Prologue
Hell - The Second Circle. Somewhen beyond Time.
The Primordial Wind howled. Blinding in intensity, hurricane in force, it vortexed within the Second Circle.
It had milled about since the second day ever, an unnoticed bastard child.
The ungrateful souls that came after it gave no thanks even as it soothed their sunburnt skin, uttered no praises as it stirred their carefree spirits, not a single by-your-leave as it filled their disgusting noses with the rich scent of a world teeming with life.
Nobody paid any attention to it whatsoever. Thousands of birthdays had come and gone and it never had any cake.
Well. How do they like me now?
It thought to itself.
Much like a giant blender dislodging a sticky bit of detritus from its walls, it picks up the occasional human soul clinging desperately to the Second Circle's ruined slopes and consumes them within its restless chaos.
To Vashut de Vau's amusement, one such soul was deposited rather violently upon other members of the damned, knocking them all wailing and twisting into the wind. For beings like her, the wind manifested as nothing more than a gentle summer breeze.
"Happy Birthday Wind," she said.
Thank you,
the Primordial Wind whispered back, playing with Vashut's pearlescent white ponytail that peeled away from a pair of small black horns. Vashut's hair fell past pointed ears to the middle of her back like a radiant waterfall.
You wouldn't happen to have any cake? With candles perhaps? That I could...blow out?
It asked hopefully.
"No I'm afraid not, I'm a little busy you see," Vashut lied on both counts.
Oh
?
"Master's got a new toy, I'm supposed to meet him here and break it in."
Sounds fun.
The Wind replied disinterestedly.
"You could play with me before he gets here," Vashut offered. She twisted her bare female form seductively. Exposing her perky breasts and smooth pussy to the Wind, her freshly oiled scarlet skin was completely hairless from the neck down.
No thank you, the pleasures of the flesh lack appeal when one is missing said flesh.
The Wind replied.
"Manifesting isn't that hard, especially here. You're just lazy," Vashut pouted.
Try tossing damned souls about for a few thousand years. See if you feel like manifesting after that,
the Wind replied defensively.
It's easier this way, no muscles to ache,
it flung a wailing soul with wanton ferocity to prove its point.
The pair of almost prehensile bat wings covered in soft, short, deep purple fur sprouting from Vashut's lower back twitched agitatedly. She had thought about what position her Master would like to find her in and tried them all. She had ranked and re-ranked her sexual partners on every metric she could think of while playing with herself.
All else had failed to entertain, she was reduced to watching the Wind do its job and trying to have a meaningful conversation with it.
Even the devil in her idle mind has handed in its resignation and left to find a workplace with better benefits.
"How about I join you in torturing some of Lucy's toys while I wait," she sighed with resignation.
Be my guest.
The Wind gestured invisibly at the sea of naked human souls plastered across the ground.
Vashut's bright yellow pupils roved the hellscape with her vertical slit irises, surveying the souls straining to hold onto the ground. She selected a balding man, bleeding fingers tense pitons dug into the hard rock.
She squatted down and wrapped warm caring fingers around the man's cold straining hands. He slowly looked up at her, eyes squinting in the blinding wind, mouth an incredulous gaping hole at the attractive young woman seemingly unaffected by the hurricane.
"Let go darling, I've got you," Vashut gave the man a reassuring smile and gripped his wrist firmly.
"Oh thank you, thank you, salvation at last!" His delirious clamour was accompanied by tears of joy leaking into the wind at this unexpected reprieve.
Vashut bore his weight with an easy grace, holding the man by one wrist while the rest of him fluttered diagonally upwards like a flag.
"Who are you?" Still squatting, she fixed him with a curious gaze, planting kisses on his stiff fingers and massaging them with her free hand.
"Pablo," the man was crying in relief, his once flaccid member now stiff and flapping in the wind with the rest of him.
An unapologetic upper class southern English voice cut in from behind Vashut, "Lets go, and put some clothes on," accompanied by an equally cold bespoke oxford prodding Vashut's bare derrière.
"Master!" She would have wrapped her pointed tail around his leg in joy if she still had it.
To Vashut, her Master Dov'had was tall and broad-shouldered. His facial features averaged the human male, he had quite literally checked every box in the "Race" category when manifesting his form. His features would change every time she looked at him, but in such a way that she'd SWEAR his new face was the one he had ALL ALONG. It offered both familiar comfort and alien terror, it drove her insane with excitement.
It was unclear what Pablo was seeing, but he was frantically trying to free himself from Vashut's grip, the wind helping pull him away from the pair with discreet glee.
