FicWad

Evocare

The grimoires varied in the details of the summoning and manifestation, but they agreed on one point uniformly: to summon a power of this magnitude was terrifying, to best it nearly impossible. Nobody ever came away unscathed.

Nicolai was prepared. He knew better than Rasputin, certainly better than Yuri, what he was willing to offer, and what he would require in return. He knew what Astaroth could grant him, and what would be mere empty promises on the demon's part. And he could offer it the extra incentive of his position in the Church, if his personal sacrifice were not enough.

His hand was completely steady as he drew the pentagram for the invocation. The red candles burned steadily, brightly, the scent as familiar as the cut of his robes. Even the incantation itself, Latin syllables tortured out of true, didn't trouble him. There was too much glory to be won here. He would rival Rasputin. He would rival the Godslayer, at last.

As the last words of the incantation left his lips -- t'invito, t'obligo, t'evoco -- he felt the Presence, first as infernal heat washing the room like the hot wind from an opened stove -- and then as tendrils of cool, clammy liquid trailing over his skin. He shuddered involuntarily, but refused to cower.

"I summon thee, demon, who art called Astaroth," he said loudly, steadily. This was a liturgy, like any other he recited. "I summon thee, and I contract thee."

What wouldst thou have of me, little man? Astaroth's voice didn't travel through the air, didn't make a sound; it seemed to crawl up the back of Nicolai's neck and buzz harshly in his ear. Tell me of thy desire.

"I would ask the power to make thee manifest, to fuse with thee," Nicolai answered. The candles were flickering, dimming; there was a glow beyond them in the dark that might have been Astaroth's eyes. "I would borrow thy strength."

The demon's laughter echoed through his skull like thunder. How bold thou art, mortal! How selfish. The chamber went very still for a moment, making anticipation hum along Nicolai's limbs -- and then Astaroth continued: Show me what thou hast to offer.

Nicolai trembled as Astaroth's power bore down on him, falling to his hands and knees as he felt it wrench open the gates to his soul. This should be impossible -- it was the purpose of the pentagram to keep him safe from its attacks --

He felt Astaroth's amusement well up inside his own mind, invasive and alien, twining between his fear and revulsion. I have not attacked thee, priest. I have but accepted thy invitation. Its will held him immobilized as it probed deeper into his mind, his heart, making itself familiar with the contours of his soul. The rush of emotions made him dizzy, made him sick, as the demon absorbed everything he was: the awe of his first visit to the cathedral in Florence as a child; the pain of watching his mother die of consumption, the winter he was twelve; the calling to the priesthood in his teen years; the signs he thought he'd had from God, none of them half as compelling as Astaroth's presence now; the hunger for power, the disgust when he realized how riddled with earthly struggles the Church really was; the agony of recognizing the unnatural bent of his lusts, and then the illicit thrill of indulging them, complete with the excruciating penance that followed. The demon paused there, savored those fumbling experiences, pushed him back into the memory of a dark-eyed choirboy's mouth and hands, and Nicolai shuddered, panting on the floor as the need swelled inside him as if for the first time.

Closer, Astaroth purred. Nicolai imagined he could feel its touch on his skin. But thou hast in thyself the power for these petty sins. What wouldst thou of me?

Nicolai thought of Rasputin, of the blue-black echo of Asmodeus that clung to Sapientes Gladio's leader and tainted his every action. The corruption that now twisted the Order. Astaroth seemed to pause, fascinated. "To fight -- to defeat him," Nicolai corrected himself, "I need a power that can combat Asmodeus. Thou hast that, demon."

Astaroth's bloodlust licked at his nerves, and he tasted the sharp copper of adrenaline in the back of his mouth. Yes/, the demon whispered. /I have that. I, and one other.

Without meaning to, Nicolai thought of Domremy, of the black-armored form of Amon appearing in a shattered rose window -- of the demon's features melting away to reveal the terrible beauty of the Godslayer --

And suddenly he couldn't breathe, Astaroth wrapped around him like the coils of a mighty serpent, almost visible in the dim light. Who is that? Astaroth hissed, the words licking at Nicolai's face. Will we fight Amon's host, also?

Nicolai struggled to draw enough breath to say, "Yes," trembling as Astaroth latched onto his memories of Yuri and teased them, explored them, magnified them. He moaned when the demon released its hold on his throat, weak with obsession that Astaroth must be causing, with the need to best Yuri, to defeat him, to possess him.

Yes, Astaroth agreed, showing him images of Yuri stripped and bloodied, still defiant as he was taken, letting Nicolai feel how clutching and tight he would be, toned muscle flexing uselessly under sweat-slick skin -- and then the demon overlaid that with fantasies so strange that Nicolai could barely comprehend what he was feeling, the scrape of Amon's claws over his scales, the raw delight of piercing Amon's armor and sheathing himself in the roiling heat beneath.

Nicolai opened his mouth to protest, to plead for some respite from the chaos that made him weak and trembling and painfully aroused, and felt his mouth invaded instead, filled with the demon's essence. He still couldn't see Astaroth, couldn't see more than smoke and shadows, but he felt slick hot tendrils lapping at his skin like so many tongues, tasted the thing filling his mouth with its corruption, blood and ashes and honey.

When he tried to pull back and free himself, serpentine coils twined around his limbs, squeezing rhythmically, dragging his arms and legs toward the corners of his invocation pentagram. The thing in his mouth was joined by two others, sliding wetly across his face and forcing their way past his lips to stretch his jaw wide. They thrust in his mouth, the motion almost a parody of sex, perverse, excessive, demonic.

He is called the Godslayer? Astaroth purred, its presence closing more tightly around Nicolai's body. Yes, my little priest, we shall have him -- he is reason enough for me to contract with thee. Astaroth's emotions, its desires, filled Nicolai's heart alongside his own, so that his fear mingled with the demon's enjoyment of it, so that his shame was tinged with the demon's lust. He couldn't remember having stripped -- if he looked down, he could still see the sleeves of his jacket, could see that he was still clothed -- but it felt as though Astaroth touched his bare skin.

He moaned in protest at the first hot, wet touch between his legs, and felt Astaroth's answering laughter dance along his spine. Wouldst thou refuse me hospitality, mortal? Thy very summoning promised me this chance to have thee. It wrapped a tentacle around him, found him hard with its desire as it penetrated him abruptly.

Nicolai cried out as Astaroth filled him, struggling, trembling, feeling the delight of conquest almost as strongly as the horror of violation. The tentacle squirmed inside him, too deep and too intimate, pulsing in time with the ones that took his mouth.

All that thou desirest, the demon intoned, its words resounding in Nicolai's flesh, I will give to thee, if thou wilt but surrender thyself. It filled his mind with a tangle of fantasies, crimson power at his fingertips, the Godslayer choking on him, the foundations of Apoina Tower crumbling with his might, Asmodeus kneeling in craven obedience, Yuri's body sliding against his, the very firmament of heaven shaking with his challenge.

He tried to shake his head -- no, it was too much, he had no need for that -- but Astaroth only laughed, and slid another tentacle down his spine to press in beside the first and stretch him open further. Nicolai moaned helplessly as the demon's pleasure made him ache even while he feared the damage it might do. It thrust more vigorously in his mouth and he choked, unable to pull free.

The power will be thine to use, Astaroth promised smoothly, stroking and caressing and violating him. I only show thee what thou might achieve. Victory in the war, the crown of any empire he might choose, the chance to see Yuri taken as he was now, the chance to have the Godslayer -- or one of his demons -- replace Astaroth here and be the one to overwhelm all of Nicolai's senses.

The touch sliding up his thigh made him shudder, made him go limp in horrified surrender when it reached its brethren and began to press inside. It hurt, too much to take, splitting him open, but he could feel himself almost impossibly hard with Astaroth's pleasure at the slide and thrust of tentacles inside him. The demon, he realized, was about to bring him to climax like this, spread and surrendering and possessed.

Yes, Astaroth hissed, yes. I accept thy bargain, priest, and I mark thee mine. It touched the base of his spine for an instant, the barest kiss against his skin, and the touch burned so excruciatingly that he cried out aloud -- and all at once the demon's presence was gone and Nicolai was shuddering, sobbing through a brutal climax, his body clenching around nothing at all.

When he caught his breath enough to pick himself up off the floor, it was almost as though he had imagined the whole ordeal. The candles still burned in the corners of the room, he was still clothed, and his pentagram was not even smudged. But there was the wetness in his trousers, cooling and unpleasant, and hot pain at the small of his back.

He reached to touch the spot, felt the roughness of damaged skin. "What...?"

Thou wearest my crest, priest, Astaroth's voice purred contentedly, echoing from somewhere inside his head. The kiss of a devil leaves its mark.

Nicolai shuddered. "Then you are mine to command?"

He thought he heard laughter. Of course.

Nicolai took a deep breath, and nodded. He'd made his bargain. It would have to be enough.