Fel from grace
"I can't afford it." She felt a thrill course through body at the words. Was it the lie, perhaps? The shame of poverty, even if feigned? Or the fact that she was willing to go through with it, despite her apparent lack of funds? She was wringing her hands together as if by the sheer act of rubbing hard enough she could coax whatever was wrong with her away.
The green-lit eyes in the door hatch watched her, two floating orbs pausing mid-speech. "Can't afford it?"
"Yes." One lie fed another- made her almost bold. She tried to sound hopelessly despairing, but it came out with a tinge of anticipation, bravado even. As if she was proud of the fact. "Can't afford it."
Another piece of parchment slid out, this one just as full of tiny-lettered writing as the others. In fact, miniscule fine print made up most of it, leaving a preciously small blank space. "Sign here. Read the fine print. We take no resp-"
"Yes, yes- I know,
I know
!" She pressed her thumb against this parchment, leaving a blotchy red mark.
"Right- no Zakruh's seal of the womb, then. You brought your own gear?"
"I brought my own gear...!" She chirped, becoming nervous all-asudden. She'd done it- there was no turning back now. "Always do!" Of course there was turning back. She could always turn back. Turning back was, in fact, what she should be doing. Things to do today: Turn back.
"Then... I bid thee; welcome, you fucked up slut!"
She didn't turn back.
She could hear the chants on the other side of the wall, muffled and muted. A shiver of anticipation made her lick her lips, beads of sweat wiped quickly away from her brow. This moment was always the best, the worst- apart from the sex itself, of course. The waiting before the summons, not sure exactly when or how many would appear. Distantly, she could recall fighting whole gaggles of them, shoulder to shoulder with her brothers and sisters in arms. She'd thought of them as little more than vermin, petty and terrible, vindictive evils preying on the weak and the helpless. The world made better for each imp sent back shrieking to the nether.
That hadn't changed, of course. They were still little more than callous, cruel cowards who could only manage to muster up the courage to face a foe if they could stab them in the back and even that, preferably done from a safe distance. Dastardly little devils, scum-sucking rat-rivalling gutter-crawling pests, thin-limbed bug-eyed bastards, slimy-sadistic fat-cocked... fat... cocked...
Was she drooling? She was
drooling.
Imps were pathetic. That was the point. That was what made it hot. Oh, she was really working herself up now- were they coming? Was the warlock almost ready? Some of the words she recognized, though she knew not their meaning. She readied herself, striking a heroic pose, shield in front and sword drawn back like a spring ready to unwind, the brave hero prepared to lunge into the nearest unfortunate demon bold enough to materialize.
It would've made a more striking figure, of course, if it wasn't for the fact that all equipment looked like knockoff vendor trash sold at half price. She'd brought actual Hallow's End joke gear, meant for costumes and fun-making.
Her sword was wooden and chipped, painted over poorly with grey to resemble metal. The shield was not the veritable castle wall of impregnable steel she'd used in real combat- but would work very well as a lid for a pot. Her helmet was only kept in place by virtue of a chinstrap, and the breastplate wasn't doing much better- placing a lot more emphasis on the "breast" part of the name rather than the "plate". As it were, it served more to cram her fat tits together, creating canyon-like cleavage deep enough to fit an arm in and more. The chainmail thong cut in between her jiggly ass cheeks, doing a poor job of hiding her virtues and did very little indeed to offer any protection, making a mockery of chastity belts everywhere. The pièce de résistance were the thigh-high fishnet stockings that with certainty didn't belong to any holy order's dress code, but that she's decided to tug on regardless, feeling much too naked without them.
The outfit had been carefully assembled, and when not in use, was strategically scattered around her home so that no one would draw a line between the dots to find out what she did in her free time. Dressing up like a paladin rather than a priestess gave her just that little bit of distance between her 'true' self and the self she projected outwards- as if somehow showing up in her priestly robes would've made this debauched degeneracy suddenly too
much.
... there!
Her heart skipped a beat-
there!
The occult symbols on the floor were flaring up, one by one, the mumble-chant growing in volume as tendrils of fel magic ran through the symbols, powering them up, one by one.
She tried to look stern and imposing, holding her shield aloft just as if her tits weren't hanging heavy well past it- as if her round arse wasn't on bare display.
Using her potlid, she shielded her eyes from the increasing incandescence, a sound like a roaring fire in reverse filling the room. She stood steady, unflinching, but breathing ragged gasps, anticipation rising to a peak as an infernal snickering