Post by Deleted on Sept 23, 2018 22:16:54 GMT -5
Over 1,700 Years Ago…
The blazing red sun shone brightly in the midday sky, clouds rolling lazily overhead as a gentle sulfur breeze blew by. This was typical, as the planet of the fire demons was a volcanic world of fire and brimstone, a hellish landscape that few outsiders could withstand. But to them, it was a veritable paradise, a burning ball of fire and ash that they called home. Amatricina stood in one of the fortress courtyards, with basalt walkways and gardens of hardy grey grass and tough shrubbery that flourished on the volcanic soil. She and a number of her siblings were enjoying themselves, playing with one of their favorite toys. Imps.
Imps are a class of demon that are among the lowest of the low, many regard their mere existence as a mockery. They stood no taller than three feet, with red, grey, or brown skin and no hair on their bodies. Their arms were long and gangling, too long compared to their legs. Imps have long beak-like noses and small beady eyes. Their mouths were filled with rows of pointed teeth and two small stubs barely fit to be called horns protruded from their heads. Some had tails, though many lost them to one hardship or another, and all had four clawed fingers on their hands. Imps have little, if any affinity for using ki, though they can at least sense the ki of stronger beings around them. They also lack the intelligence for magic, not that anyone would ever bother to teach them in the first place.
It is unknown how imps first came to be, some scholarly demons theorize they were originally a mistake, a failed attempt to create a less pathetic type of demon than what they resulted in. Others believe them to be a corruption of an already miserably weak race of xenos into a slightly less miserably weak strain of demon. Whatever the reason, Imps were as numerous as they were pitiful. They mostly served as a bottom feeding slave caste, surviving on the scrapes of demonic society. Given just enough food and resources to live, beaten and broken into compliance, and used for all manner of manual labor. Imps made excellent miners, not because they were particularly good at it, but because it was cheaper to lose imps than mining drones to cave ins or gas explosions. Regardless, wherever there was an undesirable task that needed doing, that was likely to be a poor imp or two forced into doing it.
Today was no different. Amatricina and her siblings had been given a score of imps as personal playthings by their father. Captives from a raid on a neighboring clan. Too lowly even to be considered usable slave labor, instead they would live out the last few days of their miserable existence suffering at the hands of Tartaros’ brood. Amatricina had a sadistic smile painted across her cherubic face, she and several of her brothers had convinced the imps if they’d kill each other in a fight to the death, the winner would be set free. Imps, being dumb as they are desperate, had accepted the wager without question. Half a dozen of the creatures had been corralled into a fighting ring the children had drawn in the sands. It filled they black little hearts with no small joy watching the lesser creatures suffer at their own hands.
Amatricina had bet one of her brothers that a particularly tall imp with a broken horn would emerge the victor. She hoped his longer arms would give him extra reach for his flailing punches and wild clawing. Her brother Sofrito however, had chosen the stockiest imp as his personal champion, believing its marginal advantage in bulk would be enough to carry it to victory. The siblings cheered on their imps, goading them to fight as they watched the melee with an eager glee. A child’s blood sport, it came as naturally to the fire demon children as the game of tag does to a human child. One imp savagely bit another’s arm, blood oozing from the wound as it cried out in pain. The wounded imp kicked his aggressor hard in the stomach, causing him to release his grip as he doubled over in pain. Amatricina’s imp came barreling over, sensing weakness in his opponents, tackling the biting imp to the ground and proceeding to claw viciously at his face until he himself was kicked in the head by a foe. Sofrito grunted in annoyance, his imp was being overpowered by two rivals at once. It lacked the strength to handle them both at once. The demon child grabbed a rock from the ground, hurling it at one of the harasser imps. The stone collided with the creature’s temple, making a sickening thud as it crushed his skull. The imp screamed in pain, blood pouring from its eyes and ears before it collapsed, convulsing once before dying of the wound. Despite still being young children, Tartaros’ spawn were still fire demons, and a thousand fold stronger than common imps. “That wasn’t fair!” One of Amatricina’s sisters shouted, upset her older brother had killed her chosen imp. “Life isn’t fair.” Sofrito replied smuggly. “‘Specially for them.” He pointed to the remaining imps, each of them battered and weary, several with ears ripped off or eyes gouged out.
The sentries stationed in the courtyard watched the children playing with mild amusement. It was always entertaining watching someone force a lesser creature to fight to the death. Amatricina’s long armed imp was proving a wise choice. What it lacked in fighting ability it made up for in reach, able to keep most attackers at bay with its wild punching. She took a step towards her brother, a smirk on her face. “You already had to cheat to help your imp. When mine wins fair and square, I get your dessert at dinner.” She said triumphantly, already gloating at her assumed victory. “Fights aren’t supposed to be fair. That’s why they’re called fights.” Her brother replied, annoyed by her comment. “Besides, mine’s the biggest one. He’ll win.” Amatricina just huffed, contemplating taking a rock and just killing her brother’s imp the way he’d killed one earlier. It’d feel good, making sure he lost, but not as good as beating him fair and square, so she decided to restrain herself.
The brawl continued for several minutes, until only two imps remained standing. Sofrito’s bulky imp, now battered and bruised. A large gash covered one eye, and it was bleeding heavily from a wound to its abdomen. Opposite it stood Amatricina’s imp, walking with a heavy limp, favoring its right leg. The other had been badly hurt when another fighter tried to break it. His face was also noticeably swollen from a number of punches he'd sustained. “Go on, kill him!” one child shouted, “Rip his tail off!” another hollered, “Claw his eyes out!” cried a third. The children eager to see the last two imps standing fight to their bitter ends. Both looked ready to collapse from exhaustion, their wounds mounting from the melee and their stamina nearly depleted. But the chance at freedom, at escaping this nightmarish prison was so close at hand.The stocky imp howled in rage, charging at lanky imp, shoulder forward as he prepared to tackle. The two collided, knocked to the ground, howling at each other as they wrestled. Both trying to claw the other’s face off while preventing their opponent from doing the same.
As the two imps fought, a new figure entered the courtyard. A female fire demon, tall and graceful with a wanton curvaceous figure. Dressed in a long flowing gown that accentuated her ample curves, leaving little to the imagination. Her cloak weighing nearly as much as did, heavy with cloth-of-gold, and her horns bedecked in all manner of golden jewelry and precious gemstones. Bonara, the matriarch of Amatricina’s clan, first wife of Lord Tartaros, and her own proud mother. The children did not so much as notice her arrival, too enthralled by their “games.” The guards certainly did, turning to catch quick glances at the regal beauty. Though they remained weary as they did so, too many wandering eyes and they’d attract their lord’s attention… and rage, for ogling his wife. Bonara looked towards the children, before rolling her eyes. She would let them finish their little game, so the demoness seated herself on a bench by a magma fountain, electing simply to wait and observe.
Meanwhile, the two imps continued their life and death struggle, the stocky one had been badly sliced by a claw along his arm, and the lanky one had one of his ears bitten clean off. The two no longer looked eager to win, they just looked beaten and miserable, pathetic creatures that were ready to succumb to their wounds. Amatricina’s imp raised his fists, taking a fighting stance as best it could and bracing for one last bout. Sofrito’s spit, mostly blood and part of a fang, before raising his own fists in defiance. The two squared each other up, trading blows, mostly trying to get the other to expose a weak point, both afraid to commit fully. “Come on, kill him!” One sibling yelled, another hefted a rock and pretended to take aim. The children were growing impatient, they wanted to see their last kill. “Remember, the winner goes free!” Amatricina shouted, hoping the words would encourage the last glimmer of hope out of the imps. It seemed to work, and the two whipped into a frenzy as they renewed their attacks. Punches and kicks, slashing and biting, a whirl of fang and claw as they ripped and gashed each other up.
Then in a moment, the fight was decided. Amatricina’s imp threw a wild jab, trying desperately to land a knockout blow. Sofrito’s imp ducked low to avoid it, using his momentum to lunge forward and tackle the taller imp, throwing off his balance and sending both tumbling to the ground. The larger imp on top, he quickly wrapped his bloodied hands around the other’s neck. The children chanted, eager to see their game come to its conclusion. The lanky imp grabbed his opponent’s wrists, trying desperately to pry him loose. But he struggled, gasping for air, his body no longer had the strength to free himself. His legs kicked, tail spasming wildly, as his lips turned blue and his eyes rolled into the back of his skull. Amatricina bit her lip, silently stewing that she was going to lose her bet. She dared not look at Sofrito, she knew he was already gloating about having beaten his older sister. All the while Bonara watched silently, judging her offspring, curious to see how their little wager played out.
With a final wheeze, life sputtered from the lanky imp. His limbs went cold and limp, and his tongue rolled out his mouth as death washed through him. The stocky imp had won, and he rolled off his slain foe in exhaustion, coming to lie on his back in the sand as he panted heavily. Eyes gazing up to the sun and the sky, freedom at last within his grasp. Until he felt the sting of a small foot on his chest, pressing down on his sternum. Amatricina had angrily stomped over to the victor, silently frothing that her imp had failed, that her brother had bested her. She pushed down hard enough on the imp’s chest to knock the breath out of his lungs. “But… I won..” the imp managed to gasp between breaths. Amatricina nodded slightly, raising a hand. “You’re right. You won, but I lost.” Her palm pointed at the creature’s head, her eyes like daggers piercing his. “I’m supposed to go free!” The imp pleaded, squirming and begging as tears began to stream down his face. “You promised! You said so yourself!” He cried out, hands clenched together as he begged for mercy. Lightning crackled around Amatricina’s hand, and ruby ball of ki began to appear, it illuminated her face, giving it an all the more sinister appearance.
“I said you’d be free. You will be.” The child said coldly, focusing her ki before unleashing a blast of energy point blank on the hapless imp. “No! NOOOOOOooo!” The imp screamed, his final words as the burning energy washed over him. It incinerated his fragile body, vaporizing him as his was blasted away into nothingness. Only an ashen mark and sand burned into glass was left when the blast subsided. Amatricina’s wrath had been satiated, her siblings hollered and cheered, delighted by the unexpectedly violent conclusion to their game. She turned back to face them, Sofrito’s smug expression greeting her. She hated that she’d lost, especially after her brother cheated. But she couldn’t decide which would be worse, letting him have his victory and suffering through it, or telling their bet was void because he cheated, and having to listen to him argue that to anyone that would listen.
Amatricina froze in her tracks, for behind her brother stood a much more imposing figure, her mother. How long had she been there? Amatricina had completely failed to notice her enter the courtyard, too preoccupied by the damned imps. Bonara was softly clapping a hand, surveying the carnage before her. Five shattered bodies and one very telling scorch mark. “Guards.” Bonara said flatly. “Clean up this mess. I don’t want these mongrel’s blood staining my courtyard.” With only a nod of compliance, the guards silently snapped into action. They knew too well their matron would only scold them for wasting her time if they replied. “I don’t know why your father gives you such hideous creatures to play with.” Bonara said to herself out loud, mildly annoyed at her husband’s antics. The demoness turned her attention back to her children, namely her daughter. “You promised him freedom? Did you have any intention of granting it to him?” She said calmly, hand gesturing to the stain the moments ago had been groveling for its life. “I did free him.” Amatricina said assuredly, her anger subsiding. “He’s free now. He’s not our plaything anymore is he?” She grinned a grin only a conceited child could grin. “And… he doesn’t have to be an imp anymore!” she added mockingly, even to children of their age, Tartaros’ brood were well aware of those beneath them.
“You twisted the words of your promise.” Bonara said, a small smile creeping across her porcelain face. “Truly, you are my daughter. Tell me, did you children have any intention of honoring your reward?” Sofrito spoke up in response, beaming with pride. “I was gonna let him go, then have the guards shoot him in the back when he ran.” Bonara chuckled softly, proud of the wickedness of her progeny, even at such a young age. Boundless cruelty was the hallmark of any good demon. “Excellent. Now, run along children, you’ve had your fun for now. You should be off in your studies, not torturing your play toys.” The children grumbled and complained, but dared not protest their mother. Begrudgingly they turned to walk or fly off to find their tutors. Amatricina was about to do the same when she felt her mother’s slender hand rest on her shoulder. “Not you daughter. Walk with me child.” Without so much as an explanation Bonara turned and began to slowly walk the other direction, eyes glancing to the side to survey the guards as they cleaned up the broken bodies of the slain imps.
Amatricina nodded, and turned to follow. “Yes mother.” She said in acknowledgement, coming to match her stride with her mother’s. That proved slightly difficult, given the difference in their heights. The two proved down the hallways of the fortress, the walls lined in statues, trophies, artwork and tapestries, much of which was claimed from rival clans and kingdoms over the endless generations of conflict. Amatricina had never put much thought into all of it, whereas Bonara had a near flawless knowledge of the vast gallery of works displayed throughout their home. The matriarch shot her daughter a quick glance, her hands poised behind her back. “Amatricina, how old are you?” The question was rhetorical, Bonara simply wanted to hear the answer. “One hundred and seven, you know that mother.” “Indeed, you are over a century old my daughter. It is high time you began learning how your father’s kingdom operates. I intend for you to rule it someday, after your father and I are long gone. You are my eldest daughter, you are his heir, and I would be a fool not to begin preparing you to rule.”
A somewhat worried look crossed Amatricina’s face. She would rather be off studying with her siblings, her mother’s coldness was often unnerving, it felt like she was constantly judging those around her. The truth was Bonara expected only the best of her daughter, she was a ruthless perfectionist by nature, and wanted nothing more than to see her daughter excel. “Do you ever do this with my brothers or sisters?” Amatricina finally worked up the nerve to ask. “Like Sofrito?” Bonara scoffed,as if insulted by the question. “No, and why should I? Sofrito will make a fine general some day, of that I have no doubt. But he lacks the… flame that is needed to rule. I see that only in you, the spark your father and I have. I would be wasting my precious time trying to kindle that flame where it is not.” Amatricina nodded again, torn between pride and nervousness. She did not want to disappoint her mother, though partly because she feared her anger if she did.
The two passed down the halls, past a pair of sentries that soluted Bonara as they made their rounds. The demoness had long since made certain her husband’s soldiers were as formal as they were effective. Appearances were everything to Bonara, looking the part was equally as important as being the part. Soon enough the mother and daughter entered the fortress’ throne room. It was a place Amatricina was quite familiar with, but rarely entered during the busy hours of the day. A great archway door was the chief entrance to the room, allowing in those from outside. Mighty pillars of stone lined the room, and a huge sky-lit window stretched overhead. Fine carpets covered the floor between the sets of pillars, and her father’s throne sat on a raised dais at the far end of the room. A great monolith of sculpted obsidian, midnight black and embossed with all manner of heraldry along its length. Within the throne itself was a core of burning magma, it pulsated and glowed, causing a dull warmth to emanate from the seat of power.
Bonara took her daughter by the hand, walking up to the throne and gesturing to it. “Sit my child.” Amatricina obliged, hopping up to place herself upon the throne. “Shouldn’t father be sitting here?” She asked innocently, trying to make her small frame comfortable on the massive stone structure. Her mother looked visibly annoyed by the question. “Your father is currently out on one of his battles. You know how he gets, always looking for an excuse to tear someone apart himself.” Bonara snapped her fingers, motioning for one of the courtiers to approach her. “Magistrate, tell me, how does our Lord’s latest campaign progress.” The magistrate opened a small data pad, inspecting it carefully before making his report. “Everything is proceeding as planned. Morale is high, casualties lower than anticipated, though the vanguard is moving faster than our supply lines can accommodate.” Bonara rolled her eyes, “Typical, very well, that will be all.” She knew well enough her husband was heading the vanguard personally. The tip of the spear, in a literal sense. His fervor for battle outpacing his rationale yet again. She would have strong words for him on his brashness once he returned home and she’d wrapped herself around him in bed.
Amatricina’s mother returned her attention to her daughter, pacing around the throne slowly, her hands running over the curves and edges of the throne as she did. “Tell me daughter, how does it feel sitting in your father’s seat.” Amatricina thought on it for a moment before replying honestly. “Hard, it’s not very comfy.” Her mother smirked, amused by the innocence of such a reply. “Good, no ruler should sit comfortably upon their throne. You will grow complacent if your rule is easy.” Amatricina understood, or at least she thought she did. “Some things shouldn’t ever be easy.” She added, coming to accept their was no comfortable way for her small frame to sit on such a massive throne. Maybe when she was older and bigger, maybe that was part of what her mother meant? She would rule when she was ready, and she was far too young to be ready. It made sense to Amatricina, so she decided it was the right answer. “Indeed.” Bonara stated simply, before she asked her next question. “Tell me daughter, what is the point of sitting on that throne?” “...The point?” Amatricina asked, confused by the question. “Yes, why does a ruler have a throne. Why not sit on a couch, or a bench, or stand, or anything else. Think hard on it.” Her daughter did, sitting there puzzled by what her mother was asking of her. Why did a king sit on a throne? All she could think of was “because he’s supposed to”. But that didn’t make sense, everything was supposed to do something… otherwise it wouldn’t, would it? Amatricina’s young mind spun itself in circles thinking of the answer.
“I don’t know why.” She admitted, giving her mother a look of slight defeat. Amatricina had been stumped, and not even by a riddle. “To project their authority.” Her mother stated astutely, motioning to the court with her hand. “The shape of this hall, the placement of the doorway, the dais the throne sits on, the throne itself. All of it is to project authority, for without authority no one will believe they should be following their so called leader. Would you follow a king you did not respect or fear.” “No.” Amatricina replied swiftly, confident in her answer. “Weak leaders should be challenged, and struck down!” She knew this one, it was a lesson her father had taught her. One of the surest ways a clan failed was when the old leader died, and their weak replacement was quickly struck down by a rival or abandoned by his followers. Only through strong successors did they thrive, and that was what her mother wanted her to be. “That is correct my daughter, and you sound like your father when you talk like that. Now, what is the best way for a ruler to project their authority?” “Strength.” Amatricina replied, without hesitation. That word was paramount to all of demonkind’s way of thinking. The strong survived, the weak died. It was as simple as that. Just like earlier, the imp was weak, and so it couldn’t stop Amatricina from killing it. She had to make sure she was never weak, or someone stronger would do the same to her.
“That is correct, you’ve been taught well. Who do I have to thank for that?” Bonara said playfully, a catlike grin on her face. “You!” Amatricina said with a giggle, picking up on her mother’s pride. “Well, and father too for some of it.” She added honestly, since it was true after all. “Good, never forget that my daughter.” Bonara ushered her daughter to scoot over, there was plenty of room on the throne for two, and the matriarch seated herself besides her child. Rarely the doting mother, Bonara looked down at her daughter as she sat next to her. It was like looking into a mirror through time. Her daughter had her father’s eyes, Bonara would give Tartaros that, but luckily Amatricina had inherited none of her father’s rugged features. Amatricina looked exactly as her mother did at that age, right down to her bracelets and jewelry she wore. Even those had been Bonara’s once upon a time, gifted to her by her mother, who in turn had received them from her mother when she was young. Amatricina would make a perfect ruler one day, Bonara thought to herself, and if she could not accomplish that one task then she will have failed her duty as a parent, the demoness concluded to herself.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Amatricina asked innocently, unused to the the affectionate gaze her mother was giving her. Bonara snapped out of her daze, her expression returning to its normally cold and distant appearance. “Because, I was just thinking of how I was blessed with such a perfect daughter.” Amatricina blushed, not expecting such high praise from her mother. “Well maybe I just have the perfect mother.” She parroted the sentiment, leaning to rest her head against her mother. “Stop, flattery will get you nowhere.” Bonara said sweetly, rising slowly to her feet. She extended a hand, helping her daughter to her feet. Amatricina responded in turn by leaning in close and giving her mother a tight hug, her arms wrapping warmly around her mother’s narrow waist. This time it was Bonara who blushed, she was not prone to such affectionate displays in public, though she did nothing to stop the gesture. When Amatricina had finished, her mother extended her hand, and her child gladly accepted. “Come daughter, we have much more to discuss, and I wish to do so before dinner.” And with that the two departed the throne room to continue Bonara’s motherly lecture elsewhere.
Total Word Count: 4371
The blazing red sun shone brightly in the midday sky, clouds rolling lazily overhead as a gentle sulfur breeze blew by. This was typical, as the planet of the fire demons was a volcanic world of fire and brimstone, a hellish landscape that few outsiders could withstand. But to them, it was a veritable paradise, a burning ball of fire and ash that they called home. Amatricina stood in one of the fortress courtyards, with basalt walkways and gardens of hardy grey grass and tough shrubbery that flourished on the volcanic soil. She and a number of her siblings were enjoying themselves, playing with one of their favorite toys. Imps.
Imps are a class of demon that are among the lowest of the low, many regard their mere existence as a mockery. They stood no taller than three feet, with red, grey, or brown skin and no hair on their bodies. Their arms were long and gangling, too long compared to their legs. Imps have long beak-like noses and small beady eyes. Their mouths were filled with rows of pointed teeth and two small stubs barely fit to be called horns protruded from their heads. Some had tails, though many lost them to one hardship or another, and all had four clawed fingers on their hands. Imps have little, if any affinity for using ki, though they can at least sense the ki of stronger beings around them. They also lack the intelligence for magic, not that anyone would ever bother to teach them in the first place.
It is unknown how imps first came to be, some scholarly demons theorize they were originally a mistake, a failed attempt to create a less pathetic type of demon than what they resulted in. Others believe them to be a corruption of an already miserably weak race of xenos into a slightly less miserably weak strain of demon. Whatever the reason, Imps were as numerous as they were pitiful. They mostly served as a bottom feeding slave caste, surviving on the scrapes of demonic society. Given just enough food and resources to live, beaten and broken into compliance, and used for all manner of manual labor. Imps made excellent miners, not because they were particularly good at it, but because it was cheaper to lose imps than mining drones to cave ins or gas explosions. Regardless, wherever there was an undesirable task that needed doing, that was likely to be a poor imp or two forced into doing it.
Today was no different. Amatricina and her siblings had been given a score of imps as personal playthings by their father. Captives from a raid on a neighboring clan. Too lowly even to be considered usable slave labor, instead they would live out the last few days of their miserable existence suffering at the hands of Tartaros’ brood. Amatricina had a sadistic smile painted across her cherubic face, she and several of her brothers had convinced the imps if they’d kill each other in a fight to the death, the winner would be set free. Imps, being dumb as they are desperate, had accepted the wager without question. Half a dozen of the creatures had been corralled into a fighting ring the children had drawn in the sands. It filled they black little hearts with no small joy watching the lesser creatures suffer at their own hands.
Amatricina had bet one of her brothers that a particularly tall imp with a broken horn would emerge the victor. She hoped his longer arms would give him extra reach for his flailing punches and wild clawing. Her brother Sofrito however, had chosen the stockiest imp as his personal champion, believing its marginal advantage in bulk would be enough to carry it to victory. The siblings cheered on their imps, goading them to fight as they watched the melee with an eager glee. A child’s blood sport, it came as naturally to the fire demon children as the game of tag does to a human child. One imp savagely bit another’s arm, blood oozing from the wound as it cried out in pain. The wounded imp kicked his aggressor hard in the stomach, causing him to release his grip as he doubled over in pain. Amatricina’s imp came barreling over, sensing weakness in his opponents, tackling the biting imp to the ground and proceeding to claw viciously at his face until he himself was kicked in the head by a foe. Sofrito grunted in annoyance, his imp was being overpowered by two rivals at once. It lacked the strength to handle them both at once. The demon child grabbed a rock from the ground, hurling it at one of the harasser imps. The stone collided with the creature’s temple, making a sickening thud as it crushed his skull. The imp screamed in pain, blood pouring from its eyes and ears before it collapsed, convulsing once before dying of the wound. Despite still being young children, Tartaros’ spawn were still fire demons, and a thousand fold stronger than common imps. “That wasn’t fair!” One of Amatricina’s sisters shouted, upset her older brother had killed her chosen imp. “Life isn’t fair.” Sofrito replied smuggly. “‘Specially for them.” He pointed to the remaining imps, each of them battered and weary, several with ears ripped off or eyes gouged out.
The sentries stationed in the courtyard watched the children playing with mild amusement. It was always entertaining watching someone force a lesser creature to fight to the death. Amatricina’s long armed imp was proving a wise choice. What it lacked in fighting ability it made up for in reach, able to keep most attackers at bay with its wild punching. She took a step towards her brother, a smirk on her face. “You already had to cheat to help your imp. When mine wins fair and square, I get your dessert at dinner.” She said triumphantly, already gloating at her assumed victory. “Fights aren’t supposed to be fair. That’s why they’re called fights.” Her brother replied, annoyed by her comment. “Besides, mine’s the biggest one. He’ll win.” Amatricina just huffed, contemplating taking a rock and just killing her brother’s imp the way he’d killed one earlier. It’d feel good, making sure he lost, but not as good as beating him fair and square, so she decided to restrain herself.
The brawl continued for several minutes, until only two imps remained standing. Sofrito’s bulky imp, now battered and bruised. A large gash covered one eye, and it was bleeding heavily from a wound to its abdomen. Opposite it stood Amatricina’s imp, walking with a heavy limp, favoring its right leg. The other had been badly hurt when another fighter tried to break it. His face was also noticeably swollen from a number of punches he'd sustained. “Go on, kill him!” one child shouted, “Rip his tail off!” another hollered, “Claw his eyes out!” cried a third. The children eager to see the last two imps standing fight to their bitter ends. Both looked ready to collapse from exhaustion, their wounds mounting from the melee and their stamina nearly depleted. But the chance at freedom, at escaping this nightmarish prison was so close at hand.The stocky imp howled in rage, charging at lanky imp, shoulder forward as he prepared to tackle. The two collided, knocked to the ground, howling at each other as they wrestled. Both trying to claw the other’s face off while preventing their opponent from doing the same.
As the two imps fought, a new figure entered the courtyard. A female fire demon, tall and graceful with a wanton curvaceous figure. Dressed in a long flowing gown that accentuated her ample curves, leaving little to the imagination. Her cloak weighing nearly as much as did, heavy with cloth-of-gold, and her horns bedecked in all manner of golden jewelry and precious gemstones. Bonara, the matriarch of Amatricina’s clan, first wife of Lord Tartaros, and her own proud mother. The children did not so much as notice her arrival, too enthralled by their “games.” The guards certainly did, turning to catch quick glances at the regal beauty. Though they remained weary as they did so, too many wandering eyes and they’d attract their lord’s attention… and rage, for ogling his wife. Bonara looked towards the children, before rolling her eyes. She would let them finish their little game, so the demoness seated herself on a bench by a magma fountain, electing simply to wait and observe.
Meanwhile, the two imps continued their life and death struggle, the stocky one had been badly sliced by a claw along his arm, and the lanky one had one of his ears bitten clean off. The two no longer looked eager to win, they just looked beaten and miserable, pathetic creatures that were ready to succumb to their wounds. Amatricina’s imp raised his fists, taking a fighting stance as best it could and bracing for one last bout. Sofrito’s spit, mostly blood and part of a fang, before raising his own fists in defiance. The two squared each other up, trading blows, mostly trying to get the other to expose a weak point, both afraid to commit fully. “Come on, kill him!” One sibling yelled, another hefted a rock and pretended to take aim. The children were growing impatient, they wanted to see their last kill. “Remember, the winner goes free!” Amatricina shouted, hoping the words would encourage the last glimmer of hope out of the imps. It seemed to work, and the two whipped into a frenzy as they renewed their attacks. Punches and kicks, slashing and biting, a whirl of fang and claw as they ripped and gashed each other up.
Then in a moment, the fight was decided. Amatricina’s imp threw a wild jab, trying desperately to land a knockout blow. Sofrito’s imp ducked low to avoid it, using his momentum to lunge forward and tackle the taller imp, throwing off his balance and sending both tumbling to the ground. The larger imp on top, he quickly wrapped his bloodied hands around the other’s neck. The children chanted, eager to see their game come to its conclusion. The lanky imp grabbed his opponent’s wrists, trying desperately to pry him loose. But he struggled, gasping for air, his body no longer had the strength to free himself. His legs kicked, tail spasming wildly, as his lips turned blue and his eyes rolled into the back of his skull. Amatricina bit her lip, silently stewing that she was going to lose her bet. She dared not look at Sofrito, she knew he was already gloating about having beaten his older sister. All the while Bonara watched silently, judging her offspring, curious to see how their little wager played out.
With a final wheeze, life sputtered from the lanky imp. His limbs went cold and limp, and his tongue rolled out his mouth as death washed through him. The stocky imp had won, and he rolled off his slain foe in exhaustion, coming to lie on his back in the sand as he panted heavily. Eyes gazing up to the sun and the sky, freedom at last within his grasp. Until he felt the sting of a small foot on his chest, pressing down on his sternum. Amatricina had angrily stomped over to the victor, silently frothing that her imp had failed, that her brother had bested her. She pushed down hard enough on the imp’s chest to knock the breath out of his lungs. “But… I won..” the imp managed to gasp between breaths. Amatricina nodded slightly, raising a hand. “You’re right. You won, but I lost.” Her palm pointed at the creature’s head, her eyes like daggers piercing his. “I’m supposed to go free!” The imp pleaded, squirming and begging as tears began to stream down his face. “You promised! You said so yourself!” He cried out, hands clenched together as he begged for mercy. Lightning crackled around Amatricina’s hand, and ruby ball of ki began to appear, it illuminated her face, giving it an all the more sinister appearance.
“I said you’d be free. You will be.” The child said coldly, focusing her ki before unleashing a blast of energy point blank on the hapless imp. “No! NOOOOOOooo!” The imp screamed, his final words as the burning energy washed over him. It incinerated his fragile body, vaporizing him as his was blasted away into nothingness. Only an ashen mark and sand burned into glass was left when the blast subsided. Amatricina’s wrath had been satiated, her siblings hollered and cheered, delighted by the unexpectedly violent conclusion to their game. She turned back to face them, Sofrito’s smug expression greeting her. She hated that she’d lost, especially after her brother cheated. But she couldn’t decide which would be worse, letting him have his victory and suffering through it, or telling their bet was void because he cheated, and having to listen to him argue that to anyone that would listen.
Amatricina froze in her tracks, for behind her brother stood a much more imposing figure, her mother. How long had she been there? Amatricina had completely failed to notice her enter the courtyard, too preoccupied by the damned imps. Bonara was softly clapping a hand, surveying the carnage before her. Five shattered bodies and one very telling scorch mark. “Guards.” Bonara said flatly. “Clean up this mess. I don’t want these mongrel’s blood staining my courtyard.” With only a nod of compliance, the guards silently snapped into action. They knew too well their matron would only scold them for wasting her time if they replied. “I don’t know why your father gives you such hideous creatures to play with.” Bonara said to herself out loud, mildly annoyed at her husband’s antics. The demoness turned her attention back to her children, namely her daughter. “You promised him freedom? Did you have any intention of granting it to him?” She said calmly, hand gesturing to the stain the moments ago had been groveling for its life. “I did free him.” Amatricina said assuredly, her anger subsiding. “He’s free now. He’s not our plaything anymore is he?” She grinned a grin only a conceited child could grin. “And… he doesn’t have to be an imp anymore!” she added mockingly, even to children of their age, Tartaros’ brood were well aware of those beneath them.
“You twisted the words of your promise.” Bonara said, a small smile creeping across her porcelain face. “Truly, you are my daughter. Tell me, did you children have any intention of honoring your reward?” Sofrito spoke up in response, beaming with pride. “I was gonna let him go, then have the guards shoot him in the back when he ran.” Bonara chuckled softly, proud of the wickedness of her progeny, even at such a young age. Boundless cruelty was the hallmark of any good demon. “Excellent. Now, run along children, you’ve had your fun for now. You should be off in your studies, not torturing your play toys.” The children grumbled and complained, but dared not protest their mother. Begrudgingly they turned to walk or fly off to find their tutors. Amatricina was about to do the same when she felt her mother’s slender hand rest on her shoulder. “Not you daughter. Walk with me child.” Without so much as an explanation Bonara turned and began to slowly walk the other direction, eyes glancing to the side to survey the guards as they cleaned up the broken bodies of the slain imps.
Amatricina nodded, and turned to follow. “Yes mother.” She said in acknowledgement, coming to match her stride with her mother’s. That proved slightly difficult, given the difference in their heights. The two proved down the hallways of the fortress, the walls lined in statues, trophies, artwork and tapestries, much of which was claimed from rival clans and kingdoms over the endless generations of conflict. Amatricina had never put much thought into all of it, whereas Bonara had a near flawless knowledge of the vast gallery of works displayed throughout their home. The matriarch shot her daughter a quick glance, her hands poised behind her back. “Amatricina, how old are you?” The question was rhetorical, Bonara simply wanted to hear the answer. “One hundred and seven, you know that mother.” “Indeed, you are over a century old my daughter. It is high time you began learning how your father’s kingdom operates. I intend for you to rule it someday, after your father and I are long gone. You are my eldest daughter, you are his heir, and I would be a fool not to begin preparing you to rule.”
A somewhat worried look crossed Amatricina’s face. She would rather be off studying with her siblings, her mother’s coldness was often unnerving, it felt like she was constantly judging those around her. The truth was Bonara expected only the best of her daughter, she was a ruthless perfectionist by nature, and wanted nothing more than to see her daughter excel. “Do you ever do this with my brothers or sisters?” Amatricina finally worked up the nerve to ask. “Like Sofrito?” Bonara scoffed,as if insulted by the question. “No, and why should I? Sofrito will make a fine general some day, of that I have no doubt. But he lacks the… flame that is needed to rule. I see that only in you, the spark your father and I have. I would be wasting my precious time trying to kindle that flame where it is not.” Amatricina nodded again, torn between pride and nervousness. She did not want to disappoint her mother, though partly because she feared her anger if she did.
The two passed down the halls, past a pair of sentries that soluted Bonara as they made their rounds. The demoness had long since made certain her husband’s soldiers were as formal as they were effective. Appearances were everything to Bonara, looking the part was equally as important as being the part. Soon enough the mother and daughter entered the fortress’ throne room. It was a place Amatricina was quite familiar with, but rarely entered during the busy hours of the day. A great archway door was the chief entrance to the room, allowing in those from outside. Mighty pillars of stone lined the room, and a huge sky-lit window stretched overhead. Fine carpets covered the floor between the sets of pillars, and her father’s throne sat on a raised dais at the far end of the room. A great monolith of sculpted obsidian, midnight black and embossed with all manner of heraldry along its length. Within the throne itself was a core of burning magma, it pulsated and glowed, causing a dull warmth to emanate from the seat of power.
Bonara took her daughter by the hand, walking up to the throne and gesturing to it. “Sit my child.” Amatricina obliged, hopping up to place herself upon the throne. “Shouldn’t father be sitting here?” She asked innocently, trying to make her small frame comfortable on the massive stone structure. Her mother looked visibly annoyed by the question. “Your father is currently out on one of his battles. You know how he gets, always looking for an excuse to tear someone apart himself.” Bonara snapped her fingers, motioning for one of the courtiers to approach her. “Magistrate, tell me, how does our Lord’s latest campaign progress.” The magistrate opened a small data pad, inspecting it carefully before making his report. “Everything is proceeding as planned. Morale is high, casualties lower than anticipated, though the vanguard is moving faster than our supply lines can accommodate.” Bonara rolled her eyes, “Typical, very well, that will be all.” She knew well enough her husband was heading the vanguard personally. The tip of the spear, in a literal sense. His fervor for battle outpacing his rationale yet again. She would have strong words for him on his brashness once he returned home and she’d wrapped herself around him in bed.
Amatricina’s mother returned her attention to her daughter, pacing around the throne slowly, her hands running over the curves and edges of the throne as she did. “Tell me daughter, how does it feel sitting in your father’s seat.” Amatricina thought on it for a moment before replying honestly. “Hard, it’s not very comfy.” Her mother smirked, amused by the innocence of such a reply. “Good, no ruler should sit comfortably upon their throne. You will grow complacent if your rule is easy.” Amatricina understood, or at least she thought she did. “Some things shouldn’t ever be easy.” She added, coming to accept their was no comfortable way for her small frame to sit on such a massive throne. Maybe when she was older and bigger, maybe that was part of what her mother meant? She would rule when she was ready, and she was far too young to be ready. It made sense to Amatricina, so she decided it was the right answer. “Indeed.” Bonara stated simply, before she asked her next question. “Tell me daughter, what is the point of sitting on that throne?” “...The point?” Amatricina asked, confused by the question. “Yes, why does a ruler have a throne. Why not sit on a couch, or a bench, or stand, or anything else. Think hard on it.” Her daughter did, sitting there puzzled by what her mother was asking of her. Why did a king sit on a throne? All she could think of was “because he’s supposed to”. But that didn’t make sense, everything was supposed to do something… otherwise it wouldn’t, would it? Amatricina’s young mind spun itself in circles thinking of the answer.
“I don’t know why.” She admitted, giving her mother a look of slight defeat. Amatricina had been stumped, and not even by a riddle. “To project their authority.” Her mother stated astutely, motioning to the court with her hand. “The shape of this hall, the placement of the doorway, the dais the throne sits on, the throne itself. All of it is to project authority, for without authority no one will believe they should be following their so called leader. Would you follow a king you did not respect or fear.” “No.” Amatricina replied swiftly, confident in her answer. “Weak leaders should be challenged, and struck down!” She knew this one, it was a lesson her father had taught her. One of the surest ways a clan failed was when the old leader died, and their weak replacement was quickly struck down by a rival or abandoned by his followers. Only through strong successors did they thrive, and that was what her mother wanted her to be. “That is correct my daughter, and you sound like your father when you talk like that. Now, what is the best way for a ruler to project their authority?” “Strength.” Amatricina replied, without hesitation. That word was paramount to all of demonkind’s way of thinking. The strong survived, the weak died. It was as simple as that. Just like earlier, the imp was weak, and so it couldn’t stop Amatricina from killing it. She had to make sure she was never weak, or someone stronger would do the same to her.
“That is correct, you’ve been taught well. Who do I have to thank for that?” Bonara said playfully, a catlike grin on her face. “You!” Amatricina said with a giggle, picking up on her mother’s pride. “Well, and father too for some of it.” She added honestly, since it was true after all. “Good, never forget that my daughter.” Bonara ushered her daughter to scoot over, there was plenty of room on the throne for two, and the matriarch seated herself besides her child. Rarely the doting mother, Bonara looked down at her daughter as she sat next to her. It was like looking into a mirror through time. Her daughter had her father’s eyes, Bonara would give Tartaros that, but luckily Amatricina had inherited none of her father’s rugged features. Amatricina looked exactly as her mother did at that age, right down to her bracelets and jewelry she wore. Even those had been Bonara’s once upon a time, gifted to her by her mother, who in turn had received them from her mother when she was young. Amatricina would make a perfect ruler one day, Bonara thought to herself, and if she could not accomplish that one task then she will have failed her duty as a parent, the demoness concluded to herself.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Amatricina asked innocently, unused to the the affectionate gaze her mother was giving her. Bonara snapped out of her daze, her expression returning to its normally cold and distant appearance. “Because, I was just thinking of how I was blessed with such a perfect daughter.” Amatricina blushed, not expecting such high praise from her mother. “Well maybe I just have the perfect mother.” She parroted the sentiment, leaning to rest her head against her mother. “Stop, flattery will get you nowhere.” Bonara said sweetly, rising slowly to her feet. She extended a hand, helping her daughter to her feet. Amatricina responded in turn by leaning in close and giving her mother a tight hug, her arms wrapping warmly around her mother’s narrow waist. This time it was Bonara who blushed, she was not prone to such affectionate displays in public, though she did nothing to stop the gesture. When Amatricina had finished, her mother extended her hand, and her child gladly accepted. “Come daughter, we have much more to discuss, and I wish to do so before dinner.” And with that the two departed the throne room to continue Bonara’s motherly lecture elsewhere.
Total Word Count: 4371