The Song of Roland Ch. 19

"Oh ho ho!" Cried a voice far above, in the inscrutable mists of the fog. It was a woman's voice, aged and ecstatic. "Ha ha, ha ha ha!"

Roland snatched up his sword, expecting literally anything to happen now that he was surrounded by such madness. However, the truth revealed itself as the fog lifted and a wizened old crone in a bone white robe hovered a dozen feet in the air, waving her staff above her head like a whirling dervish. Her wrinkles were so deep that they formed canyons of age across her face. Her eyes were hidden beneath great clumps of fleshy eyelid. The small tuft of white hairs that sat atop her head were more threads than hair follicles, hovering in the air as the wind buffeted and sustained it. Her mouth was slowly muttering something, her bones seeming paper thin as she hovered above him. She looked frail and homely, this tiny being, but a great smile was on her face.

"Sphanor carry you, babe of the fortunate winds!" She called out, sweeping her staff in the direction of the group of Imps closing in on Roland, scattering them. "Best get inside, no? This is no place for the witless, nor the brainless!"

"My thanks, Priestess." Roland said with grudging gratitude, buckling his pants

"That's 'Godsman' to you, boy! Titles matter to the pious." The tiny woman chided him. She was barely as tall as his waist. Floating far above him, she seemed almost the shape of an onion. "Now be off! We've much work to do!" The fog closed around her again. Roland ran betwixt the buildings, hearing her chortling in the heights above.

"Fucking Cultists." Roland muttered under his breath.

Roland knew he had been exceedingly lucky: the Imps' chaotic nature was working against them, compelling the hateful sprites to break apart from their coordinated waves into tiny bands of roving creatures in search of potential prey to ravish. Such selfish inclination was an immeasurable boon for a warrior capable of defending himself, as it minimized the number of the things he had to face at once. For the helpless or unarmed, however...

Turning a corner, Roland became witness to a grim sight. Two women, denuded of clothing, bent over upon the cold ground, a pile of Imps taking turns inflicting their perverse pleasure upon them.

One woman, a chestnut-haired maiden was draped across the top of a smashed crate, her stomach rubbing against the splintered wood and leaving pinpricks of splintered slivers in her stomach as her captors held her in place. Her grey robes were shredded pieces of cloth that only cinched around her neck and arms, the lower half of her body exposed in the night air. She faced away from Roland, two Imps taking turns with her vagina and ass as they took her in merciless, relentless fashion."Ah! Ahn! Haaah!" She cried out, her head lowering as the wet sounds of sex carried over the sound of the fire, and the shouting, and the clashing of steel.

Roland's face clenched in anger. The other girl, a black haired personage of slim features and dark complexion was on her knees, face in the dirt, with her ass in the air. He saw two other Imps mashing their narrow hips against her own, the top one planting his feet atop her hips as though he were trying to dive cock-first into her ass while his compatriot, heedless, bumped his face against the Imps' rear in his zeal to fill her cunt with the whole of his maleness. A third Imp circled around to the senseless girl's head, pulling her up by the roots of the hair. She managed out a heavy moan before he filled her mouth with his meat.

Roland came upon the scene at a run. Holding his blade two-handed, he sprinted up to the one Imp asserting a blowjob for his sex. The red-maned maniac let out a roaring battle cry as he beheaded the thing, leaping over the prone woman as he bodily kicked the Imp in her ass. It pulled out, letting out a hiss of pain as Roland landed feet first atop it, a satisfying crunch sounding as he stomped the thing's life away. The last one was unable to do much more than growl before Roland ran it through.

Turning sharply, he drew his dagger, planting it hard into the chest of the Imp in the brown-haired woman's pussy. The last Imp, suddenly alone, pulled free from the orifice it had invaded. Instead of fleeing, the thing jerked itself a last few times and spurted its white, bubbling load across the woman's back, intent upon inflicting its sexuality upon her even as Roland grabbed it by the neck. The mercenary put his palm atop its head, holding its snapping jaws closed as it grabbed and twisted hard in opposite directions with his hand. Snap went the creature's neck, and it fell, lifeless to the ground.

Roland did not wait to retrieve his weapons. He was in an instant at the brown-haired woman's side, lifting her as carefully as he could off of her painful position atop the crate. His arms went about her shoulders, and he peeled her off of it, setting her back against the nearby, charred remains of a home. Her head was listless, shifting this way and that as her brown eyes stared in stark, uncomprehending ignorance. "Bwuhh..." She muttered, her tongue lolling from her mouth.

"Oi, eyes on me." He said, snapping his fingers in front of her. He stole a glance down at her defiled womanhood. There was a clear sign of sticky whiteness pooling beneath her. "Ya hear me, lass? 'S gonna be all right." Roland looked back at the other woman; she was still in her assumed position, her bare bottom in the air and waving around. There was an equally glazed, dreamy expression on her face. Neither seemed to hear his words, their voices a mixture of abject lust and unthinking perfidy.

He'd seen the look before, it was one of the worst indignities that the Imps could inflict upon their prey: the willful inducement of arousal at the act of such sinister copulation. The longer the abuse went on, the more pleasurable it became, regardless of pain, debasement, or taboo. It was insidious: once they had you, once they finished in you, you were theirs... at least until the druglike effect of their influence wore off.

Roland let his guard down for a moment too long. As he looked over in the direction of the dark-haired woman, the brown-haired one leapt at him, tackling him to the ground as she let out a sultry coo. Words were beyond her muddled mind, but she knew at least how to enunciate the base sound of a female in lust. "Hnnh!" She said, licking her lips and grinding her nakedness against Roland's crotch. She shook her breasts above him, enticing with an animal's logic as to her biological suitability to mate, as though the cherry bulb of her nipples were reason enough. Roland put his hands upon her shoulders, gently pushing her off of him. Even as she was, this was no Succubus' Mating Haze. Thank the Gods, these poor women were not nearly as lost as that.

"No." Roland said, as if such words could even manage to get through to the wanton women. As careful as he could, he pushed her back against the wall, holding her there for a moment as she weakly struggled against him. Her mind was telling her to fuck everything she saw, but her body was exhausted. Even as he held her there, her movements became more sedentary, her eyes fluttering as she struggled to keep herself stable.

Roland looked around. There were fires everywhere, Imps scampering in the distance and dark shadows flitting back and forth through the thick fog. There was no safe place, no easy access to escape. Neither of these women were in any condition to move, much less flee. He lifted his head over the edge of the charred building next to them. The roof had been decapitated, leaving a husk of blackened wood and charred innards. He grunted. There was no time; he could not carry both, and even were he to do so he would fall at the first sight of Imps, providing only a third body to violate rather than protecting the women's already besmirched honor. At least inside the house there was cover, it had been burned to the ground; the Imps would be far less likely to look here for survivors than that of the still-standing buildings.

It wasn't enough; it had to be enough.

Hopping over the barrier, he hefted the first woman up and over the remains of the window, propping her as best as he could against the wall, keeping her deep in a corner, where the Imps would have to actively search the building to find. She tried to fondle his chest, grasp at his wrist, but Roland pulled away, moving to retrieve the other woman after he'd acquired his weaponry again. Hefting her over his shoulders, he deliberately carried her over to another portion of the house, lest one of the two be tempted into still further carnal relations with the other.

Finishing his unwholesome task, Roland brushed himself off, leaving the house via the imploded back in an attempt to minimize any Imps spotting them. He continued to work his way through the winding streets, pausing every so often when he heard the telltale pitter-patter of Imp feet scurrying about in the darkness. In the distance, Roland could see indistinct flashes of light within the mist, back in the direction of the main gate.

It seemed that they had been invested; he could not imagine how many Imps were flooding the area. Roland allowed himself a private prayer that Kelsea was somewhere safe from all this mess. Perhaps having Almyra as leverage would have allowed her to pass into the inner gates, perhaps-

He stopped short. There was a voice in the mist, a soft whisper that went unheard in his ears, but rebounded within his head. It was wordless, a nonverbal expression of enticement. It tugged at him, a breathless temptation to something otherworldly. Despite not seeing the person speaking, Roland felt a low compulsion to follow its direction. Its sound offered inconceivable ecstasy, the dulcet tones calling to him on a primal, masculine level. It was a mate in search of another, a love requesting an attendant. Roland knew the feel, he recognized the subtle call.

The Succubus. She was close. Roland fingered his blade and followed the call.

He moved through creeping night streets, down deserted alleyways and across rising snow banks. The fog was now an omnipresent companion, hanging heavily in the air like the unspoken words that compelled him forward. The shades of dark things moved about in the night, but Roland avoided them, ducking into buildings or crouching low behind walls. He had left the annihilated third of the southwestern quadrant of the Outer Cloister behind him, the dead buildings like fire markers to a burnt forest. He moved swiftly through the scattered collection of still-standing hovels before it gave way to empty barns and stables.

The voice was getting louder. Come to me. It said. Come find me, my flame. Roland's eyes clenched, his nose sniffing the crisp night air, inhaling it, smelling the soft fragrances of Summer, of sunflowers and subtle promises spoken from the tip a honeyed tongue. Roland shook his head, lifting and lowering his rondel in its sheath.

She's not here, you dupe. She's dead and you're just a fevered fool smarting at phantoms. It was so easy to think that to himself, perhaps even to believe it. Yet when Roland heard the wonderful sound of her voice he felt his limbs bend a bit too quickly, his muscles clench a tad too tightly as he hurried in harried fashion towards the source of the sounds.

I'm waiting for you... Said the voice. He knew she was. But it was not Calexi that he would find at the end of this path. There was a growing sound of moaning, of wet slaps and crashing flesh. Roland steeled himself and peeked around the corner of a building, his fist clenching as he saw the confirmation of his fears.

The Succubus held lustful court in the open square of space between a half dozen houses. The snow had been cleared, the outline of a multitude of cloven hooves marking what spots still remained. In the center stood the humble profile of a well, and about the tiny structure were sprawled a half dozen men and women, surrounded by an absolute horde of Imps. They were all naked, their bodies turned and pressed against the ground, sandwiched between Demons and filled to the brim with cock. A repugnant stench was in the air, a heaviness that nestled deep in Roland's nose and made him light headed and weak.

The Imps were invested, circling the individual humans like a frenzy of sharks embarking upon a manic feast. Their cruelty was evident in their body language, in the jeering way they shoved the captured villagers about, with little heed to their comfort or safety. They humped against bare skin, poked and prodded and slapped their raging sexes against the prone humans, coating them in demonic seed whenever the eagerness of the moment outlasted their patience to invade an empty orifice. It did not matter if it was male or female, both were taken as bitches in heat, their mouths and rears filled with sex.

There were dozens of the filthy beasts, the greatest concentration of Demonic strength that Roland had yet seen. The heavy sounds of uproarious mating filled the air, the Imps adopting swift, almost inhuman paces to their violation as they indulged in the simplest form of Demonic debasement. Roland watched as two Imps see-sawed a woman between them, grasping her by her arms and shoving her down against the earth as two more straddled her back and rode atop her like an animal. Far from being stymied by the awkward positioning, the blue-skinned imp at her mouth used the low angle to roughly shove himself up her lips through her esophagus, spearing her with his manhood as choking sounds emerged from her mouth. Far from sounding frightened, the woman pushed back eagerly against them.

A man was on his back, his arms crossed over himself like a maiden at her bedding as he gazed away, utterly emasculated by the Imps that covered him, entered him, and used him. His eyes fluttered, as empty and mindless as that of his female companions. As an added indignity the Imps jerked at his unintended erection, cackling as they allowed themselves to finish within him while denying him the same pleasure. A woman was on her knees next to him, reaching out to touch his shoulder, mouthing something wordlessly before an Imp stepped up and filled her waiting gullet with his sex.

As soon as one Imp ejaculated, planting its thin, abrasive hips against the fleshy wall of its victim, it would empty it load as deep into the man or woman, holding their hips or face tight to their body as their testicles visibly twitched and drained. Once one such creature was spent, a new violator would arrive to continue the ravishment. There was no rest, no recuperation possible. The addictive qualities of the sexing turned it into a perpetual orgy of erotic assertion.

And the screams. They were pleasured, inarticulate squeals of epicurean hedonism, all thought or conscious words ripped from their breathless throats, replaced by orgasmic sensation. A woman stood, like a living statue as a dozen Imps climbed her body, straddled her shoulders and pulled at her hair. They moved about her person like an anthill in the midst of battle, their cocks jamming and sliding and humping against whatever bit of flesh they could get at. Her eyes were closed, her body filled to the brim with them. It should have been difficult, or painful, yet all she seemed capable of responding with were little yipping cries that bespoke her utter ecstasy.

All were soaked in white secretions, their mouths hanging open and their used holes gaping and leaking as moans and aroused cries rang out in the night air. Everywhere Roland looked, the result was the same: the Demonic assault had stalled outside the Inner Walls, but only because they had found an enjoyable diversion and new slaves to debase with their corruption. The fun could not last for them forever, and soon enough this concentration of creatures would make for one of the gates, attacking in a great storm that would likely batter down the defenses.

And there, amidst all the madness: a focal point. Just next to the forlorn Well and its unenviable vigil amongst the damned, sat a red-skinned creature whose dark will had caused this all to occur. She sat atop a helpless male as a young woman kneeled, bound and gagged next to them. Her eyes were red-rimmed, the curling horns about her head a deadly reminiscence of a more familiar being. Every body movement was meant to entice, every action a call to sex in its purest, most undiluted form. He heard her voice, and immediately recognized the telltale sound of a Succubus' syrupy tone.

"Yes, my pretty." She cooed, "Right there, right in my depths. You just love this, don't you?" She planted her feet, shifting her hips up and down over his own as her wide rear bounced atop him, causing the base of his cock to disappear beneath the red flesh whenever she bottomed out upon him. Wetness coated her lower extremities, and it was obvious that they had been going like this for some time.

"Yes... shoot another load into me, fill me with more of that yummy seed! Mmmh! I love it when you squirm like that for me, prettyboy." She shot a clinging glance towards the girl, whose raven black hair matched that of the man lying prone upon the ground beneath the Succubus. "Never thought you'd see this sight did you, girl? His cock, hard and deep in another's? Do you like it?" She cackled. There was a blush on the young woman's face. Roland could see as he tried to navigate slightly closer to the Succubus' position without being noticed. He could see the telltale signs of the Demon's influence upon her, her naked body shifting this way and that as she contemplated the Succubus' words.

"Are you jealous? You know you can be. You can be honest with your mistress in this place... you need to be honest with me." The Succubus reached out and touched the girl's cheek, who moaned through her gag and leaned into it, shivering. "Do you feel that pressure? That push on my palm every second or so? That's your brother's hips pushing against mine, pushing me against you. Isn't it wonderful? Doesn't it make you..." Her breath was a desperate need, "Horny?"

The young man's mindless thrusts slowed, and the Demon's gaze snapped down to glare at him. "I did not say stop, worm!" She shouted, smacking him hard across the face, leaving a bruise from the hit. Shifting back on her hips, the Succubus draped herself atop him. "I think you need a lesson in manners. When I am here, you are with me. No one else." Her features shifted, her body contorting into a more subtle expression of feminine nudity. Roland realized with a smack of horror that the Succubus had turned into an exact replica of the girl sitting next to them.

"Does this work better, Nate?" Her voice had changed, turning into a more youthful tenor, but still filled with that syrupy need. Her laughter was high, ecstatic and demonic. "Come on, boy! Fuck me! Show your sister how you'd fuck her." The bound young woman squirmed this way and that, squeezing her legs together to try and rub herself. The Succubus chuckled at her out of the corner of her eye.

Roland was about as close as he could manage, his back to the fence of a nearby garden. The army of Imps, as entranced as they were by their captured victims, did not notice him as he creeped to within a dozen feet of the distracted Succubus. He quietly drew his sword, counting the steps in his head necessary to close the distance between himself and the Demon. He did not fool himself with false delusions of his chances; at best he'd get a swing in while she was distracted and end the attack here and now... at the cost of his own chastity and life. Seeing the cruel smile upon the creature's face as she tormented the two siblings, he regretted nothing save the uncertainty of success.