero shrugged, downing yet another another cup of the vintage.

“Tis’ a bit early to hit the cup so hard, is it not?” Asked the Squire. It was a bit of an oddity seing an ordained hero of the Chief God drinking midday like some common drunkard.

“It is a day for celebration! So go celebrate! Drink and be merry!” The hero replied, without missing a beat.

Sebille and her ward looked at one another. They were both perplexed by the sudden jubilant attitude of a very broody, aloof hero. 

Sebille slowly nodded. “Aye, we’ll do just that. Come, apprentice.” She beckoned the Squire to follow. 

They had left the ship as laborers scrambled aboard to haul the casks to their new temporary homes. They could hear the hero barking orders. Mostly to be careful. Sebille looked around, scanning the crowd milling about the docks. 

“Something is wrong.” Sebille said.

“What is, mistress?” Asked the youth.

“Look around. The guards are not to be seen.” Sebille replied. The Squire skimmed the crowd and nodded in agreement. 

“How strange.” He agreed.

Sebille looked back at the ship. The hero stood on deck, talking to one of the laborers, both of them were drinking. Others began loading casks into horse drawn carts. The hero felt the gaze, and looked to Sebille. Their gazes met, the hero raised the cup in a toast. He mouthed something that could not be heard. The Dame Commander turned away, and began to march to the garrison commander.

The pair passed not one guard on their way to the garrison. 

The duo burst into garrison barracks, intent to find answers. All they found was empty cots and an empty desk where Baul would have been found. 

“Where in the blazes is everyone.” The Squire pondered aloud. 

“Go to the keep, find someone, anyone. We will find this out. Go now, I’ll search the town.” Sebille commanded. The young apprentice nodded, and went on his way to investigate the keep. 

The keep was near empty, as well. Besides the bustling of servants and other laborers. Anyone who was anyone was obviously about town, getting ready for the festivities. The Squire sighed, but trudged along, looking for someone to help on this fools errand. 

The floorboards creaked and groaned as he paced the empty halls of the visitor’s wing. He was hoping to perhaps run into the Hero. At the end of the hall was the chamber that the Hero had taken to since his arrival. 

The door was wide open. Glancing around, the young man deduced no one was around. The floorboards creaked again loudly as he approached the heroes temporary home. 

He poked his head in. No one there. He gingerly walked in, making sure not to make the floors groan about again. Snooping was frowned upon, and he remembered with displeasure the thrashings he would get as a child for poking his nose into his elders belongings. But this was different circumstances, he reasoned. Something foul was afoot, and he had always believed the greater good eclipses all petty sins in the Chief God’s eyes. 

The room, in stark contrast to the individual that inhabited it, was very spartan. A feather bed with a single pillow and scratchy brown  blanket. A single wardrobe. A vanity with a small round mirror. An open window overlooking the docks and the bay. The sky was being painted red and orange by the setting sun. Celebrations were about to begin. 

The curious thing about the room was a barrel tucked into the corner of the room. As the Squire approached it, a sweet musky scent began to manifest. Beside the barrel was a wicker basket. Full of cores of some sort of apple. This was what was giving off the sickly sweet stench. The cores had been sitting in the room for some time, he thought. But in the barrel was more of these light pink, heart shaped fruit things. 

It was a very soft, malleable fruit. His thumb left an indention that would not spring back. Curious as ever, he slid his thumbnail over the thin skin, and juices flowed forth onto his thumb. His stomach rumbled. He didn’t even realize he was hungry.  A saccharine sweet aroma wafted through the air now. He dropped the strange fruit to the ground, rubbing the syrupy juice between his thumb and middle finger before wiping it on his tunic. While the syrup was seemingly clear, it smeared a light pink on his shirt.

And then he seen the bundle tucked behind the barrel. The Squire pulled the object covered in a soft, white linen. Curious, he thought. Unwrapping it, revealed it to be a sword. The same sword that the Hero used. But this didn’t make sense to the young apprentice. Heroes clung to their weaponry blessed by the Chief God, and seldom parted from it. But the Hero had his sword at the docks. Something wasn’t adding up. 

“Such a waste of good fruit.” A voice rang out from behind him.

The startled youth jumped. The blade dropped to the floor with a loud clang as the Squire spun around in surprise. 

It was the Hero.

His steely gaze pierced through the squire. A cold shiver shot down his spine. As if he had just been caught pilfering the cookie jar, and now awaited his punishment. 

The Hero merely smiled, and began to walk towards him. Instincts kicked in, and the Squire took two steps back, and hit the wall. The Hero stopped in front of him, bent over and picked the fruit and cloth off the ground. 

The Hero wiped the pink fruit down with the cloth, and tossed it aside. He turned around and clicked his tongue. 

“Bruised,  no doubt.” The man said, walking to the window. He gazed at the docks below, and the people milling about, finishing final preparations for the celebration. “Do you know what this is?” He asked, taking a bite. Juices exploded out like a cherry tomato. 

After a few moments of silence between the two, the Hero grew impatient. “It’s a fruit common in the Royal Makai.”

Realization washed over the Squire.  A fruit that was grown in the Royal Makai, home of the Demon Lords’ Castle Town, was an insidious trap. 

“Prison fruit.” The Squire said. The Hero turned to him, sly smile and eyes shining. He took another bite, and gestured to the Squire to confirm his suspicions. 

“Right you are.” He said with a full mouth. Chunks of white pulp flew from his mouth. Poor table manners for a so-called hero, the youth thought. 

A fruit from the Demon Realm. An entire barrel of it, no less. Lesser succubi appearing at the same time as this Heroes’ arrival. The Hero had Sebille, himself, and the Captain away from the town for the parlay with the monsterous fly. But when they came back, more succubi. Even more than before packing the cells. 

What happened to all of them that were in the cells? 


“Where is Sebille? What have you done?” The Squire asked in horror. All the events began to click together. 

“Ahh, the boy finally gets it. Don’t worry, I’ve sent for her. Sit down.” A commanding finger pointed to the floor by the bed. The Squire eyed the sword on the ground in front of him.

The Hero caught his gaze wandering. 

“Don’t get any ideas. You will regret it, runt. I may not serve the Chief God any longer, but I still have my wits and training. You lack technique to use such an instrument anyways, I’d wager.” 

Horror gave way to anger. The Squire had been played. Sebille had been played. All of this town had been played. Told to blindly trust a stranger that flew the banner of Lescatie had doomed them.  All this hit the Squire at once, and he sat quietly and seethed. 

Footsteps began to echo through the silent halls. They could be heard approaching the room. The Hero sat on the vanity’s stool, staring at the youth, smug grin spread across his face. Arrogance seeped from every pore. He thought his victory to be so certain. But what victory, the Squire wondered. 

Sebille entered first, hands bound. Stone faced, she looked to the Hero and then the Squire. The Squire sprang up, and the Hero stood as well. 

“So glad for you to join us. Have a seat by your ward. All will be made clear soon.” The Hero said, motioning to the youth. 

Sebille gave a quick glance behind her, and shuffled over to the Squire. They both knelt down to rest on their knees. The two captives looked at each other, and the Squire searched his masters eyes. He found something that he had never found before in her gaze. The faintest look of defeat. Before he could open his mouth to ask what had happened, the answer sauntered through the door. 

It was the dock master’s daughter.  No longer a lesser succubus, her transformation had completed. Translucent wings had taken shape to bat like wings with a soft, leathery look. Her pink hued tail had darkened to a jet black with a thick spade at the end that whipped side to side as she walked. Her facial features sharpened. From a young, jovial look to an almost predatory allure, she had truly matured. 

The Squire stumbled on his words. “Impossible. I watched him cut you down.” The succubus giggled. The Squire again looked to the sword before him, and the one on the man’s hip. It did not add up. 

“Shall I show them?” The Hero asked the succubus. 

The succubus covered her mouth and giggled again. Her coy act was much more refined than her earlier playfulness in the cell. 

The Hero sauntered over to the two and knelt down. He picked the sword up off the ground, and gazed at it with an almost foggy nostalgia. 

“This sword,” he began wistfully. “I received it when I was around your age. Perhaps a shade younger. It was my father’s sword. And his father’s before him. I come from a line of Heroes. So I was groomed from a very tender age to follow that legacy. Perhaps you, too, were a victim of such circumstance.” He said, pointing the blade at the young warrior. 

“Days of training, and sleepless nights. You suffer from this too, I am sure. I can see it your eyes.” He continued. The Squire felt a chill crawl down his spine, it felt as if this man was searching his soul and seeing all. 

“But I had no choice. Every day it was the same thing in and out. Prayer in the morning, training after, daily chores, training, perhaps dinner if I was lucky, nightly sermons, and then if I were lucky I could sleep. You were lucky to get some semblance of a good night’s rest. Discipline, not piety or heroism, was the true religion of my formative years.” He said. 

“History of Heroes in ages past fascinated me. Against all odds, they vanquished evil and humanity prevailed. All in the name of the holy and righteous Chief God. There were monsters that ripped, shred, and tore humans apart. Liches and witches that did diabolical and sinister experiments on living subjects. Sirens and nereids that drowned merchant sailors and fishermen trying to make an honest living. These were the things that needed to be vanquished and defeated.” The Hero continued. The two sat and listened, the Squire more intently than his master. Sebille could see he was buying into the story. 

“But there I sat, listening to tales of the past in the present. The Demon Lord of yesteryear was different; he was bloodthirsty. This one is different. There is no death in her realm. The monsters of a bygone era are dead and rotting. So why fight? I see no reason to quarrel with a benevolent group. I can see you understand me, young one.”

“Silence with your chicanery,” Sebille interjected. “You’re dancing a dangerous dance with these…These demons.” Sebille said, her face still stoic. “Do not listen to him. Their hungers are still ravenous. They will consume you, and cast you aside like scraps from a dinner table when they are finished with you. You are merely food.” She finished. 

“Spoken like a true zealot. Don’t worry. You’ll be singing a different tune soon enough.” The Hero countered. He cut the binds wrapping Sebille’s wrists. She rubbed the aching flesh and watched the Hero as he stood up. He took another glance at the sword and let it clang to the ground once again. 

“This sword, however, was given to me more recently.” He declared, unsheathing the blade. The sun was nearly set, and the last rays of orange light flowing through the open window shone on the blade. It gave off a slight pinkish glint. “This, is demon iron. Regular iron forged with demon realm silver. It behaves quite a bit differently than the weapon I used to wield.” He boasted, 

“I do not inflict wounds of the flesh, I inflict wounds of the spirit. On a lesser being such as her previous form, I put her to a gentle sleep. The blood, as I’m sure you assumed it was blood, was simply a form of spirit energy. And when you dumped her in the bay…” He let his words hang a minute, and strode to the barrel of fruit. He picked up one, and took another bite. 

“You chummed the waters. With such spirit energy being bled into the waters it could only attract the denizens of the deep. Which made the second part so much easier.” 

The succubus giggled again.  “You looked so precious that night, you know. If you weren’t already claimed…” She trailed off. Sebille glared at the monster. The Squire gulped and began to wonder who ‘claimed’ him. He returned to his train of thought. 

“And what was that? What was the second part?” Asked the Squire. 

“You know,” the Hero began, his mouth still full. “This is a very versatile fruit. Quite the delicacy. I’ve had parfaits with it, pies, it can be cooked with meats, or put in salads. Ever since I ate it, I simply cannot have enough. I suppose that’s why they call it ‘prisoner’ fruit. I simply can’t have enough. But it also corrupts a persons inherent spirit energy. Turning it into demonic energy.  As I’m sure you know, once a woman’s spirit energy is replaced with only demonic energy, she corrupts into a lesser succubus. With a touch of magic, this fruit can accelerate that process. Oh, it can also be fermented into wine. Isn’t that interesting?” 

And with that, everything began to click fully into place. The lack of the sailors or captain of the ship. They were claimed en route. The wine distributed to the town was a ploy. Even the eagerness of the Hero to get Sebille to drink the wine there at the docks. 

“Dear, please go make sure your dear friends are in position and getting everyone to drink and be merry. How far behind you was my dear wife?” The Hero asked of the succubus. She nodded and curtsied with her wings, and walked to the open window. 

“She had to take care of some things. She should be up momentarily. You two have fun with each other. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it, Sebille.” The succubus’ parting words hit the Squire. They were going to turn her. Sebille sat stoic as ever. The Squire jumped up as the succubus flew into the fresh night sky. 

“You can’t do this. She did nothing to you. Why can’t you just leave our port alone?  We have done nothing! Absolutely nothing!” The Squire raved. The Hero just watched him in silence. 

“Just let Sebille go. Just put her outside the gates. Give her a rowboat, something! I will pledge myself to you, if you, if–”  The words began to stumble out of his pleading mouth. A grin formed on the older Heroes face. 

“How sweet.” Another voice, younger, and female. She appeared the same age as the Squire, and much younger than the Hero. Besides that, she was dressed in dark colors and was very scantily dressed. The perverse upside-down Lescatie emblem hung from her neck as a pendant. She carried with her a short, gnarled tree root with a black stone set in the head. White hair cascaded down her back, ending in a single braid.  Her eyes seemed to have a faint red glow. She cocked her head to the side and smiled. 

“Sacrificing yourself for your master. What a chivalrous boy! What do you think, beloved? Should we grant his request? I have already promised him to my sergeant at arms, but.” She eyed the captive Dame Commander with shifty and hungry eyes. 

“A little competition keeps everyone sharp. Don’t you agree, Wilsborod?” The young monster asked the Hero. He nodded, and smiled. 

“But at the same time,” the monster continued, “why not enlighten a powerful warrior? Seems a waste to me.” The young monster finished. 

“Why are you doing this?” The Squire asked.

“Because my Queen needs a port to supply her new found kingdom. Duh.” The monster said, knocking on her head and crossing her eyes. Her child-like mannerisms were a bit out of the ordinary to the two captives. 

“AND a certain organization I am a part of needs a home base close to the throne. So this will have to suffice. I’ve always wanted to have a beach-side resort with hubby!” She added, clinging on to the Hero. 

“Disgusting.” Sebille muttered. 

“Sebille!” The Squire exclaimed. He did not understand why she was so brash in a moment such as this. 

The monster turned and stomped past the Hero. Pushing the Squire to the side, she knelt in front of the defiant warrior. A large frown plastered all over her youthful visage. She knelt down, and locked eyes. 

“I’ll have you know, I’m probably older than you are. I’ll also have you know, I’m a grand witch of the Sabbath! You obviously don’t understand, being a backwards country yokel, but that will change.” The witch pouted. She stood up, and spun around and walked back. She grabbed onto the Heroes hand and looked up to him and giggled. The Hero smiled back. She then looked back to Sebille, her smile taking the form of a wolf about to attack prey and feast. 

She leveled her staff at Sebille. 

Sebille closed her eyes. 

And the Squire stepped in the path of her uncast spell.

“Stop! Don’t do this! I’ll do anything! Just let her go!” The Squire begged. He fell to his hands and knees in a bow. 

“Show mercy to her, don’t change her.” Tears began to stream from his face. This woman who taught him everything. Her kindness. Her smile. Her encouraging words. Her bravery. Even in the face of this. 

He didn’t want that to change. He would rather become a slave than to see her become just another pawn of the Demon Lord. He would gladly pay that price for her. 

The witch lowered the staff. She knelt again before the desperate student trying to save his teacher. 

“Do you truly care for this woman?” She asked in a whisper.


She looked up at Sebille and smirked.

“Join my cause, and you both will be happy. You have my word.” She again whispered. 

The Squire looked up. Lines of tears streamed down. The witches face went from a contorted look of smug to almost empathy. She placed a hand on his cheek and smiled. 

“You look so precious. What do you say? Agree, and I will bring you both happiness.” She promised. 

The Squire sat up onto his knee’s and looked back. Sebille shook her head ‘no’. Defiant to the end. 

“Yes.” He said. 

“Good. Now sit on the bed.” The young witch commanded. 

The Squire looked puzzled. He began to open his mouth in protest, but was cut off. 

“Trust goes both ways. If I can trust you, you can trust me. Please sit on the bed.” She asked sternly, and began tapping her foot. The Squire looked to the Hero. The Hero nodded. 

He warily stood and went to sit on the bed. Sebille looked at him and shook her head. Pangs of guilt shot through him as he began to realize he had sold himself to what he pledged to fight against. 

But it was for his master. A brilliant woman who did not deserve to be turned. 

“Such naivete. To be young again. Do not worry. You will soon be very happy together. Bell will just have to share, I suppose.” And with that, she leveled her staff again. 

A blast of light caused the Squire to fall backwards, his hands shooting up to protect his eyes. The witch laughed, and the Squire lowered his hands to see Sebille writhing on the ground. 

She spasmed on the ground, her mouth wrapped in a silent scream. She curled into a ball, and then straightened out, again and again. Translucent wings sprouted, followed by the tail. Horns were last, as they grew and spiraled up around her skull into an almost crown. The Squire was mesmerized by the sight. It truly was amazing to watch. 

And that’s when it hit him. She betrayed him. She promised to leave her alone, he reasoned. He looked over, and finally heard it. The laughing witch corrupting his master. Anger and guilt and anguish and humiliation and terror spread through his mind, jumbling it into a mess of emotion and adrenaline. 

He seen the sword. He could stop it. 

Without thinking he jumped to the ground and grasped the hilt desperately. Perhaps it wasn’t to late. He stood and charged the small girl. She looked at him in horror, and her laugh turned to a gasp. He swung the sword as hard as he could. 

The Hero stepped in the way. He felt the sword hit resistance, and finally, nothing. He heard a grunt, and stepped back. 

Wilsborod of Lescatier fell to his knees. His hand on his stomach. His other hand missing fingers. He pulled his intact hand away from his midsection, and crimson was caked upon his hand. 

NO!” Screeched the young witch. Falling to the floor with her lover in her arms. She seemed weak, drained. The Hero formed words with his mouth, but no sound came from. 

The sword clattered to the ground as the Squire became lucid again. He had blacked out. He raised his hands and began to mumble incoherently. His foot hit something. 


The Squire spun around and seen her. She was a full fledged succubus. She lay on the ground, grey wings spread out. Hair had turned from a mousy blonde to an ashen hue. She was passed out. The Squire gave a quick glance over his shoulder, as the witch tried to use her magic to render aid to her lover.

Guilt again panged through. He just cut down a man protecting his wife. No, a man protecting a monster. But with his own family sword.  The thoughts barraged like a hurricane against a levy. He shook them off. He had to get Sebille to safety. 

He scooped her up into a princess carry. Her tail hanging lazily between his arms. She weighed almost nothing. Her wings felt strange and alien. Her arms unconsciously wrapped around his neck, as her head rest against his chest. His breathing intensified. Flight overtook fight. He rushed to the door and looked back. The witch, tears streaming down her face glared at the Squire. 

“You WILL pay for this. I will hunt you down unmercifully. If he lives or dies, you will know my wrath. I swear to the Demon Lord, we will find out how long a human man can take before losing all reason. I will enjoy breaking you every day.” That is all the Squire stood for as he began to rush down the hallway. 

“You will never escape! I WILL find you!” 

The keep was empty. The sounds of the outside muffled. A cloak lay unattended on a bench besides the door. He bent down and grabbed it whilst still carrying an unconscious Sebille. It drug on the ground as he kicked the door of the keep open. 

Outside was a madhouse. Moaning and laughing drifted through the air. Bonfires burned bright. The air danced with flickers of orange sparks as the town descended into a decadence heard only in the Squire’s studies. He looked frantically for a steed, and found one hitched on a post in front of the postmaster’s house. He put Sebille on first, and wrapped her in the cloak to hide her new appearance. Her tail still hung lazily, waving back and forth. She slumped to the side as the Squire mounted. He pulled her tight against him as he dug into the horses side, ordering him to go. 

The horse obliged, and into the night they rode. 

The gate had been opened. No soldiers seen. They had been riding in the cold and dark forest highway. The moon the only illumination on the grey cobblestones as the horses hooves clopped against the polished smooth stones. It was rhythmic. And also dangerous. Had an ambush been set? 

Sebille stirred, and the Squire stopped the horse. 


“I’m here.” She answered weakly. 

The Squire dismounted. This had been far enough. If something were to have happened, it would have happened by now, he reasoned. He helped Sebille off the horse, and slapped the horses rump. It galloped away into the night. She leaned against him. Her arm around his waist for support. The duo went into the woods. 

They found a suitable spot, and made a makeshift camp with a campfire. While reason stated that they should not light a beacon for everyone to see, he figured that the giant bonfires of town were distraction enough. Sebille sat entranced by the fire, the cloak pulled tight around her. The Squire stared at her new form. Her face glowed and had softened. Where the strong and stern teacher had been sat instead a soft and concerned woman. 

“Can I feel your tail?” The Squire blurted out. 

Sebille looked up and cocked a perfect eyebrow. The orange of the dancing flames reflected in her still sea-green eyes. She had at least kept her own eyes. 

“That’s heresy.” She said, completely serious. The Squire looked down in embarrassment. 

“But,” she continued. “I suppose this is extraneous circumstance. So I will allow it. Come here, my ward.” The words sounded the same, but had different feeling behind it. The Squire cautiously pulled himself to sit beside his now monsterized master. 

The tail whipped over and fell into his lap. The grey spadetail with the orange glow on it made it look otherworldly. 

The Squire acted as if he were picking up a toad for the first time. Nervous and scared, thinking he would get warts. Sebille giggled. The Squire looked over in shock, he had never heard his master giggle. 

“How…How does it feel?” He asked.

Sebille turned back to the fire quickly. “I don’t know. I’m still me. I think. But…” 

“But what?” 

“Everything feels…Real. I never realized how nice it is to sit here in the night air in front of a fire. Trees swaying all around. And you.” She said, turning back to the Squire. 

“She was right. You do look precious.” She finished. They stared at each other for a minute. She then leaned in to kiss him. 

The Squire fell backwards, crawling on his back away. 

“Sebille–Master,” he corrected himself. “Remember your oath.” 

“I do remember my oath. To protect the innocent from evil. Does me being changed into this make me evil? I didn’t ask for this.” She said, leaning back to sit in front of the fire. 

“I apologize, my ward. It’s just… I can feel it. These feelings, they’re…” She trailed off, and the Squire sat again across from her. She stared into the fire again. 

“Is it true? Can you hear…Her voice?” He asked another question. 

“No. But I can feel her love for us. It’s hard to explain. Like having butterflies.” She answered. She began to feel her horns. The Squire simply watched. 

“I killed him.” The Squire muttered, finally having time to stop and think. Sebille looked to him and shook her head. 

“No you did not. We did not see him take his last breath. And even if he does die, it was his arrogance that killed him. He left his blade unattended. And you…Tried to protect me.” Sebille said, trying to soothe the Squire. 

It did not help. The Squire began to sob, 

“I failed you. All your training. I betrayed the Order to save you. And even then…” He trailed off. 

Sebille came and sat besides him, placing a hand on his head. 

“You did save me.” She said. He looked up, her horned head and beautiful eyes comforted him. The feelings for her had been bottled, and it began to leak. 

“Stop.” He said, swatting her hand away.

“I can’t even look at you. I was taught to be scared of succubi. And I couldn’t even save you from becoming one. I tried. I tried. I tried.” He began to chant between sobs. 

“Deoyn…” Sebille said. This was the first time she had spoken his name. The last time was when his mother had passed. 

“Sebille…” The Squire said.

They kissed.

The Squire pulled away. Sebille bit her bottom lip gently. 

“We can’t. You’re my master, my teacher. It is wrong.” The Squire reasoned.

“It’s only wrong to hide these feelings. I’ve cared for you for so long. I’ve finally seen that I don’t have to hold these feelings in anymore.” She replied. 

“We can’t be together. That witch or what ever she was…She wants me dead. I can’t put you through running with me. I…I have to go back to the Order lands. Your place is still here.” He continued to try. Sebille leaned in again, and they shared another passionate kiss. 

He fell to his back, Sebille on top of him. His arms wrapped around her, as they continued to kiss in the moon and firelight. He felt peace. She felt safe. He rolled her onto her back.

“I can’t.” He whispered. 

“Yes, you can.” She whispered back. 

His morals had been compromised. He loved her, no doubt he felt. But was this just a test from the Chief God? He had heard of tests of piety and purity. 

But he had already betrayed the Order when he offered himself willingly to the conquerors. His heart felt heavy and conflicted.

She pulled him in for another kiss, and the thoughts melted away. The cool grass tickled Sebille’s neck as they kissed deeply. They rolled again, and the Squire felt the tickle. Passions began to ignite. 

The Squire first lost his shirt. Sebille shortly afterwards. Sebille could feel her ward ravishing her with his eyes. Her hands traced up and down her body. The Squire sat up and began to kiss on her abs and stomach. Sebille hung her head back, a moan escaping her lips. She ran her fingers through his hair, and her tail wrapped around his leg. 

The Squire flipped her onto her back, and began to kiss down her body. When he reached her pants, he ripped them off. Sebille cooed in pleasure. 

“Sorry. New to this.” The Squire said bashfully.

“So am I.” Sebille replied. 

The Squire went back to what he was doing. He kissed along her stomach and finally reached unknown waters for him. He stared at it for a while, not sure what to do.

“Just do what comes naturally…” Sebille trailed off. 

And do naturally, is what he did. Sebille arched her back in ecstasy. Her hands shooting out and grabbing clumpfuls of cold grass. Moans escaped, and made the Squire get even more excited. 

“My turn.” Sebille said, her words came between primal breaths. 

The Squire was a bit startled when he was pushed back against the grass. It knocked the wind out of him, and he had no chance to catch his breath before Sebille enveloped him with her mouth. He began to breath raggedly. This was all so new to him. 

It continued for a few minutes, the Squire catching a glance every so often of his teacher teaching him things he never thought of. She occasionally met his stare with a lecherous grin of her own. 

“Come here.” The Squire said. Sebille crawled over. The Squire then positioned her ass to sit on his face while she still faced his manhood. 

“Learning quickly, aren’t we Deoyn?” Sebille asked. 

“Don’t call me that.” The Squire said. Sebille giggled. Something to tease him with. 

Sebille lowered herself onto the Squires face. Sensory overload for the young man. Pleasure, heat, sweat, love. He gave her pleasure as she gave him pleasure. Eventually, he felt Sebilles thighs shudder and shake. She climbed off of him. 

“Wow.” She said. 

“Wow, indeed, master.” He said.

“Please,” Sebille giggled. “Call me Sebille. We’re past these honorifics, are we not?” She asked. 

“Not yet.” He said. Taking her gently to the ground again. Him on top of her. Her breathing heavy, yet shallow. Her eyes were so beautiful. 

The Squire positioned himself, and then entered her. Sebilles soft moans were eventually muffled by a deep and loving kiss from her former apprentice. She tasted sweet like rain, thought the Squire. She continued to moan into his mouth. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her hand on his head pushing him more into her. 

He swore they would melt together. 

It was soon daylight. Deoyn the Squire stood over the sleeping Sebille. He buttoned his tunic, looking around in the dim light that began to peek through the trees. He sighed. Even if he did love her, he could not put her in the wrath of the witch he had just grievously offended. He would not be welcome in the Order lands, either. He decided to just run. If he was caught, he was caught. But the Order was flawed. The Demon Lord was flawed. The Order, no flexibility on their views alienated the ex-Squire now for consorting with a monster. And the Demon Realm of Lescatie would surely put a bounty on him for his attacks against one of the Sabbath’s witches. 

Truly a rock and hard place he would not put Sebille between.

He turned from the sleeping Sebille and glanced once more at her sleeping form. She slept peacefully by the smoldering embers of a dying fire. He smiled. 

And left. 

Sebille awoke as the light of dawn peaked through the trees and danced on her face. It had been the dawn of a new day, probably one of the last for the uncorrupted land. Deoyn was no where to be seen. She panicked, and grasped at the cloak to cover herself with. Her wings wrapped around her waist. She wandered around the makeshift campsite, clutching at her makeshift blanket looking for her makeshift husband. All she found was a tree. A tree with the bark carved out.


Sebille sighed, and put her hand on the tree. She truly felt everything now. The roughness of the bark, but the love behind the meaning. She knew why he left in the early morning. It was to protect her. But she was the brash Dame Commander.

And he was her ward. She would not let him do anything stupid. 



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6 thoughts on “Lamb and Martyr

    1. Might be, might not be … but I’d certainly read all of this series, just like yours. (BTW, how many chapters until Arawn and Helvetia meet?)

  1. Typos:
    byt he group
    Wilsborod of Lescatier
    He seen the sword

    > “[The demon lord] seeks to breed us out”
    While there’s some truth to that, no human girls at all means no more human boys, which means no more dick for new mamono

    > demon silver drawing “blood”
    > chumming the waters
    Putting aside the fact that nothing other than mershark teeth has ever been stated to create a blood-like substance from spirit energy, since she got sliced as a lesser succubus the released energy should’ve been demonic energy, right? Why would aquatic mamono be attracted to demonic energy?

  2. Oh god, one of the best stories I’ve read on the internet.
    I really, really hope this becomes a series. This can’t end like this :'(

    What a great chapter, perfect in every way. Thank you 😀

  3. I really liked this one. It showed both extremes are not the best answer. The Order does have a bunch of assholes, but I do feel kinda sorry for the innocents in town that just wanted to live peacefully.

    This could make for an interesting series. I especially would love to see the difference between Dame Commander Sebille and Succubus Sebille.

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