The Black-Winged Lord and the Vengeful Goddess
She woke with a start from a nightmare she had experienced many times before, a dream she could not escape. Night after night, the memories plagued her—visions of the moment she had lost her beloved brother.
“I’ll kill you... I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you...”
Every night, it was always the same. She growled like a beast, spitting hatred in the eye of a world that had forsaken her, and began to haul herself across the floor, inching toward the bed as though fleeing the dark.
This was the bedchamber of Surtr, the king of Baum, and the woman was Luka Mammon du Vulpes. She had lost her brother to Surtr and her left arm shortly after. She hated him from the depths of her soul. Murderous glee danced in her eyes, too fierce to ever gutter out. The thought of exacting vengeance upon her nemesis was all that gave her life meaning.
She grasped the edge of the bed and dragged herself up. Her foe’s form came into view, chest rising and falling softly as he slept. She slithered up his body like a snake until she was poised to gaze into his eyes. They were close enough for their breaths to mingle, but there was no warmth between them, only loathing.
In sleep, the boy looked so gentle that he wouldn’t hurt a fly. Compared to the composed expression he wore on the battlefield, he was fatally lacking in caution.
“I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you...”
From her position atop him, Luka reached out with her one remaining arm. Her fingers brushed his chest, crawled up his throat, caressed his cheek—and stopped. She withdrew her hand and stared at it. Her fingertips, now wet, glistened in the growing light of dawn.
“Tears? From you?”
Intrigued, she looked back at his face. Her tongue snaked from her mouth, trailing a string of saliva, and dragged up his cheek. She licked up his tears like a beast lapping water. A heated sigh spilled from her lips once she was done, and a smile spread across her face as the tang of salt filled her mouth. A maddening mixture of emotions pricked at her palate—sorrow, hatred, fury, and more.
For a while she savored the taste, making no attempt to conceal her fascination as she lapped at his cheek with single-minded fervor. The loathing in his tears was nothing short of rapturous.
“Whatever could torment you so? What sorrow could draw tears from eyes as dry as yours?”
It was delicious to see her nemesis in pain. Her excitement would not be contained; his suffering was simply delectable. She wanted to cut open his belly and churn up his organs. Her ecstasy spilled over into sadism, whispered in her ear to take his life, but she only kept licking with increasing zeal.
She would see him suffer. She would see him grieve. She would see him wail, and scream, and weep.
Wresting her murderous urges back down, she withdrew her head. Her tongue moistened her lips as she gazed at the trails of drool, falling deeper into her fugue.
“You’ll never get away. Never, never, never, never, never...”
They would be together forever. She would stay by his side, watching over him until death tore them apart, and to ensure he kept her there, she would give him all he desired. Her strength, her body, her heart—all of it was his for the taking. She would grant his every wish, his wife, his lover, his slave, his whore. Her dearest nemesis—the one tie still holding her soul to this world.
“Give me greater ignominy, my dear. Force me to more wretched depravity.”
She would nurse her hatred for the day it would be needed. The flame of vengeance called for kindling. One day, her brother’s murderer would taste despair; one day, she would smile as she lopped his head off his shoulders. But until that day, she would follow him to the grave, obeying every order and suffering every disgrace.
“And then I too shall die. With your head in my arms, your blood on my tongue, your guts between my teeth, my gorge clogged and ravaged with your blood and flesh, I shall bid this world farewell.”
That would be just punishment for failing to save her brother. She leaned back until she was looking at the ceiling, a drunken smile spreading across her face. Her shoulders began to shudder with mirth as she pictured the future to come.
“Ahh... Ahh! Die, die, die, die, die, die, die!”
As the cry burst from her lips, the boy stirred beneath her. Luka’s eyes narrowed as she saw his eyelids flutter. He had woken. He had heard her shameful moans. Flushing as red as a maiden, she summoned her greathammer to her hand.
“Die for me, die for me, die for me, die for me, die for me!”
The hammer whistled through the air as it swung toward his chest.
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