The Sword Saint nodded, "We have some time. If your injuries permit, I can give teach you some of what I know." The Saint led the Apostle through the spacious corridors of the Palace, eventually finding another set of doors. One could only wonder how anyone could navigate such a sprawling place without a map, but the Saint had lived here now for quite some time. As she pushed through the doors, the duo was met with what was commonly referred to as the dancing room, but the Sword Saint and the Prince made more use of it as a training room, if anything.
Moving to the center of the room, the woman turned toward her more novice sister, "Your sword." The Saint extended out her open palm, "may I?" She waited for the Apostle to hand the blade over to her, grasping the hilt of the steel straight sword in her hands. "It's light, with decent craftsmanship." She swung the blade through the air several times, as if she was sparring with an invisible opponent. "But it's too short for my liking. I prefer weapons wielded with two hands." The Saint mused to herself, swinging the blade once more. "If you carry a shield and a shorter blade, you must be comfortable getting closer to your opponent." She handed the weapon back over to the Apostle, before drawing up her own.
The Sword Saint's blade was adorned with a golden hilt and an ebony blade, which bore vibrant, scarlet markings running across its center. No doubt the Saint's blade was imbued with some form of magic, but its red coloration made it difficult to tell what sort of magic it possessed upon first glance. "With a longer blade, you can keep yourself at a distance." She raised the blade, pointing it toward the Apostle to show just how much further she could strike than her sister would normally be able to. "But that doesn't mean you need to give up your equipment, only that you must adapt." She sheathed her sword, grabbing an extra shield from a nearby rack before handing it over to the Apostle. "Hold your shield in front of you like this when you charge. You don't need to protect your chest, you have armor for that. But your pretty face is important too, wouldn't you say?"
"Know the reach of your weapon, only lift your shield when you are in striking distance." The Saint demonstrated for a few moments before continuing, "Now pay attention, sister. I shall teach you a new spell." She lifted her blade into the air, "It's a simple one, the same one that you saw me use in defeating the large goblin. It is called luminescence... and can be used to create a flash of light when you need it most. The words are simple:" She opened her palm, "Lux, Illustrant - Illuminate and cast away the darkness." She moved her open hand across the ebony length of her blade, causing the blade to glow violently before emitting a brilliant flash of light for a few moments before disappearing. Even in the well-lit room of the Royal Palace, it was effective at blinding anyone gazing upon it. In the darkness of a cave, it would be many times more effective.
"Use it to blind your opponents, either to attack or to make a quick retreat. You may only be able to use it once each day, but with time it will become easier to use." The Apostle explained, before sheathing her sword. It seemed that in their time together, many hours had passed. "Perhaps we should end the training for the night."
The Sword Saint displayed subtleties and grace which the Apostle could only hope to one day match, though she tried anyway. The young woman was surprisingly sturdy despite her petite stature, and she had taken to the shield well; her stance would withstand considerable force before buckling. Alas, she had lost her shield, and felt some grief as to how much it had cost in the first place. She had perhaps been foolish in investing so much in novice gear.
"Luminescence," she repeated softly, lifting her own sword to gaze at her blade. She had squeezed her eyes shut at the Sword Saint's demonstration, though her vision remained slightly hazed from the light which had made it past her eyelids. Nevertheless, she extended her blade, her grip tightening as she had only one hand to cast it with. "Lux, Illustrant - Illuminate and cast away the darkness." Her nervousness in casting a new spell made itself known, and the resulting light was notably dimmer than the Sword Saint's own. Nevertheless, it had cast successfully, and with a little practice she might one day be able to cast it just as efficiently. She caught her breath, her lips parting in wonder. She felt a little stronger now, somehow.
The hours which followed flew by, with the Apostle seeming to exert herself far more than the overly experienced Sword Saint. Her breath was heavy, though she did her best to adjust to the new steps and postures she was being taught. The Sword Saint's dismissal resulted in some flavor of relief, and the Apostle dropped her shield and sword and lowered herself to her knees, drawing in a deep breath and exhaling a long sigh.
"Thank -- thank you so much," She began through laboured breaths, "I was never shown anything like this at the church. I'm in your debt evermore, it seems. Where did you begin to learn such movements?"
The Apostle learned quickly, able to cast a complex spell within only a few hours worth of training. The Sword Saint was rather impressed, though her stoic expression showed little signs of it. "A priest taught it to me, just a few days before he fell in battle. I was new then, just like you are now," she explained, her voice possessing an eerie calmness to it despite the grim subject matter. "Death is common in our line of work, as I'm sure you've learned. We must become stronger if we are to protect the ones we love." It wasn't long until a familiar sound chimed throughout the city. It was the clock tower bell, which rang twice every day to signal the time of noon and midnight for the city. "Hm. The hour is later than I thought."
"Come, Sister. We should meet with the Prince now." She strode away from the training hall, the heels of her metal boots clattering against the tiles beneath her feet. Moving confidently through the halls of the castle, she remained two paces ahead of the Apostle as she led her through the labyrinth that was the Royal Palace. As the Sword Saint led her, she could feel the demonic presence take hold from within. If the Apostle couldn't sense the sickness that plagued the castle before, surely she would be able to sense it now within the embrace of the dark hour.
Eventually, the pair make their way to a set of doors. Though the doors appeared normal on the surface, the two sisters could easily sense the demonic forces that were mustering within, oozing through the crevices before expanding outwards to the rest of the castle. For even a novice spellcaster, it would be absurdly obvious that this room was at the epicenter of the dark magic that lingered throughout the palace. Maintaining her composure, the Sword Saint opened the door, waiting for the Apostle to step inside before following after her. The room is none other than the Prince's bedchambers, a spacious room filled with the regal accommodations one would expect of a royal prince.
"My Prince, how are you feeling?" The Sword Saint remarked, carefully shutting the door behind her. She took a moment to lock the door, trying her best to do so outside of the Apostle's visage. At the center of the room, the Prince is kneeling on the floor, his face buried into the side of his bed.
"I... I can't stop it-" The Prince groaned before raising his head from his bedside. Gazing up at the two figures, one could see the source of the demonic energy. A blackness that was beginning to spread and infect the side of his face. It had already taken hold of one eye, which glowed a vivid, violet hue in the darkness. Upon seeing the Apostle, the Prince suddenly jolted upwards. "Wh-Why did you bring her here?!" The Prince exclaimed in a mixture of shock and anger. Clearly, the Apostle had seen something that she shouldn't have, but the Sword Saint had no intentions of letting her go.
"You saved this woman, now it is her turn to save you." The Sword Saint explained, trying her best to ignore the Prince's desperate howls of pain. "She already swore that she would help you."
"No! Argh! Not...-" The Prince clawed at his ashen hair, a strange mixture of growls and whimpers escaping his lips as he struggled to even speak. "Not like this! You can't!" The Prince swayed back and forth, knocking over random objects. "You can't do this!"
"You don't have a choice, my Prince," the Sword Saint shut her eyes as the Prince's squirming finally falls to a halt. The room remained silent for a moment before the Prince rose to his feet, turning towards the pair. When he would speak, his voice would suddenly sound deeper, as if possessed by some otherworldly creature.
"What offering have you brought me this time, Sister?"
The Sword Saint's words struck a deep chord, and the Apostle's mind cast back into the dark corners of the goblin's den, if only for a few seconds. She swallowed, exhaling a long and quiet breath as she did her best to push the echoing screams aside. Indeed, death was a real possibility; it was a lesson she had quickly learned, in the most abrupt manner possible.
Meet with the Prince? Her head tilted slightly, though she said nothing on the matter. The hour had very much fell beyond midnight, and light no longer painted the stained glass which windowed the hallways. Candlelight flickered ominously, casting shadows upon silent walls. The subtle aroma of rot she had encountered upon first arriving had returned, lingering in the air like a thin veil of mist. Again, she said nothing, and instead focused on the patterned decor as she walked closely within the Sword Saint's shadow.
"Sister, I --" her voice was small -- she felt she was stepping into a dense dredge of blackness; a void, more-so, that plagued the castle by any sense of the word. As her eyes cast upon the open doorway to the Prince, every fiber of her being begged her to stay away; alas, her naive mind believed that no Sister would lead her into darkness, and she inched into the room carefully. Her hands clasped in front of her, and she took a moment to process the scene which lay before her.
"Your Highness?" She questioned, taking a hasty step forward as she beheld the Prince on his knees. The Apostle soon halted, however, freezing somewhere within the middle of his chambers. Her eyes painted a wide picture, and though the Prince writhed in pain, his body weeped a grotesque mass unlike anything she had ever seen. The aura which came with it was nigh suffocating -- not unlike a pair of hands wrapped around the Apostle's through. A nervous whimper escaped parted lips, and she began to retreat backwards, her hand immediately reaching for her sword.
But there was no sword. She had left it behind after training. A small sense of panic washed over her at its absence, and she reached instead for her chime, which hung from her belt below her back. She did not know what she would do with it, for she scarcely knew how to use it.
"Wh... What's wrong with him?" She uttered, her eyes never leaving the Prince. She eventually leaned flush against the door. "We need to leave. I have to leave." The door would not open, and her movements devolved frantically. "Sister, wh--"
A new voice raised above her own, and pierced her flesh like a blade. Her breath hitched, and her movements seized, though her legs did not cease to tremble as she continued to push her strength against the door. She slid down as she did so, her knees eventually giving way beneath her and allowing her to drop weakly to the floor, overburdened by fear and exhaustion from her training.
The demonic Prince stifled a cackle as his victim recoiled, who moved for the nearest exit with a desperate haste. Ominously he strode, closer towards the quivering girl that sat helplessly upon the floor. "Be kinder to this one, the Prince is rather fond of her," a voice pierced between the Apostle's whimpers. "I don't think he'll forgive me if you break her like the other ones." She shut her tired eyes in an attempt to cast away the grotesque images that bubbled to the surface of her mind. The Sword Saint had done this many times before, a vain attempt to temporarily placate the darkness that encroached upon her beloved Prince. She was a servant of the Goddess, but circumstances had given her no other choice but to strike a deal with the Devil.
"Oh?" The malformed Prince towered above the Apostle before dipping at the waist, his still pure hand moving to capture the Apostle's chin between masculine digits. He averted the woman's gaze upward, forcing her to gaze upon the darkness that studied her with interest. "I'll give her back to you in one piece, if that is what you desire," the deep voice chuckled, a grin forming across his handsome lips. The tip of his fingers traced the very end of the frightened woman's jawline, his thumb brushing between unguarded, virgin lips.
The Apostle exuded a pleasant aroma, the familiar smell of fear set between the sweat that still beaded down the crevices of her body. But more importantly, he could smell the Apostle's chastity; a fresh maiden ready to be plucked like the forbidden fruit from a tree. He would defile her... ravage her until she would come to question her Goddess' mercy.
"Now, my sweetheart," his gentle touch soon navigated upwards, the sturdy hand plucking golden locks into a full, tightened grip. "The two of us are going to have so much fun together," the demonic hand pushed down upon his lower garments, inching the fabric downwards until his throbbing erection was fully revealed for the Apostle. The shaft towered over the height of her face, its girth sizable and foreboding. "Open your lips," he commanded, giving the Apostle only a moment to gaze upon the terrifying sight before he opened his palm. Still grasping upon the Apostle's hair, he struck the side of her face with his other hand. An audible smack reverberated throughout the room, followed by the streak of red which now marred the Apostle's perfect flesh.
"Open," he would command once more, every lingering, defiant second met with another strike to the cheek. His slaps would become increasingly violent, until the poor Apostle had no choice but to acquiesce to his vulgar demand. Almost as soon as the Apostle would open her mouth, the Prince would thrust his waist forward, the massive shaft stretching her jaw and forcing itself between parted lips. "Ah... good girl," the demon's voice fell into a low growl as he felt plush lips wrap around the center of his pulsating length, his hand still grasping the Apostle's hair. "Now, start moving."
The Apostle shrunk beneath The Prince's shadow, pressing herself firmly against the wall in a vain attempt to gain some distance. She turned her head, but her vision was soon guided to his face. His touch set her skin alight, as if poison were seeping through her flesh. Her breathing was quiet, but erratic, and she could barely feel her body beneath the weight of fear. His guttural words hit hollow ears. She was seized by the hair, and tears fell as her eyes squeezed shut. Small hands reached to grasp at his hand, failing to relieve the pressure.
"Sister..." Whimpered words fell from trembling lips, still clinging to her misplaced trust. Her eyes opened, soon enough, and became wide as they beheld the sight of the demonic Prince's erection, which cast an unruly shadow upon her tearstained face. "No, please -- !"
The impact of his palm knocked a sharp cry from her lungs, though for a while she did little more than whimper through gritted teeth. The flesh of her face stung terribly, and with every passing smack she found it harder to stand her ground. She had never once experienced deliberate pain, and she didn't last long. Her lips parted slightly in eventual disarmament, her chin trembling as she did so. A muffled whine tried to escape as her mouth was immediately broken into, her head hitting the door as she was pushed backwards by the force of his thrust. Her hands fell from her head and she gripped at the Prince's thighs, desperate for something to grip, and her fingers curled into the fabric of his britches.
Her legs kicked out occasionally and to little effect, the Apostle otherwise unable to move from between him and the door. Her only option to relieve pressure was to move forward, complying with his request, and she begged the Goddess for forgiveness as she did so. Her tongue ran beneath his shaft, tasting his slight saltiness though only managing to progress half an inch or so before choking on his size. She could barely breathe as it were, and her jaw ached from the his girth. She could feel her virtue being torn away bit by bit, and she wondered why she had ever left the Cathedral. Wondered why she ever had to be here. She was being defiled not by man, but by monster; it was an unforgivable concept.
Indeed, the Apostle knew very little of the dark corners of the world.
From across the room, the Sword Saint watched as the man she loved defiled her fellow sister; each moment tearing away at what humanity remained inside of her. She felt strangely calm, though she could feel the cold vestiges of guilt howling within her. There was a time where she had pleaded with the demon for mercy, but the Saint knew well that the Apostle would receive none. She wanted to stand up and protect her fellow sister, but she was powerless... unable to do anything but stand idle. "I'm so sorry." The words were silent, but the movement of her lips were clear.
The demon cackled as the Apostle desperately attempted to appease her assailant, moving as far down onto his length as her dainty lips could take her. "Oh my sweet, I'm sure you can do better than that!" With his hand still firmly locked upon golden bangs, the Prince began to force her face closer to his pelvis. His throbbing length pressed deeper into her throat before recoiling backwards, giving the Apostle a fleeting moment to breathe before pulling her portrait down upon himself once more. He began to repeat this motion, the Prince's hips bucking with the horrifying rhythm. Trapped between the door and the Prince, the Apostle had no choice but to take the aggressive piston that assaulted her throat. Each thrust became deeper and more vigorous, the demon holding little regard for the Apostle's safety.
"Ah! That's much better!" the demon growled between thrusts, his violet gaze admiring the mess he was making of the Apostle's face. Saliva dribbled from her lips, pooling onto the fabric of her dress as tears accentuated the very outline of her face. His violent thrusts continued for several more moments, until the Prince had been fully satisfied. "Not bad for a first time." He remarked, finally pulling his girth from his victim's tired jaw. He spared the Apostle only a few moments to collect herself before reaching down, his strapping hands violently claiming the Apostle's nape. Choking her, he forcefully pulled the Apostle to her feet before dragging her and throwing her unceremoniously upon the bed.
Using one hand to pin the Apostle's face down against the bed sheets, the demon extended his other hand out towards the Sword Saint. "Bring me the rope." He commanded, waiting as the Sword Saint slowly did as she was told. She cautiously picked up the string of rope that lay underneath one of the cupboards before placing it upon the demon's hand. Without sparing any respite, the demon used the hard rope to bind her two wrists behind her supple waist. "Now, sweetheart," His hands combed over the Apostle's dress, vehemently tearing at the fabric as his throbbing length pressed up against the fabric of her exposed undergarments. "Which of your holes shall I ravage?"
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