Chapter One: First Seed
Content:
Male on Female, Straight, Demons, Incubus, Demon on Human, Gentle dom, Gentle domination, Maledom, Worship, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, Blowjob (brief)
Elve snuck through the undergrowth of the deep woods, steps carefully measured and eyes darting. The Huntress' bow rested on her thigh, arrow aligned to be nocked- not that it would do much good.
The bronze tip glinted almost mockingly, and Elve paused for the third time that morning to silently cuss out the Cektarians.
When the colony had been surrendered to the theocratic Cektarian empire, they'd been promised that they would keep their freedoms and traditions- why, by grace, had they been so keen to believe them?
Now steel was a rarity, every ingot sent to the armouries of distant armies, and what little remained would not be allowed in the hands of some 'impure' huntress.
Her silent profanity was interrupted by a breath of movement in the briar, a rabbit slowly poking its way out to nibble at a dandelion stem. She was a huntress, not a noble lady or governess; she had no solutions to matters of politics and war. She would help her people in the way she could.
Within a second she had nocked and fired the defective arrow, sinking it into the fluffy flanks of her mark, and within another she was chasing the tiny beast as it sprinted into the undergrowth- the softer metal had turned an instant kill into a mortal, but slow wound. Diving over brambles and shielding herself through nettles, she almost slid in the mud as the rabbit ducked into its hidden warren, just gaining purchase on its hind leg before it disappeared completely.
She drew her skinning knife to finalise her hunt, when she suddenly felt a sudden shift in the earth, a mighty crack.
And then, she fell.
The landing was not pleasant, her skin radiant with pain across her back and behind that would surely swell and blister- but, had the soft earth not caved in with her, it would've been much worse. She took the opportunity to finish the rabbit, before peering through the gloom as her eyes adjusted.
With the trickle of light from the collapsed ceiling, it took but a moment to realise that this was no natural cave. The floor was flagstone, the high-vaulted ceiling was supported by grand pillars, and the walls were carved with human figures. The reliefs were elaborate, a mark of incredible craftsmanship, but in the dark that was all that Elve could really make out of them.
Incredibly fascinating, but archaeology was not her primary concern at that moment. Finding a way out before she died of dehydration was.
Slinging the coney into her sack, she slowly stood up despite her body's protests and took a look back the way she came. As she suspected, the drop was too severe for her to attempt to simply climb out. She took a step from her dirt landing and began her wander down the hall.
The air was old and stale, but also oddly humid, and her throat did not agree with it, spluttering and coughing; to her delight, the coughs did not echo- the structure couldn't have been too large, then.
She came to the end of the hall to find an intersecting corridor, forming a T-shaped junction, and licked a finger to test for wind- there was none. Remembering an old adage, she turned left and proceeded through the narrower corridor, allowing her fingers to trail the reliefs; figures in bulky and pointed armour, spears, a catapult or mangonel; a depiction of some kind of battlefield. A whisper of academic curiosity crossed Elve's mind; the colony was only around a hundred years old, and didn't have any major conflicts in that time- so who built this strange place?
The question was silenced when she came to the end of the corridor; in the small room beyond there was a door! A huge, stone thing, luckily for Elve's now very limited vision, and while it seemed to be sealed tight Elve trusted in her strength to move it. She dashed to it, as fast as her body would allow, and began to feel for a handhold.
Running her hands over the surface, they came to find purchase on the rough texture of rusted metal chains that she found to wreathe the door.
"Damn," she whispered, and began to trace them with her hands- hoping to find a simple catch or fastening. The texture of the rust was rutted and gnarled, leaving only the whisper of engravings on them; even if Elve had the light to see, and even if she had understood the ancient tongue in which they'd been written, time had worn them to meaninglessness.
She finally discovered the lock a few inches over her head, a padlock- much to her frustration. With an exhausted sigh, she took her skinning knife and began the slow process of cutting the shackle. Mostly rust, she made excellent timing- the metal was not hardened, it scored easily and within five minutes the lock fell with a heavy thud and a pulse of heat- unbeknownst to Elve, the last flare of a long-faded warding. She took a deep breath, grasped the door on either side, and pushed.
"What the fuck?"
Beyond the doorway was no entrance, nor even another tunnel, instead a shimmering reflective surface, as if she were peering into a silver-hued lake. Despite the darkness, her reflection in it was well-lit as if standing under the open sky. The doors had slid through the surface cleanly, but her hands rested against it solidly, sturdy as a brick wall.
Part of her was terrified. This thing she had uncovered was clearly arcane and ancient, drawing old stories of spirits abducting young ladies to dance in her mind.
However, that part was positively silent compared to the intense fascination that blossomed within her as she gazed upon her reflection. She moved this way and that, looking for some mystical property to distinguish the object from a mundane mirror, until she was suddenly grounded when she caught a glimpse of angry red at the base of her neck.
Turning around, she looked over her shoulder as she tussled her short hair out of the way, revealing the splotchy red harbinger of a new bruise- the very top of the wounds she had taken in her fall. It wasn't too bad, but it was sore and uncomfortably warm to the touch.
She would never quite understand why she did it. Perhaps it was a mix of a tired mind and an instinctive need to ensure her health, overcoming her more rational senses. Perhaps it was something... More. It didn't matter- she would never regret it.
She took hold of the hem of her dress and pulled it over her head, unveiling the almost tree-shaped blister running an inch to the left of her spine. She ran a finger along it, wincing at the tender flesh, but pleased to find no blood. As her eyes trailed the mark, they also took in her rosy skin, long and finely-toned legs, strong glutes and athletic frame. The Cektarians would label her as whorish, vain and prideful, but Elve loved her body, adored how it reflected her years of hunting and hard work. She smirked gently as a hand came to rest on her hip, feeling out the layers of muscle, muscle the Cektarians would have groomed out of her to be replaced by repressive 'purity', self-deprecating 'humility' and obedient 'etiquette'. Grace and respect only given to those who serve them, who fit their beliefs and interests.
The reflection rippled, stretched and distorted, stopping Elve's thoughts cold. Her reflection now stood at the top of the main road, the same path she took each day to hunt. Arrayed behind her lay her town, the town of Moonwatch, the small but homely houses, the windmill grinding away, the bakery huffing and puffing smoke and dusting the aroma of fresh bread into the evening air. There was also the Cektarian temple, a brutalist block decorated with a spiking steeple, looming over like a predator. The guard towers, once a shield against the wilds, now the coordinating pillars for Cektarian 'guards' more intent on protecting their empire than the inhabitants. She gazed at the tableaux, confused, shocked, and marvelled. This thing, whatever it was, had read her mind.
She took a step back. Then another. Despite her wishes, she couldn't tear her eyes from the arcane mirror, but instead found herself obsessing over every detail, every tiny figure in the background. She could recognise each of them, even if only vaguely.
