“Mistress of Joy”
The trumpets of war were blown and the Angel's of the Covenant soared through the sky with the morning's early rays of sunshine.
They were magnificent and beautiful and deadly.
The Summerlanders watched in awe and then the memory faded as they left their view. They were on to war themselves. They took their weapons and left their castle. They would meet the Darque on the battlefield.
Beautiful and majestic, they were but they bore a terrible wrath. They met the forces of the Darque and cut deep through their ranks. Many as they were, the enemy fell by the thousands. Damaris and Michaela led the way. Their swords flashed and they vanquished their enemies cutting at them like a wickedly sharp scythe cutting through a field of wheat. The Empyrean glowed at the point enhancing Micaela's attack allowing her ranged attacks.
Slowly attrition took hold and the ranks of the Sisterhood diminished.
Areli fell early, struck down by a Darque dragon, her wings plucked away and her ruined body cast to the earth. Damaris slew the dragon drawing her sword through its belly up to its neck bathing herself in the ice-cold black blood of darkness.
Bathed in blood, Damaris flew down to the broken angel.
“Sweet Damaris,” Areli said weakly with a gentle smile as her life’s blood escaped her body. “Bring the Darque to ruin. End them all. Make our deaths a worthy sacrifice. I die with the certainty it will be you who prevails over the Darque.”
With those words, Areli expired.
No tears came to Damaris’s eyes. Only rage, only anger. Her jaw was clenched and her knuckles white on her hilt and on her shield.
The Covenant continued its massive assault on the Darque, but their numbers began to dwindle and soon it was only Micaela and Damaris surrounded by a sea of Darque minions. Alone they remained, destroying enemy after enemy relentlessly inching closer and closer to the source of the Darque.
Then the Great Lord of the Darque appeared. The Master. His mask was polished reflecting the battlefield before him. He stood alone, sword drawn and defiant. He challenged Micaela to a dance of death and destruction.
Damaris strived to come to her aid but the many minions of the Darque bent on defending the Lord of the Darque pounced upon her.
"We will not corrupt you," the Darque Lord declared to Micaela. "We will annihilate you. We will vanquish your kind forever."
They crossed swords and the upper hand was traded back and forth as the greatest challenge to the Darque's reign sought to bring it all to an end.
“I am prepared to die if it means vanquishing you,” Micaela shouted as she pressed her advantage forward. Powerful as the Demon Lord was, Micaela’s light shined and she hacked and chopped away relentlessly with her sword clashing against his dark blade and casting sparks in all directions.
“You are finished, Darque Lord, Darque Master, Darque Scourge,” she cried as the Demon Lord was on his knees and she could smell a hint of fear.
When it seemed the light was ready to penetrate and end the Darque, the evil shadow serpents having bid their time surged from behind their Master and as they attacked a somber shadow was cast upon the angelic general quenching the blue light of the Empyrean.
The Darque Lord, on his knees and at the mercy of the leader of the Covenant, drew his sword back and struck with a terrible blow that penetrated Micaela’s guard and plunged through her breastplate, past her mail, and into her breast piercing her heart.
Death came instantly to Micaela. She was dead before she hit the ground. The Empyrean shattered and its glow faded with its mistress.
The Darque Lord pulled his demon sword free from Micaela’s lifeless body letting the feathered martyr slide lifeless to the ground. Her feathers turned ashen and the light in her eyes faded.
“No!!” Damaris screamed seeing the death blow strike her sister down as she vanquished the last of her enemies. She raced towards the Lord of the Darque recklessly ignoring all opposition.
“You are the last! The last of a dying race, the last of a dying hope!" the Darque Lord shouted across the field confident that victory was finally his. "With you so dies the last resistance to the Darque."
The Darque Master dared not engage her. He took advantage of her fury and her thirst for vengeance that made her imprudent and impetuous.
He reached back and he flung his Darque demon sword, still wet with the blood of the archangel Micaela. It sailed through the air with deadly precision, striking Damaris in the breast through her metal plate. She hovered in the air a brief moment and then she descended sliding off a cliff and into the darkness of a deep ravine.
The last angel, the last of the Sisterhood, was mortally wounded.
Damaris’s vision faded as she fell through space. She had failed. They had failed. The end had come and it was all for naught.
A pink shadow wrapped her in flowing robes as she crashed into the hard stone floor of the ravine. The shadow whispered to her as death crept in to take her.
"You shall not die this day, Damaris Angel of Joy. It is not your destiny to die today.”
Darkness enshrouded her and she lost consciousness.
* * * * *
The Darque took Summercastle that day. The remaining Darque overran the positions of the Summerlanders and countless defenders were put to the sword.
Lord of the Darque. The Master. The most powerful of his kind. The Demon Overlord who promised to bring the world to its knees, strode into the courtyard, his boots sounding ominous as he made his way across.
He'd lost many good minions and the Darque's leadership had been decimated.
No matter.
Leaders had been captured. The King and his court. Captains. The Summerlander ranger and his Southlander princess lover.
Time was his ally now. He had them all lined up in the Summercastle throne room in stocks. All the noble's and leader's soles and vulnerable spots were exposed. He would break them and he would take his time in the act and relish in humbling, corrupting, and dominating those willing to convert to his cause.
Those who did not, he’d drive to insanity and desperation and eventually death.
The Darque lord had corrupted weaker Summerland villagers and already corrupt officials and they marched into the throne room. They broke easily under his influence. The control was immediate but full control and annihilation of their souls would take time.
No matter.
The nobles and leaders of Summerland would resist, but they as well would fall. There was no one left to resist. No one left to defy his claim to rule.
The King was old and his feet were wrinkled. But his soles were soft and as a young corrupted village maiden approached he closed his eyes in resignation. Her fingers touched and tickled his soles and he screamed and laughed like as if he was a young boy again. He struggled in the stocks and the other prisoners watch on saddened at the sight of a monarch humbled such at the hands of the enemy.
"Anything, anything, please stop," the old king pleaded after only a few minutes of torture.
“Weakness,” the Darque Master declared. “So easily broken, so easily ready to be corrupted. I want you to see him fall and now you will join him. In death or in servitude. There is no escape.”
More villagers and treacherous officials obeyed the will of the Darque Master and walked over to the stocks ready to do his bidding and break the will of the last pocket of resistance.
Garvis was gruff and angry, but he roared in laughter as a town official gingerly placed her nails on his wide and huge feet and raked them up and down his soles.
Nobles and military leaders. Town matriarchs and patriarchs. They were all stocked and on display in the throne room. Each had the undivided attention of a subject the Darque Lord corrupted.
Phillip was stocked next to X'mena. They'd fought valiantly back to back during the battle, but Darque war mages took them down with spells that rendered them unconscious.
A mother and daughter that Phillip knew well came to them looking at their soles with fiendish delight.
"This is not you lady Amber," he pleaded as the middle-aged woman ignored his pleas and simply went to work on his soles. He laughed hysterically despite himself.
X'mena did not plead. She watched the younger woman's nails as they approached and simply accepted her fate.
The cacophony of laughter and screams and pleas was music to the Darque Lord’s ears.
He could see them try to resist, but he'd go to each eventually, and as they began to see a glimmer of hope of resistance he would reach out and snuff that hope with Darque venom from his serpent minions.
They would last hours perhaps, but not much more. He'd have them all broken and slaves of the Darque before the end of the day.
Once permanently corrupted, there would be no hope for these lands. They would all become demonic minions of the Darque.
Complete victory stood mere hours away.
*******
When Damaris awoke, it was to soft light and gentle sounds.
She stirred and she felt her breast. There was no wound in her flesh but the armor remained pierced. Was it a dream?
"Not a dream", a familiar voice answered her unasked question.
“You are in Joy,” the pink-robed mage of Joy said. “Land of excess and lust but never of death. Harm can never come to you while you are here. Time is frozen and passes here in ways you can never hope to understand fully. Your sword serves no purpose here. Your armor is not needed.”
“You brought me here?” Damaris asked looking around. The pleasant sounds, aromas, and sights were pleasing.
“I did,” Leandra answered.
“I know you. From a dream, but I have always known dreams to bear truths. Leandra is your name. And who do you serve?” the Angel questioned looking warily for the Mistress of Joy.
“I serve Joy.”
“Lady Abarrach is your mistress,” Damaris stated.
“I serve Joy,” Leandra repeated. “Not Lady Abarrach. Lady Abarrach served Joy and her time is passing. Some will not yet believe me, but it is so.”
Leandra looked around as if expecting something to happen. When she saw nothing, she turned to Damaris and explained.
“You are trapped here. Your wound is mortal. Death is certain if you leave. You would not last a minute in your realm. There is no returning."
"The Sisterhood is undone," Damaris brooded. "None remain. Micaela is gone. The Empyrean was destroyed. Every last Sister is dead, having given their lives to defeat an enemy that has grown more powerful than ever before."
“Those are true facts," Leandra stated. "Summercastle falls. The King is humbled before the Master, the Darque Lord. Your former lover is trapped in stocks. His lover is as well. They will be tortured long before they are allowed to die or until they are corrupted to serve the Darque."
"My sword is useless. I cannot return. My sisters are dead, my charge and his people enslaved." Damaris summarized.
"Yes. All facts," Leandra agreed. "And here Lady Abarrach is no fool. She sees you as a threat and she will deal with threats as she knows how."
A group of pink-robed acolytes marched forth and surrounded the pair.
"We've come for you," the leader of the group, an older grey-haired male acolyte stated.
"Yes," Leandra answered. “I have been expecting you.”
"You may not wear the robes of Joy anymore," the leader of the acolytes said.
“It is so. But I will be proven correct when the time is right," Leandra stated loudly for all to hear.
She then cast the robe aside and it fell to the ground, leaving her garbed in a plain brown tunic. She held her hands out to be bound.
The acolytes bound them firmly. Another pulled a gag free and approached.
“You're a powerful spell caster,” the leader said. “We will take no chances.”
Leandra nodded and cooperated as they gagged her.
"And you will sleep," the leader added.
Leandra nodded, accepting all and surrendering completely. A pink flower was presented. She placed her nose over the flower and breathed in deeply of its aroma. Her eyes quickly glazed with sleep, fluttering and closed. They caught her gently and carried her.
"Damaris, sister of the Covenant, will you come peacefully?" the leader acolyte asked.
"My metal is my soul. I will not be parted from it,” Damaris replied.
"Your steel is useless. It cannot pierce flesh. It cannot protect you from the dangers of Joy," the leader stated.
"I will not surrender it and I will not be made senseless," Damaris stated as an acolyte approached with the same flower that subdued Leandra.
The acolytes looked at each other and then at their leader. They were all skilled ticklers and mages. But this was indeed an Angel.
"Follow us peacefully and there will be no need to subdue you," the leader proposed.
Damaris nodded but said nothing.
"Lady Abarrach awaits," the leader said as he led the way.
They walked through Joy. Abundance, sensuality, and laughter permeated the very fiber of the realm.
Damaris strode behind the acolytes sensing the world of Joy around her. The laughter in the air contrasted with deep moans of pleasure. The smell of sweet flowers mixed with the musky scent of sexuality. She could feel the electricity in the air. It pleased her to see the people of Joy engage in tickling and lovemaking naturally and without a care.
She felt welcome. She would not say at home, but the plane of existence was demonized as a Hell to be avoided at all costs.
“What demonized the realm was the demon, not the realm,” she whispered under her breath. The air around her shimmered and seemed to agree.
Time and distance were warped in the realm of Joy. And it took a long march to reach the Palace of Lady Abarrach Demon Mistress of Joy, but at the same time, the day remained the same and they did not tire.
She cast her war sandals away and her bare feet walked on fine soft grass that threatened to tickle, but just not quite. She could have flown to the palace, but it seemed right to walk there and see the realm that was likely to be her home or her final resting place.
They strode through to the marvelous hall at the center of the palace where Lady Abarrach held her court.
The Demon Mistress looked even more majestic here in her realm. Her flowing crimson cape and her leather garb seemed regal in this place. The feathered, hawkish mask was a crown.
Lady Abbarrach was a queen here and she did not hesitate to demonstrate her supremacy.
"Finally, we meet again,” the Mistress of Joy said. “This time in my world on my terms. Not summoned by a common Wytch, but rather brought to me by my most trusted minion who dares betray me. I am not afraid of you. I replaced my predecessor. I’ve staved off countless attempts to seize control of Joy. It will not be today that I relinquish my power upon Joy.”
Damaris strode before the Demon Mistress and spoke confidently for all to hear.
"I did not choose to be here,” Damaris stated. “I cannot return. My sisters are dead. All the people I know are dead or soon to be enslaved or slain by the Darque. If you are not helping me, then do not hinder me. I will do all I can to protect those I care for."
"I have no love for the Darque, but I will not aid you,” Lady Abarrach leered. “I will defeat you, I will torture you for millennia. You will never know respite."
"You cannot kill me. I am already dead to my world. You cannot break me. Many have tried and failed. I do not care if you have ruled here for millennia. I care not that you are a Demon. Demons can be tamed."
"There are worse fates than death,” Lady Abarrach declared. “Angels can be tamed. They can be tempted, broken, and seduced.
"I will not be your toy to play with,” Damaris warned. “I cannot return so I have only one alternative. I will conquer you and make this world mine."
"The Covenant would never allow such a thing," Lady Abarrach scoffed. "It is in their nature to defend, protect. Never to conquer."
"The Covenant is shattered. The Empyrean dust,” Damaris answered. “I am the last of my kind. I will do what I need to do to protect those I promised to defend. You can help me or you can be vanquished. Which you choose matters little to me."
"Insolent feathered worm,” Lady Abarrach jeered. “I will torture you for eternity. You'll never know respite. You'll go mad and even then I will not spare you. Joy will obey my will and the world around you will deliver you to me!”
Lady Abaract commanded vines to grow and control Damaris. And while they appeared as summoned they would not obey her. Her lips pursed with frustration.
“Curious,” the demon said her face contorting into a sneer underneath the feathered mask. “Joy will not help or hinder me. It matters not. I am Mistress of Joy and I will show her why I am her mistress. If you be my challenge to prove my mettle, then so be it. Prove it, I shall. No quarter will be given.”
“And no quarter will be taken,” Damaris assured her.
“Then let us begin,” Lady Abarrach declared stepped down from her throne and to the center of the palace hall.
The two beings circled each other. Both had a killer instinct. There were no weapons to use and armor was more of a constraint than a benefit. Damaris released her metal breastplate and set her sword aside. Lady Abarach kept her mask and her body remained covered in protective leather, but she cast her crimson cape aside.
Speed and skill were the name of the game. The dance of two ticklers.
Lady Abarach was lithe and tall with long fingers and arms. Damaris was not as agile but her wings were clearly her advantage. The Angel needed to manage the space between them and not let the Demon Mistress get inside her guard.
Lady Abarach pounced at Damaris sliding past her defense and before the feathered wings could close over her, the Demon launched a furious tickling attack on Damaris.
The tickling was intense. More intense than Damaris had ever felt and it was being administered by a true master of the art. The intensity was also on a sexual level and Damaris jumped at the sensation.
Had Philip actually been here? At the mercy of Lady Abarrach intent on corrupting him and the Southland princess? How could he resist when the very air in Joy was sweet, alluring and tempting.
Damaris needed to resist. She needed to win. She knew this as she laughed and she knew this even as she grew wet between her legs. She would conquer temptation and sensation, and she would prevail.
She grasped at Lady Abarrach’s wrists and pulled them away from her ribs. The Demon’s eyes grew wide behind the mask. She’d never seen such will or such strength. Such defiance.
Lady Abarrach’s body was covered with leather and her mask protected her face so the feathered assault from the wings did not affect her much, but her neck was vulnerable and Damaris attacked, nibbling and tickling the demon's vulnerable ears and neck.
Lady Abarrach squealed and Damaris felt exhilaration as she tickled away. The squeal was musical, the act sensual. Lady Abarrach’s skin was soft, her scent alluring, her twisting and trashing was exciting in itself alluring and enticingly salacious.
Tickling was always something Damaris loved to give and receive, but here on Joy the act was elevated to elevated to a ritual level.
Lady Abarrach struggled. She desperately kicked off her boots and tried to tickle Damaris with her toes as she pulled Damaris to the ground and contorted her legs into position to attack. Somehow, someway, while still restrained, she reached Damaris’ underarms and ribs.
Damaris laughed. But she did not release Lady Abarrach. And now, unbooted, Damaris went in for the kill. Her wings and their titillating feathers found the demon’s bare feet. Her wings almost acted on their own accord sensing the vulnerability and craving the long and smooth soles of Lady Abarrach.
The feathers stroked with fierce intention along the Demon’s long toes and perfect smooth soles. Lady Abarrach screamed. How long had it been since those soles had been tortured? How much time had passed since those feet last felt the disarming touch? None in the hall could have known or had been around long enough to have witnessed it.
It took some time, but Damaris took Lady Abarrach’s wrists together in one hand and started removing the leather armor with the other. The layers came off and Lady Abarach was more and more vulnerable. The feathered wing found more and more vulnerable flesh to attack.
Soon there was no resistance. And Damaris stripped her opponent naked. She tickled and tickled for hours. Perhaps days. Time passed in mysterious ways in Joy.
Regal and dominant, the Demon Mistress of Joy was now small and feeble, laughing desperately. Damaris wrapped her left arm around the demon’s ankles and tortured the slender soles with her fingers.
Damaris was finally satisfied that her opponent was finished. The demon mistress had been caught unawares, having forgotten just how ticklish she really was.
Damaris called to the vines to do her will and they did. They wrapped around Lady Abarrach, binding her and restraining her. Her weakened and crumpled form was pulled up to Damaris and she put a finger under the Demon’s chin to raise her face.
Damaris pulled the feathered mask off the demon. Below the mask was a woman’s face. Racked with exhaustion the head fell down when the finger no longer held it up.
Damaris took the mask and placed it on her face.
The subjects of Joy recognized that Damaris was favored by Joy and they all kneeled down in reverence.
Leandra was released by the acolytes and she donned her robe before approaching Damaris.
She knelt and said “I serve Joy and today Joy has a new mistress. All hail Damaris, Mistress of Joy!”
The denizens of Joy cheered.
******
It took some days for Damaris to put order to Joy.
She had Lady Abarrach taken to a secluded area to be continually tortured by the mages of Joy.
Damaris set up a court of people she trusted. She trusted Leandra most.
Finally, when she felt that indeed she was the mistress of Joy, she looked to influence beyond Joy.
“Impossible,” Leandra said. “To return is to forsake Joy. To return is to die. Your wound is mortal. Here you are a queen, there in minutes you would be a corpse.”
“I promised,” Damaris said, sitting uncomfortably on the throne. “I promised I would free that world from the Darque.”
“You can send your minions. Your mages of Joy, your agents of Joy, but away from Joy we do not have sufficient power to challenge anything like the Darque.”
“It has to be me, Leandra,” Damari said, removing the mask and leaving it on the throne as she stepped down to the floor of the hall.
“Will you trust me?” Damaris asked.
“I am yours to command,” Leandra said, her head bowed.
“Then listen to my plan, and hear it out before you protest…”
*****
The Summercastlee was submerged in the sound of screams and laughter.
The Darque Master was satisfied and sat on his newly acquired throne as his shadowy serpents whispered into his ear words of approval and suggestions of how to torment the Summerlanders even more.
“Enough!” the Darque Lord of the Darque called to his minions who paused their torment for him to be able to speak. “I declare this kingdom mine. Your armies are defeated. Your people are enslaved. The Covenant is destroyed. Every single Angel has been smitten. The lands north will capitulate. This world belongs to the Darque. Pockets of resistance have become undone. No one stands in our way.”
“I stand in your way,” a clear powerful voice declared.
The Darque Lord looked to the source of the challenge.
Damaris was in the doorway to the throne room standing magnificent in her repaired armor. A crimson cape flowed from her shoulders and her bright white wings extended as a halo around her.
“I defy you," she challenged again so no doubt would exist as to who dared to challenge the Darque.
“Are you an apparition?" The Master of the Darque inquired. "I slew you.”
“I am flesh and blood," Damaris answered. "Not an illusion. Not a ghost."
She cast a dark sinister blade to the ground with a loud clatter.
“Here is your foul blade. Come and take it. If you dare.”
“The last one,” The Master declared. “The last breath of defiance in this world.
“Hold back minions of the Darque,” he commanded. “How can one single Angel do what hundreds could not?”
He stood from the throne and strode toward Damaris brandishing twin swords.
Damaris did not move to defend herself. As he approached, she allowed his swords to attack her heart.
The blades bent harmlessly off her body without even making contact with her armor.
The shadow serpents hidden within the Darque Master's robes attacked and bit at Damaris with lightning celerity.
The fangs could not penetrate Damaris's skin. They bit again and again angered by the resistance.
"Your weapons and attacks are futile here," Damaris declared. "You have stepped into Joy and I alone rule here. You are my victim. You are my prey."
The Darque Lord realized what had happened. He had been lured through a portal to another world. The illusion matching the entrance to the hall had been the ruse.
"I will simply step back and call my minions to me," The Darque Lord hissed. "We will raze your world as well as this one."
He stepped back but could not pass.
"It's a one-way portal. The path here is always one way," Damaris stately bluntly.
"Impossible," the demon said. "I will corrupt. I will taint all around me."
"You shall not," Damaris answered.
Damaris closed her eyes and commanded vines to grow from beneath the Demon Lord wrapping around his ankles, his wrists and the shadowy snakes.
The Darque Lord could snap steel shackles with a thought, but the vines were unbreakable.
Damaris cast off his polished helmet revealing a wickedly handsome face. His face could corrupt and ruin, but his countenance had no effect on Damaris.
Damaris unstrapped his breastplate and cast the heavy metal aside. She tore upon the tunic below revealing a body that might have been carved of marble.
"Stupid sow, you cannot defeat me, you–" the vines gagged him and he mumbled unintelligible threats as Damaris pulled a boot off his leg revealing a powerful barefoot.
"Your reign ends in Joy. You will beg me for mercy and I will deny it. You will go mad between torment and pleasure that I will command until your will slowly seeps away and you become a weakened lackey of Joy."
The demon shouted muted obscenities into the gag.
"Oh, your servants?" Damaris asked, interpreting the mumbling. "They are mere shadows of your evil. They will be hunted and pursued until your memory is but a thing of the past. And if they should dare come to Joy I will deal out justice as I do to you."
The second boot was pulled off.
Both feet were bare. Large and powerful with broad soles.
"Acolytes of Joy," Damaris called to subjects, "he is yours."
The followers of Joy surrounded the demon placing gentle hands on his armpits, his sides, and the soles of his feet. He twisted and shook in agony and Damaris watched on with satisfaction.
The throne room erupted in chaos as the minions of the Darque despaired. The recently corrupted villagers reflected on their actions and, shocked by their actions, released their prisoners. The Summerlanders, free of their bondage, fought their way to secure the throne room.
Phillip rescued his King and left him in the care of Garvis as he chased the last of the Darque away.
In a sudden moment, they had been delivered from certain death and destruction to hope restored.
The portal remained open and he drew near.
“I thought you were dead…” he said looking upon Damaris.
“I am in a way," Damaris admitted. "The Covenant is broken. I am still an Angel but the pact that bound me to you is broken. The forgetfulness of an Angel in this form is also finished. I am here and you will remember. But we are universes apart and apart we will remain.”
She paused before speaking again. "I am dead to your world. I am condemned to remain here on Joy. As long as I do, I will see to it that the Darque remains contained."
“Can you forgive me?” Phillip asked.
Damaris smiled sadly. “It is I who must beg you for forgiveness. I was to protect you at a distance. I broke the rules. Out of love, but I broke them nonetheless.”
A tear shimmered in her eye as she continued. “My time with you will echo in my heart and I will cherish our time together. You will do great things, Phillip of Summerland. I will be proud. Love and live and rule. It is your destiny.”
Damaris placed her hand on the portal she could not pass.
Phillip placed his hand on the other side touching and at the same time not touching.
They stayed that way for long moments and the portal began to shimmer and fade.
X’mena approached and watched the two former lovers say a final goodbye . The Southlander understood. And Damaris locked eyes with her.
“Farewell, X'mena, daughter of the Southlands. Farewell, Phillip son of Garvis.”
Tears streamed down his eyes and he pulled X'mena near. There was no jealousy, no confusion.
“Farewell”, he said as the portal faded and his former guardian disappeared. “Farewell, Damaris… Angel of Joy.”
The End
