~~Author's Note~~
Welcome. "A Taste of Hell" is a mini series of small novelettes, each told from a unique point of view of side characters in my upcoming main series "The Pleasures of Hell", a fantasy adventure set in Hell. While the main series will have two PoVs, both human (brother and sister) and not featured in this series, these prologue/bonus chapters will give curious readers a taste of this setting from the view of the various angels and demons that populate it, and a taste of the erotic elements.
These chapters are entirely optional. No need to read them if you'd prefer to go into the main series blind.
Erotically, "A Taste of Hell" and "The Pleasures of Hell", will focus largely on monstergirls and monsterboys, usually paired with someone not monster-y. Expect lots of kinks to be explored, with exaggerated proportions, size difference, deep/large penetration, harems and/or reverse harems, and plenty of others. There'll be fantasies for dominant and submissive readers alike. Erotic scenes that are particularly long and descriptive will be bracketed with ♥♥♥ /♥♥♥.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~Three years before the Arrival~~
~~Jeskura~~
Her stomach was going to get her killed.
She stepped closer to the hole, talons scratching over the stones of the mountain, and she took a deep breath as leaned over the pit to take a peek. Of all the mountains in Gorzen she'd explored in her life, she'd never come to this one. Scary stories. Humans dying in the mountains was perfectly normal, but demons? She shivered and rubbed one of her wings with the back of her claws.
She looked up and sighed. The brimstone clouds were settling, and the burning vortex grew darker ever second. Night was coming. Go back home? Home, in her delightful little hole in a mountainside, she could sleep for the night and go on a hunt tomorrow. She'd be safe, no one would find her while she slept, and she'd be rested and less likely to break her fucking neck on Thorn Mountain. God damn, maybe her tree might have even grown some fruit?
Probably not. If she went back to her hideout, she'd be sleeping through the night hungry, get shit sleep at that, and wake up even more tired. No, she had to complete this hunt now, instead of betting on her tree being unusually charitable.
"Well Thorn Mountain, if you don't mind, please don't kill me? K? K." With a quiet gulp, she perched on the edge of the large hole, practically a portal into a second Hell from the looks of it, and sank her talons into the stone of the mountains for grip.
She stared down at the hole, and at the bloodgrip vines and the blood on its thorns. Stupid humans just never learned. It was called bloodgrip for a reason. Well, whoever it was she was hunting, they were dumb, and following the smell would be easy with the idiot leaving behind a literal blood trail. If the fucker got himself killed before she could get his resonance, she was going to cry, cry like a fresh hatchling.
She breathed deep the scent of his resonance, and licked her lips and fangs as her stomach growled at her. Yeah yeah. She reached up and ran her claws along her horns a few times, then down her head's tendrils as she hooked her wings over her shoulders and around her neck like a cloak. Having her wings spread in the hole would just get her hurt, torn up on bloodgrip. Not good.
She sank her claws into the vine, careful of the angry thorns jutting from its dry, brown skin, and she climbed down. And down. And down. Yeap, this hole was where she was going to die, deep in Thorn Mountain where people knew to not go, cause fuck Thorn Mountain.
A thorn scraped against her wing, and she froze. A few amber veins lined the large hole, tiny and mostly buried in thorny vine, providing just enough light for her to see a vine cut across the center of the hole and nudge her wing. Fucking. Wonderful. She tightened her wings to her back as best she could, and kept going down, cause while that thorn might have drawn a bit of her blood, she could smell a lot more blood from the fucking human that didn't have the God damn decency to just let her eat him.
So, like any demon, she followed her stomach.
A tug on her horns almost got her panicking, but she forced herself to take a deep breath, and pull her head down. The vine scraped along the horn, thorns digging into it fruitlessly, and she sighed relief as she got past the vine. With her long, thick tail hanging beneath her, she felt around in the darkness for anymore fucking bloodgrip, going slower. She was stupid enough to follow her stomach into a big pit, but not stupid enough to let it kill her. Hopefully.
Her tail found ground, and she hopped off the wall. She landed silently, wings catching the air as she unhooked her wing claws from around her neck. Ok, landed, still alive, and only bleeding a little. Could have been a lot worse. And no way her prey was coming out that hole, meaning she was free to continue the hunt.
And damn, it was dark. Most caves had more amber, veins that caught the magma streams and let some light in. Not Thorn Mountain, no, because it was, as the humans put it, a shit hole. She groaned under her breath, and stepped over to the nearest visible wall. She placed her claws against it, and grinned. Blood, human blood, trails of it lined the amber veins. Her prey had come to the obvious conclusion that their only chance of not dying a horrible, thorny death, was to follow the light, what little the amber veins here provided.
They had to know this chase was doomed. The fuck was a stupid wanderer going to do in Thorn Mountain, other than die horribly, bleeding and spilling their guts as if they'd tried to climb through a patch of... of... what'd humans call it? Barbed wire? She'd check the scrying pool later to find out the name.
She leaned forward and prowled ahead, body low, tail out behind her to keep her balance as she stalked on her talons. Slow steps, quiet steps, so not even the stones of the cave announced her presence. There was enough room she could unhook her wings from her shoulders and keep them out a little, ready to spread to their full length and help her run someone down if she had to. But the amber veins were tiny, and didn't catch much of magma, leaving the cave too damn dark for running or flying.
So, prowling it was. Zel told her once she needed to slow the fuck down and learn patience. Now was a perfect opportunity, cause if she didn't, she'd get herself killed.
Drops of blood, barely lit by the amber, took her deep into the mountain, and deeper, and deeper, until the air grew thick and stale. The wanderer she was chasing didn't know this mountain used to have demons living it, from the Spires War. That meant traps and other nasties.
Fuck, she was going to be so damn pissed if her prey died before she could find him.
The tunnel opened up into a large cavern, and she stopped in the entrance as she looked the huge room up and down. Holy shit. This must have been one of Valzanal's torture rooms. Demons from the Third Age were fucking assholes that tortured wanderers they captured for the fucking fun of it. Some holdover idiocy from the old legion, probably. There were still a lot of demons like that, but not to this point, with actual torture devices. Christ, one of the nearby devices looked like one of those chairs humans on the surface sat in so someone could shove something up their ass. And in Thorn Mountain, that something would probably make the surface's pineapples look gentle.
Jeskura shivered as she stepped up to one of the torture racks up against the cave wall. Made of black metal, the damn thing was obviously meant to cut up skin without immediately killing the human. Jesus fucking Christ, the fuck was the point in that? Just eat and be done with it.
She moved along. It wasn't long before she found some bones, and she sniffed them as she passed them. More wanderers, long dead. She touched one, and the bone crumbled, femur turning into dust. Holy shit, how long had--
Something groaned, and she jumped back, every muscle tightening and her claws digging into the stone beneath her as she prepared to fight. But nothing came at her, no lunging, frothing wanderer with an axe or anything. Frowning, she stood up again in her prowling stance and moved forward, squinting to see in what little light the weak amber provided.
Movement, along the walls. More groans in the darkness, and shifting silhouettes that cut across what light she had down here in the black. She took a deep breath, and stalked forward more slowly, turning each step into a touch test. And as she sank deeper into Thorn Mountain, she grit her teeth as her eyes adjusted to the increasing dark.
Remnants reached out from the walls, emaciated skin highlighting their frail bodies, eyes wide with both pain, and emptiness. Hairless bodies scarred with burns swiped at her, long, cracked fingernails, and lower bodies merged into the walls. Some had their stomachs open and guts hanging out, and the stupid bastards were too dumb to even try pushing them back in. They moaned, groaned, and slowly waved their arms at her as they reached out for her, tears on their cheeks, probably thinking she could free them, if they could think at all.
She pulled her wings in snug around her like a cloak again, and stood up straight as she stepped past them. Fucking remnants. She bit down her snarl; wouldn't be good to make noise her prey might hear. But, as she continued stalking forward, she couldn't help but look to the remnants around her. 34. 45. 322. 121. 99. Dozens more. The numbers carved in their foreheads caught just enough light from nearby amber that she could read them, despite the squirming and pained, slow wriggling.
The fuck had Val done to have so many remnants in one hallway? Sweet Jesus, the power she must have wielded for remnants to emerge here. Diogo's home had remnants, sure, and there were always remnants at the Spire, thousands and thousands of them. But down here deep in a mountain with nothing but bloodgrip and stone, there was no reason for remnants to grow, especially now that Val was dead.
The fuck did Val do down here?
One of the remnants managed to get a hold of her tail, and she growled as she turned to face the fucking thing. A slash of her claws, straight down through the thing's -- some old man -- face, and he collapsed, body going limp. Like the others, he stuck out from the wall at the waist with no lower body, and he dangled down against the remnants below him. They didn't respond, groaning more and still reaching out for Jes. The one she cut, the number on his forehead changed from 121 to 120, before the remnant began to collapse.
Collapse, like, come apart at the joints collapse. Off came the head, the limbs, the guts, they all spilled down over the remnants below him in a waterfall of blood and gore. She frowned down at the sensation of the blood against the balls of her talons, and continued on. Just a remnant, useless, no nourishment there.
