Phil was lying naked in bed and wondering how the hell he was going to get out of his current predicament when he heard the chanting. It caught his attention immediately because the voice was male and the chanting sounded a lot like the spells he used to hear at Wargsnouts College for Warlocks.
'How the hell' was quite appropriate considering Phil was currently trapped in Hell. Rosa and Verdé, a pair of succubi, had spirited him here after he and a friend had botched a summoning ritual.
On the surface most men would have wondered what he was so worried about. Phil was currently lying on a gigantic bed, beneath opulent silk hangings, in a room that looked more as though it belonged in an exclusive brothel than the netherworld. On top of that he was forced to have regular sex with incredibly hot babes. This was most men's idea of heaven. Why would anyone be so keen to escape that?
Phil knew the truth though. To Rosa and Verdé he was just a plaything. At some point they'd get bored of him and then they'd suck out his soul and life force with no more thought than raiding the fridge for a night time snack. They were succubi -- daemonic sexual vampires -- it's what they did.
There were far worse ways to die than expiring in one final, mind-shattering, erotic explosion, but Phil was only eighteen. A good death was still a death nonetheless and Phil would rather that end was put off by... ooh... say ninety years or so. So this was why, when he heard the chanting, his ears immediately pricked up.
Phil got off the bed and rushed to the window. The sounds were faint, but they were definitely coming from somewhere inside the castle.
Another warlock, or rather a real warlock -- Phil was only a student and a fairly mediocre one at that -- was somewhere else in the castle. Hope flared in Phil. If the warlock knew how to get here then he must know how to get back to Earth. This was his chance to escape!
He leaned out of the window and tried to pinpoint where the voice was coming from. He ignored the wargen snuffling around in the darkness below.
Yes, there it was. Below him and to the left.
Phil rushed to the door and stopped.
He hadn't actually wandered around the castle unaccompanied before. He thought of the wargen, Verdé's plants, the bathroom nymphs... What other dangers lay in wait for him?
If you stay here you're going to die anyway, he thought. It would be a sweet death but it would still be a death.
Phil pushed the door open and crept out into the corridor. He wished he had something to wear so he didn't feel so completely naked, even if it was only a dressing gown. He padded down the corridor past the other closed doors. Briefly he wondered what might be behind them before deciding he probably didn't want to know.
He couldn't hear the chanting anymore. The castle wasn't that large though. He should be able to rely on his sense of direction to take him to where the sounds were coming from.
Easier said than done in a realm where topology seemed more like general guidelines than a concrete set of rules.
Phil crept down the same staircase Rosa and Verdé had led him down on the way to the baths. At the bottom he turned right instead of left. Briefly he wondered where the kitchens were or if they even existed. Food was prepared for him and left outside his door, but he'd never seen any serving staff.
Somehow, he didn't imagine Rosa slaving away over a hot stove.
He made his way through the lower corridors. The décor in the castle had a strong sexual theme, but in this section there was also a strong sadomasochistic theme as well. The paintings on the walls depicted kinky sex scenes that got steadily worse as Phil walked down the corridor until he was no longer sure whether he was looking at sex or torture.
The change was also reflected in the fixtures. Soft organic curves in gold were replaced by spiky twists of black metal. Phil wasn't sure whether he wanted to go on. The corridor was completely silent, but his ears conjured up sounds of whips cracking, chains clanking and voices raised in screams. Whether it was his imagination or ghostly echoes of what had once been, he couldn't tell.
It wasn't quite complete silence, he realised.
Was that... yes it was.
He could hear the chanting again. It was coming from up ahead. Steeling himself, Phil followed the sounds until the corridor terminated in an ominous, black metal door. An arcane symbol of even darker metal was inlaid into the surface.
Not. Exactly. Promising.
It was where the chanting was coming from though. With some degree of trepidation He approached the door. The metal surface was warm to the touch, but not hot enough to be uncomfortable or dangerous. Phil put his ear against it to try and make out the sounds more clearly.
Giggling from behind him made him aware he was being watched. He turned and saw a girl standing at the corner of the corridor. Her hair was short, spiky and a vivid bright blue. She wore a little silk dress of the same colour.
"Um... hi?" Phil said.
The girl looked younger and more innocent than the other succubi, but she was still a succubus. An elaborate pair of horns, also blue, curled round behind her ears. Her eyes were deep red and glittered like precious rubies.
"Are you sure you want to go through there?" the girl asked, her eyes twinkling as she smiled.
Phil looked back at the jet-black door.
"Why? Is it not safe?" he asked.
The girl put a hand to her mouth and giggled. She turned and ran round the corner.
"Wait," Phil said. He ran up to the bend in the corridor, but there was no sign of the girl anywhere.
Who was she?
Yet another mystery, he thought.
He returned his attentions to the door. Carefully, he opened it a crack and slipped through.
The room on the other side was gigantic, far larger than Phil was expecting. He was standing in an enormous hall, like the nave of a large church or cathedral. He doubted any gods were worshipped here though. The floor was polished black obsidian and pillars of the same material marched alongside a wide, central aisle. Low red flames flickered in brackets of twisted black metal.
The door was a side entrance. The central aisle ran perpendicular to him from the main entrance: an impressive pair of double doors at the far end of the hall. The source of the chanting stood in the centre of the aisle, lit in a beam of red light emanating from a high point at the other end of the hall.
It was another warlock, Phil saw, his features hidden within long, tatty black robes. The warlock stood in the centre of a protective circle. Low purple flames flickered around the circumference.
This could be his freedom, Phil thought. He moved cautiously around a pillar, wondering how he should approach the other man.
What was the warlock doing here?
Phil looked down the hallway and saw...
Nÿte!
Phil quickly ducked back behind the pillar, his heart beating in his throat.
The warlock was here for Nÿte.
Phil peeked out from behind the pillar. He was lucky; he didn't think she'd seen him. Nÿte sat on a black metal throne surrounded by a pile of human skulls. She was absolutely terrifying -- the archetypal demon. Her black eyes absorbed all light, like a pair of black holes. Leathery black wings were folded behind her. She wore a baroque basque and thigh length black leather boots. She sat casually on the throne while projecting the authority of a monarch.
Despite her intimidating appearance, Phil couldn't deny she was also intensely alluring. She had a perfect hourglass figure that swelled out into a pair of sizeable breasts. Her face was flawless, its beauty matched only by its cruelty. And of course her black leather bondage outfit was more than a little kinky.
Phil hoped the other warlock knew what he was doing. The cruel smile on Nÿte's lips didn't exactly fill him with confidence. She regarded the chanting man with casual amusement, as if he was on the same level as a court jester or funny little animal. If cats had human faces Phil imagined this was the expression they'd wear while playing with their prey.
