Fee

 

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Designed by Kumiko

 

Mazgoturthakal had not expected a hero's welcome upon his arrival back in Hell. He hadn't expected any kind of welcome at all, as a matter of fact, so when he returned to a chorus of delighted shouts and 'way to go, Maz!' being called from all directions, it surprised him quite significantly.
Though, being the type of person he was, he covered it within milliseconds and grinned wickedly, grabbing the nearest person to him and kissing them roughly.
"Agh! Maz, you fucking idiot! Get off!"
"Psh. You know you love it, Hana." he replied to the petite, redheaded demoness. Hana snorted, and shook her head.
"Aye, but your sister might get jealous."
"Excuse me?"
Turning, Maz caught sight of an ivory-topped head coming towards him. As she came to a stop in front of him, she placed her hands on her hips, squeaking as he reached out and dragged her close to him, pressing his groin into hers.
"Hello, Sari, my dear." he murmured, lips just brushing hers.
Eyes hooded, she smiled mysteriously, groping him with enough expertise to prise a low groan from him. "Later." she whispered, nipping his earlobe lightly.
Grinning like an idiot, Maz turned as someone tapped his shoulder, coming face to face with Chmaldrorincae, who raised one eyebrow at him.
"Wipe that look off your face," he said sourly. "You look like a fucking retard."
"Nn," Maz replied. "Hello to you too, Chmal."

"Heeeeeeey! Where's the fucker who did that angel?" Thironantha stumbled through the chattering crowd, obviously very drunk (which was usual), and half-collapsed onto Maz's shoulder. "It's you, innit? You... fucking bastard..." The demon giggled insanely, having to be led off by another of the few demoness that were around, complaining 'Aw, come on, Ialammir!' all the way.
He'd probably be in bed with her within the hour.

"I have to say, though." Chmal stated, examining his nails. "You did well to chase the little bastard down, and force yourself on him. Normally they fight like animals and you can't get a hold of them."
Mazgoturthakal chuckled quietly. "He was loving it by the end and he knew it. Some of the noises he made-"
"You enjoyed it yourself, then?" The other demon asked, folding his arms.
He shrugged. "Sex. Rape. It's all fucking in the end, isnt it?"
Chmaldrorincae looked him slowly up and down, and smirked. "Well, you don't seem to have taken any ill from it."
Reaching out to ghost a hand down Chmal's arm, Maz pouted a little. "Oh? Do you want to make sure?"
"Well, I-"

"MAZ!?"

Karthetuthari. Masochist, sex addict, and unofficial fuck-slave of Maz. What they had couldn't be called 'love', at least not in a human sense, but there was a definite bond, illustrated brilliantly as Karthetuthari stormed over, eyes blazing, and bitch-slapped Maz across the face.
"BASTARD!"
Maz was stunned. Really stunned. So stunned, in fact, that all he managed was a garbled. "Huh? I- wait... what?"
Everyone was staring. Violently grabbing Karthetuthari's arm he dragged him away and all but threw him out of the door, slamming it shut and pulling him along as he almost tripped and yelped out startled complaints. Eventually finding a secluded spot, he let him go and turned on him.

"What the FUCK is wrong with you?"
"With me?!" The irate demon had begun pacing back and forth. "Your sister, sure, whatever, but an angel? Maz, I-"
Abruptly, Mazgoturthakal slammed him up against a wall, one hand pinned above his head, the other down at his side. Karthetuthari glared at him darkly, holding back a groan as Maz ground his hips hard into his own.
"Are you... jealous?"
No reply. Maz chuckled.
"You know we're not an exclusive thing. I can fuck who I like, when I like."
"But I-"
Cut off by a kiss, Karthetuthari melted towards him, moaning longingly.
"Come..." Maz murmured. "Let me make it up to you..."

* * *

Perhaps Maz needed to go rape angels more often, Karthetuthari thought as he was thrown down onto Maz's bed and the other demon pinned him down, leaning over to pull his wrists over his head. Karthetuthari wondered what purpose that had served, but quickly found that his hands were tied above his head, and to the iron bed frame.

This was new...

Quite soon, though he did resist, his ankles were tied to the posts at the bottom of the bed. He swallowed, watching as Maz strolled across the room, picked up a knife, and came back. Straddling Karthetuthari once again, languidly, he idly played with the knife, and then lightly drew the blade across the other male's chest. He flinched, and shivered with pleasure as a line of blood welled up.
Maz went on, drawing intricate patters on his skin, some cuts deeper than others but all of them causing the demon tied down to make some very interesting sounds. Abandoning the knife, he lowered his head to lap at the blood, sucking harshly on several of the cuts and hearing a strangled groan, feeling Karthetuthari's chest push up towards him. He could feel his arousal pressing against his thigh.

Hell, Karthetuthari was a sick fuck.

Not that he minded.

Shifting, he grabbed the blonde demon's hips and forced inside him, hearing the choked scream as he tore him, the reflexive muscle spasms and the way his body trembled in pain bringing a smile to Maz's lips. Though, he didn't stop and rode him hard, blood eventually acting as a lubricant at which point he angled down, nails digging into Karthetuthari's thighs.
Karthetuthari bucked and strained desperately at his bonds but to no avail, gasping, cursing and moaning deeply as Maz slammed into him savagely, arching and slamming his hands back to clutch the bedstead.

"Maz!" he half-sobbed, coming hard and collapsing weakly as Maz finished within his unresponsive body. Fingers clenching and unclenching slowly, he groaned softly. "Fuck..."
"Do you forgive me?" Maz whispered.
"Yes... by Lucifer, yes"

Maz laughed into his throat, and sat up, untying the other's hands then moving down to his ankles. Slipping his arms under the slender form of Karthetuthari he lifted the demon and cradled him to his chest. The slightly-built demon looked up, finding his lips met by a shockingly tender kiss that left him breathless.
"Maz..." he murmured, resting his head on Maz's shoulder.
Maz smiled a little, shaking his head. "Let's get you cleaned up. You look like shit."
"Mmph..."

Taking him to another room, he paused before the deep pool of hot water that bubbled up from underground springs and served as his bath, before striding in and sitting slowly, lowering Karthetuthari into the water, washing the blood off his cuts.
Eventually, although at first he flinched as the water touched the open wounds, Karthetuthari fell asleep, held in Maz's lap. Maz sighed, shaking his head again.

"Stupid fucker..."

 

***

 

As one demon drifted to sleep in Hell, in Heaven, a young angel, cradled in her sleeping lover's arms, stirred and opened her eyes, mumbling something quietly. Beside her, a male sleepily awoke and yawned a little, lifting a hand to push wispy black locks from his face.
"Are you awake, Sirae?" he murmured.
The female nodded, sitting up a little. "I am, Trysios. I-" Suddenly she stopped and her eyes widened.
Trysios frowned, lifting a hand to touch her arm. "Sirae, love, what is it?"

"Something's wrong..." she whispered in a voice that was not her own. "One of our number has been taken..." Eyes widening still further, she tumbled from the bed and attempted to get up, collapsing as her legs refused to support her. "Ameron!"
Quickly rising, Trysios was by her side, holding her close as she began to sob. "Ameron has been taken... Trysios"
She stopped crying, then, and blinked, brow furrowing in confusion. "...Why am I on the floor? What did I miss?"

Trysios smiled fondly, and kissed the top of her head. Sirae spent so much of her time in visions that it was a wonder she knew what was going on at all.
"Nothing important," he told her. "But you saw something, and we need to speak with the others. They may already know, but you know how things are at the moment."
"Yes..." Sirae sighed.

Thanks to some administrative error lower in the system, things were a little hectic in the Higher Choirs. Trysios had spent hours and hours of his time holed up in a study with Iowynne, a pleasant if not slightly stuffy angel who had a good head for figures. She had figured out that something was going very wrong somewhere, but as yet she had to figure out where. She'd let Trysios off the hook, however, when he'd fallen asleep at the desk and bumped his head quite badly on the tabletop. He'd not heard the end of that from Sirae for quite a while.

The hall below the sleeping chambers was empty, causing a briefly confused look to pass over Trysios' face as they emerged into the hallway overlooking the room. One arm around her shoulders, Trysios led Sirae down the sweeping curve of the staircase, pausing just before the bottom and glancing at his companion.
"Where is everyone?" he murmured.
Sirae's eyes travelled around the room, becoming a little glazed as she focused her power. She couldn't do this every time, but this way she stayed aware of her surroundings. After a moment, she took his hand. "This way." she told him, pulling him along at a half-run.

"...and we think that he might be- Sirae! Thank the Lord you're here, we were just about to send for you."
All eyes were on the delicate, ebony-haired angel, and for a moment she looked so lost that Trysios squeezed her hand reassuringly. Then, like a metamorphosis into something magnificent, her shoulders straightened, chin lifting as her eyes became harder.
"Right," she said solemnly. "What is it that you need to know?"
Drawing away from Trysios, she walked into the room, her movement possessing a fluid, catlike grace. Trysios went to his seat, looking on in admiration. He loved her so much when she was like this. Sirae took her own place at the head of the table, and beside her, Iowynne cleared her throat.
"Ameron is missing."
"We are aware that he was last seen some time last night, but beyond that..." Maneo's deep voice rumbled.

Sirae lifted a hand to bid him be silent, then clasped both her hands together and frowned a little in concentration. "I will tell you what I see," she intoned formally. "If you will harken to me."
Catyil, a serious female with a shock of vivid red hair, nodded. "Of course."
Nodding, Sirae closed her eyes, brow furrowing deeply. Again that hushed voice spilled from her, and the others leaned in to listen.

"Ameron... is no longer pure..."

 

A startled wave of chatter ghosted softly around the room.
"He has been tainted... by the one who calls himself... Mazgoturthakal..."

 

"That... that..." Yirisa's face screwed up as she searched for a word to describe what she wanted to say, and when she couldn't she growled in frustration, folding her arms and pouting, silently cursing the limitations of spoken language. The others knew what she was feeling, however, and shared her sentiment.
Sirae's eyes opened, blank and faintly glowing silver.
"He was pursued... through darkness and light..."

 

Her eyes widened a little, though no emotion was shown behind them. "He is a mortal."

 

A single tear rolled slowly down her cheek but she made no movement to brush it away. "In the care of another... her name... her name is Natalie..."

 

The seer's head dropped, and then lifted, her eyes clear. "We have to do something."

It was well known within the Higher Choirs that if an angel became so tainted, as Ameron had, by evil, and did not return to the Heavens within a set time, they became mortal. However, they had never thought that it would happen to one of their number. Trysios and Sirae were in love, and certainly they had slept together, but their love was a pure one, the kind that only angels and the luckiest of humans can experience, and so they suffered nothing from it.
Ameron, however, had been a victim of lust.

"What can we do?" Yirisa murmured, shaking her auburn head. Imandor scowled lightly, glancing to Aisyr beside him, who shrugged.
There were a few minutes of silence, then Catyil cleared her throat. "I don't know that there's anything we can do."
"There must be something!" Sirae said desperately, slamming her palms down on the table in a gesture of anger that was rarely seen. The injustice of it was getting to her, and more so, in her vision she had seen exactly what had happened to him and was shocked cold to the core.

"There is one thing," Imandor said carefully, twirling a lock of his hair around one finger. "One way that he could be saved."
"What is that?"
Imandor sat back, chewing his thumbnail absently. "He has to experience a pure emotion."
Maneo snorted quietly, shaking his head. "Humans cannot feel 'pure' emotion." he stated. "Even their innermost feelings are conflicted. They think their emotions are true, but they never are."
An up until now silent voice now spoke, ethereal and harmonious, belonging to one Cenandra, one of the oldest yet least heard voices of their council. Her advice was more often than not invaluable, so when she spoke, everyone listened.

"There is one emotion which all humans have the capacity to feel purely, yet seldom do." she said. All attention was now on her, but she was not at all intimidated by it. "And that emotion is love."

Catyil ran a hand through her hair, a thoughtful frown settling over her face. "Love? But... Ameron is so young. He does not have the advantage of age and understanding of love that we have."
"Plus," Trysios added softly. "What has happened to him makes it likely that if he does begin to feel those emotions, he will repress them, and be afraid of them."
Sirae sighed, lowering her head and closing her eyes. "Then it's hopeless."
"Perhaps," Aisyr murmured. "But perhaps not. Ameron is young, certainly, but there may still be hope for him." He steepled his fingers on the table, viewing the others over the top of his hands. "Let us just hope that this... Natalie... has good intentions."