Damien

Hello all! This story can be read on its own, or as a prequel to my "Out of the Night" series. Thank you all for the fantastic feedback! Please keep it coming!

*Warning - this story is heavy on the noncon and light on the warm and fuzzies (if there are any). This is a dark one folks.*

...

50 miles outside of Pliska, Bulgaria - 880 AD

"Why are you here, kopele?"

Rarely did people call him by his name. Instead he was defined by his bastard lineage. It was one of the main reasons Damien now knelt in front of the three mages so far from his home.

"I seek asylum with the Volkhv Order, and I wish to study here to become a mage." Damien tried to keep his voice from shaking even as he was nearly collapsing from exhaustion.

One of the men sneered. "And what makes you think you can study our ways? One must be born with magic in their blood. The gods must choose you. You can't just show up on our doorstep and expect us to take care of you. Go home little prince."

"Wait! Please! Let me prove myself," Damien pleaded. "They plan to send me to a monastery, and when the Christians see what I am they will kill me! Please, I can't go back!"

The men stepped away and talked amongst themselves.

"If he's really magic born he could be a valuable ally."

"Or we would be equipping him to turn against us when the Christians move further north."

"They would kill him before trying to use magic for themselves."

"And even illegitimate, his father is Boris. The boy could claim rights to power. We would be wise to gain his loyalty."

The men turned back to Damien who was struggling to stand on wobbly legs.

"What makes you think you've magic? We can't take you in unless it lives in you."

"I do! It does! I can prove it!"

The teenager held out his hand, concentrating. Pressing two fingers together a small flame ignited, hoving in place for a few seconds before sizzling out. Damien had been practicing the small spell since he had accidentally burned down a barn over a year ago. The moment of fiery rage had shocked him and ever since then he had felt like something had unlocked inside of him. The magic in his blood was a constant companion, buzzing just beneath the surface.

Without the heightened emotions, it was harder to summon the flame, but he had learned how to guide the power. Now, exhausted from his journey and feeling desperate, the flame was less than impressive. But, it was proof enough.

The mages nodded to each other and welcomed him in.

...

Syria - 896 AD

Damien had spent half his life dedicated to the study of magic. His father, brothers, and all their politics were far from his mind. At least they had been.

A messenger had arrived with news of the ongoing war for power in Bulgaria. His brothers, Vlademir and Simeon had been at odds for as long as Damien had known them, and now it had gotten Vlademir killed.

"Simeon 'The Great,' they're calling him. It's laughable." Damien looked at his friend, Jasser, who was reading the report, pacing and giving an animated review. "He killed his own brother for preserving their culture! For not wanting to bury the past and kill off an ancient way of life? It's bullshit and thousands are going to suffer for it. WE will suffer for it!"

"Peace, my friend," Damien soothed, taking the report from his hands and replacing it with a drink. "Their little war has nothing to do with us."

"But it does! Those idiots are going to start hunting us down and anyone like us." Jasser took an angry swig from his cup. It was sloshing with his exaggerated hand motions and Damien took a step back to avoid the errant drops. "We should do something. YOU could do something."

Damien sighed and sat back down. "You know I can't."

"This wouldn't be like last time! We are stronger now, and we have the Order standing behind us. We should be working to protect our own."

"The Order wouldn't support a move that would risk lives. Our numbers are so few already, and dwindling. They work in the background, in politics. If Vlademir is dead, then their move for power has failed."

Damien knew that Jasser was thinking of the more violent options. He had been pushing to join the war since an attempt had been made on Damien's life a few years ago. While Damien had made a point to stay away from anything to do with his family, it was well known that the bastard son had aligned himself with the same pagans as Valdemir. Damien's own motivations for joining the mages when he was still a child seemed to be overlooked for the most part.

Since then, multiple assassins had been sent to kill Simeon's perceived threat to power, the bastard brother who was now a respected mage. While none had gotten close to achieving their goal, Damien had decided it would be best to leave his homeland until some of the dust settled.

Jasser had joined Damien when he decided to take the time to search Syria for his mother. The only information he had were rumors that Damien's father, Boris, had sent his mother back to her home and kept their child to raise as his own. Damien suspected his father's motivations to be anything but honorable, and for all he knew his mother was probably dead.

So far, no one had followed him here except Jasser, but he kept a close eye on the Bulgarian czars.

Damien finally coaxed Jasser to join him on the floor cushions. "The royals are not our problem. Let them kill each other off so we can live in peace."

Jasser didn't agree and snorted his dissent, but he let it go, instead finishing off his drink and getting another.

Not long later, the three women Damien had called for entered the room, entertaining the men with dance. Hips swayed, hands traced curves. Flowing, erotic movement swept through their bodies as Damien and Jasser watched. They touched each other as they danced, loosening the ties of their clothes until they slid off their moving forms. The dancing progressed with fewer and fewer clothes until the women were bare and the men were not far behind.

Damien watched as his friend received the attention of two women who pressed against him from either side. One reached through Jasser's pants, stroking the hard tool that was pressing against the fabric. His thin cock was pulled free, pointing straight up toward one woman's lips.

The third woman knelt behind Damien, massaging his bare shoulders. Together, they watched Jasser's cock disappear down the throat of a dancer. The second kissed his lips, stroking his balls.

The third reached around Damien's back and stroked his own cock through his pants as he watched his friend close his eyes, slowly falling back, lost in ecstasy. 'Good,' Damien thought, 'let him focus on his cock instead of war.'

Pressure grew in his groin and Damien decided he had had enough of a show, spinning on the woman and pinning her to the cushioned floor. She gasped in surprise, recovered quickly, wrapping her legs around his waist and grinding into his hardness. Pulling his pants to the side, he pressed his cock to the naked woman, splitting through her moist folds.

The velvety walls gripped him as he moved. Damien moaned, the sensation devine. There were many things that could serve as a good distraction from his mess of a life, but Damien preferred sex over all others.

The combined moans of his friend and three willing women filled his ears, and Damien approached his climax quickly. The smell of sex filled the room.

He shifted to his knees, pulling out, and the woman under him turned toward him, taking his rock hard member into her mouth. She expertly pressed her tongue and sucked. Damien threw back his head, putting his hands in her hair and forcing himself deeper. The satisfying pop of entering her throat sent him over the edge and he came down her throat. He held her in place until he pulsed a final time. When she was released she gasped for air before cleaning his deflating cock with her lips and tongue.

Damien laid back, drifting in his post orgasmic bliss. He heard Jasser follow shortly after and saw his friend pull the two women close, lazily playing with nipples and whispering little nothings.

...

Damien stirred together a concoction of herbs from his bags, passing half to Jasser. "Drink it and thank me later." Jasser gulped the small cup, grimacing at the taste. It was nasty stuff, but it would stave off disease. The women had looked clean to him, but one could never be too safe.

The night had passed uneventfully after the women had left, but given his eldest brother's death, Damien decided it would be best to be on the road before noon. Bags were packed and Damien and Jasser left their suite, entering the small attached dining area that was still serving a late breakfast. They sat together in the far corner, sipping coffee and picking food off the assortment of small plates they had been served.

They ate together, talking and laughing about old times growing up together. The mages who had raised them were far from nurturing. Their remaining childhoods had ended quickly when they joined the Order and their training was harsh and unforgiving. It had been both mentally and physically challenging and Damien and Jasser had bonded in the shared experience.

Very few children were trained in the arts of magic now. Whether that was because fewer children were being born with the gift or because more families were hiding it from the wave of antimagic sentiments, it was hard to say. Either way, Damien and Jasser were only a couple years apart, Damien being the older of the two, and together their number of years didn't come close to the age of the next youngest mage.

One of the dancers from the night before approached the men, shyly bowing her veiled head. Her demeanor was in stark contrast to her performance just a few hours ago and it made Damien smirk in amusement when he recognised her.

She brought with her two drinks and offered them to the men who eagerly took them.

"My master wished to express his appreciation for your generosity last night. You are both welcome to his house and ladies any time."

Damien had tipped the women generously, as he always did when he had the means. He nodded to the woman, toasting the drink with Jasser.

"Let your master know that we were well pleased and that if we are in the area again his will be the first door we knock on. B'sahtak!"

"To your health!" Jasser repeated and they both drank the small cup in one swing.

As soon as it hit his stomach, Damien knew something was wrong. The aftertaste was too sweet and it's effects were immediate.

The girl had disappeared, replaced by a thin hooded figure. Damien tried to conjure a spell that would burn the poison from his system but it had already done its work. He reached for Jasser who had already collapsed beside him and his vision faded to black.

...

The smell of iron woke Damien from his drug induced sleep.

Damien had only encountered the metal a few times in his past, since the mages prohibited its use within their own walls. The first time he was exposed to it was during his training as a mage when he had been chained to a tree in the middle of winter and left to fend for himself. The lesson was one easily learned. Iron repelled magic. It was the mage's worst weakness.

Iron now bound Damien to a damp stone floor. Chains and cuffs gave him limited mobility inside a small barred cell. A stinging burn in the center of his chest made him wince. He raised a hand to his chest, quickly pulling his fingers away with a hiss. Of the many runes that inked his body, a deep branding had destroyed the most important one.

The magical symbol that centered body and mind was among the first he had received as an apprentice. It aligned a mage with their innate power and without it, magic was unpredictable and temperamental, making it nearly impossible to control. And now that control had been burned away.

Taking in his surroundings while trying to shake grogginess, he saw that he was in one of six small cells that lined the walls of a large space that looked like a workshop. Two cells sat about five feet away on either side of the same wall and the other three mirrored his on the opposite wall.

Damien heard something to his right and saw that his neighboring cell contained a large, emaciated creature. It was covered in patchy fur and large pointed ears stuck out of its head at odd angles. It was breathing shallowly, rasping with every intake of breath.

The other cells sat empty, except for the one across the room from Damien. Jasser was also waking up, bound in iron, and locked eyes with Damien.

"Where are we?" Jasser asked in a hushed croak. He hissed in pain when he found he had also been burned and he pulled on his chains, testing their strength. The rattling seemed to rouse the creature beside Damien and it let out a snarling moan. Moving with surprising strength and speed it threw itself at the bars of its cell. Paws with razor sharp claws swiped through the bars in Jasser's direction.

"What the fuck is that?!"

"Don't know," Damien responded, watching the creature calm back down and curl into the fetal position in the corner, continuing its labored breathing.

"It's a work in progress."

Damien and Jasser both wiped their heads around to find the source of the hissing voice.

The thin, hooded figure had appeared in the center of the room. It was the same figure Damien had seen before losing consciousness.

"Who are you?!" Jasser shouted, shaking his chains. "Why are you holding us here?"

Boney hands lifted to the large hood concealing the figure and pushed it back. Damien ground his teeth when he realized he knew exactly who this was, and it wasn't good.

The man would have looked to be in his forties if not for the skin that was tightly pulled against his face giving him a skeletal appearance. He was bald and inky dark runes contrasted harshly against his pale skin, covering his head and neck, and running in lines below each eye. His eyes were a tell tale sign of his identity, stark white with only a deep red outline around the pupil. This was a dark mage.

"Dagr," Damien said, making an educated guess. There were two powerful dark mages that the Order was aware of. One was suspected to be dead, while the other had been boldly establishing himself as a force to be reckoned with. Dagr had been banished from the order for consorting with dark forces a few years before Damien had joined.

"Hello prince," Dagr hissed in Damien's direction. Damien had worked hard to distance himself from his family, quickly tiring of the snarky comments and assumptions that came with his lineage. The fact that Dagr knew who he was was telling.

"Did my father send you?" He asked.

"As far as I know, your father was not involved."

"Simeon then? What did he hope to gain from my imprisonment?"

"What he hopes to gain from your death, actually. Lots of people want you dead, and I just happen to be the one to catch you first."

"I can pay you double what they paid you-"

"Enough!" Dagr shouted, tiring of the questions and not interested in bargaining. "The only reason you are not dead yet is because I have found a better purpose for you. Magicborn are harder to find nowadays and if you must die, at least it should be for something useful."

Jasser rattled his chains as he got as close to his bars as he could get. "So you are going to kill us then?"

"Not intentionally. Ideally you would survive but the chances are low. No one has yet to survive long. That girl," Dagr pointed to the creature to Damien's right, "has lasted the longest but I doubt she'll be breathing much longer. Weak..."

"What- what is she?" Damien asked. He watched as she struggled to breath, curled up on the floor of her cell.

Dagr had moved to shuffle through shelves of tools, books, and ingredients, his attention diverting from the two men now chained in his workshop. He started murmuring to himself, in a way of someone used to solitude. Finding what he was looking for, he pulled a large book off a shelf, reading and then pulling ingredients, using a pestle and mortar to grind the elements into a fine powder.

As he worked he started talking to Damien and Jasser again. The men had been discreetly assessing their situation, looking for weaknesses and escape routes, finding none. They tried summoning their magic only to be suppressed by the iron restraining them.

"Have you heard of the lycanthrope?" Dagr asked rhetorically. Neither man answered, though they had heard the stories of the shapeshifting monsters plaguing the north. "An astonishing race that can transform into wolves, and turn humans into one of their own with a single bite. While any human can be made into a lycanthrope, Magicborn are more... resistant to the change. Most made-beasts lose their connection to their magic when they are created, but if I can find a way to maintain one's control of magic, the innate nature of these magical creatures would amplify one's own power. To be both made of magic and able to control it... That is the aim..."

Dagr watched as the dark mage took the powder he had made and approached the whimpering creature to Damien's right. When it noticed Dagr, the creature pressed into the bars as far away from the mage as it could get. It turned its head away, ears pressed flat against its head, shaking. Dagr bent down until his head was even with the creatures, lifted his hand, and blew the dust into the face of the cowering girl.

At first nothing happened, then she started to shake, bones cracked, the bald spots started to fill with fur, and she seemed to grow, becoming more like the lycanthropes Damien had heard about. Dagr smiled triumphantly.

Then the creature dropped like a stone, completely still. Dead.

"Fuck." Dagr murmured, then shouted, "Fuck!" He threw his fists against the bars, clanging into the silence that now filled the room. No more raspy breaths, just a large furry corpse. In death, the shapeshifter hybrid slowly transformed back into the young woman it used to be, albeit much thinner than before and without the loving family she had been torn from. She had died alone, suffering.

...

The body was removed and Damien and Jasser were not given long to wonder if they may soon share a similar fate. Dagr had reappeared less than a day later, dragging in an unconscious man wrapped in chains. The man was strapped to one of two parallel tables before Dagr stepped between the cages and addressed the two men imprisoned in them.

"Who will it be then? Who's first?"

Damien and Jasser exchanged a bewildered look.

"The flip of a coin then," Dagr said, pulling a silver piece from his pocket. "Heads for the prince, tails for the dog that follows him around."

Jasser sneered and Damien frowned.

"I'll do it," Damien said as evenly as he could, watching the coin that was poised to flip. "Jasser doesn't need to be a part of this. You wanted me, you have me. I'll even cooperate, just let Jasser go."

Dagr assessed Damien, balancing the coin on his thumb. "That's an interesting offer. You care that much for this man that you would do all I demanded?"

Damien couldn't meet Jasser's eyes as Dagr and Damien both ignored his shouts of objection.

"If you let him go, yes. I'll cooperate."

Nodding his head, Dagr palmed the coin and walked to Jasser's cage. His cell was unlocked and chains fell from his limbs and Jasser stepped out, free.

Even bound in iron, Damien could feel the magic right before it burst out of Jasser. "Don't-" Damien yelled, too late.

Bolts of lighting shot across the room, uncontrolled and wild. A couple of the bolts did find their target, but Dagr had been expecting retaliation and easily deflected the wild magic.

One errant bolt hit Damien's cell, and sizzled against the bars. The electricity put every hair on end, and Damien was briefly thankful that he was shielded inside the cell.