There is no country in the world where darkness does not exist. Even if the elves would have everyone believe them to be bastions of virtue and morality, there are a select few who know the truth. Within those nations there are dark dungeons where foul wizards practice their arcane arts. Where even Death itself can be bound.
Meliketus, usually just called Mel, found himself for reasons beyond his understanding in just such a place. Despite his good will, his attempts to do everything right to the best of his ability, he had found himself drawn into the underworld. Perhaps it was the fact that he was an orphan, in a culture where bloodline was everything. He liked to tell himself it was all a part of the gods plan. It was hard to think about that at the current moment though.
He stood in a damn, dark, cavern carved out of the very earth, shaking in his leather boots. Behind him was an iron door leading into a dark cell. And beyond that, well, he didn't want to know. All he knew that his master, and the chief torturer were in there, and he wasn't allowed. He knew what they were capable of, he'd seen the bodies of those who angered them, and he just didn't have the heart to willingly subject himself to that.
At points though, he doubted if anything they could do would be worse than being forced to listen to everything. From within that cell came grinding, snapping, and slashing. Sometimes a horrible smell would waft through the crack under the door, burning flesh, and Mel would force himself not to throw up on the spot. Finally, all those noises stopped and were replaced by simple words.
"Huh," the gruff voice belonged to Mel's master, "you prove yourself to be tougher than I imagined. Still," he chuckled, "everything breaks eventually. There are far more terrible tools me and my friend have access to. Tools that require time to properly prepare, you'll just have to imagine right now. We'll be back bright and early in the morning."
With a screech, the door began to slide open. Mel felt his legs go stiff for a second before he barely jumped out of the way. He saw two men exit from the cell, and one slim pale figure behind them. Mel quickly turned to look at the two who left, just as the door closed.
They both wore long robes, and had their faces covered by white porcelain masks. The taller of the two Mel knew was his master, and dressed in black. The only way he was able to know the other was a torturer was by the red robe, and silver amulet he wore. He wasn't allowed to know the identity of anyone else in the organization, but they all knew his. He didn't mind so much, but still, it was annoying to not know who he was talking to.
"I assume you heard all that, whelp?" Mel nodded. "Good. Just stand here until morning. Not like you could do much if that thing got free, but your screams would let us know it got out, and give us time to prepare." He laughed in that dark voice, and walked up with the torturer at his side.
Mel watched them go for a long time, before he sighed. He glanced both ways, checked for any vision runes to see if they were watching him, but couldn't find any. He glanced back at the door. Then he moved close to the door.
"H-hello," he whispered.
There was a pause, and then an eerily smooth, soft voice replied, "You're going to get in trouble if they know you tried to talk to me."
"I know." He paused, and then added, "Is there anything I can do to help you?"
There was a laugh, "not really. But I wouldn't mind some warmth."
"Okay."
Mel took a step back, and looked at the door. It was way too heavy for him to open with his strength, but luckily he didn't need to rely on that. He waved his fingers, muttered a spell, and slowly the door slid open. A brief creek from the hinges froze his heart, but after a second when he didn't hear anything else, he let out a deep sigh and made his way inside.
The walls were stained, and the floor was covered with what he knew were bone shards, but Mel didn't think about that. His eyes were locked on the figure in the center. It was a woman, bound in black chains that contrasted against her pure white skin. Her long black hair fell down to cover her face. Her knees were brought up to her chest. As soon as he entered she looked up at him, and smiled.
Meliketus didn't always know when he was in over his head, but the second she flashed him that smile, he did. He saw her eyes then. Deep, dark eyes. He knew exactly what he was looking at in a heartbeat.
"Death," he muttered under his breath.
She nodded, "don't worry, my touch won't kill you or anything."
He paused, "how? I mean, am I dead?"
She shrugged, "people have been able to summon me for quite some time now. Not that I mind, usually a trip to the land of mortals is quite fun."
"Aren't you always in the land of mortals?" Mel was finding himself strangely intrigued, any apprehension was quickly leaving.
She smirked at him, "okay, yeah. But, like, it's not always that everyone can see me. Plus now, I'm free from work."
His eyes went to the chains that hung off her body. He raised his hand, closed his eyes, and tried to remove them. However, after a second he realized there was no effect. He scrunched his brow, he should be able to do something as simple as remove chains. He was distracted when she laughed.
"Those chains were forged from the primordial matter, they're older than even I. Thank you for trying though."
She shivered, and Mel remembered he was supposed to be doing something. With another wave of his hand, a blanket appeared out of thin air. He took a step closer to her and draped it over her shoulders. His fingers accidentally brushed against her shoulder. Her skin was ice cold.
"See, told you," she said as she grabbed the blanket and pulled it close, "that's nice," she almost purred, "can you sit next to me though? There's nothing like the warmth of a mortal."
Mel paused, just to figure out what best to do. He sat at her side, and intended to just lay an arm over her shoulder. Instead though, she quickly moved over and sat in his lap, nestling back into him, as she almost purred. He hesitated, and then wrapped his arms around her stomach.
"Thank you," she said as she began to adjust herself.
Mel felt her ass press against his crotch, and felt blood rush to his cheeks. He was glad she could look back at him, as he tried to distract himself. Later he would reflect on how weird it was to get turned on by death itself, but at that moment, all he could think about was how nice it felt.
"So," he said after he cleared his throat, "what does my master want from you?"
"A soul," she almost sounded bored to be talking about it, "just about what every mortal wants from me. There was a great wizard once, and they want me to give them his soul so they can learn some of his more powerful spells, or something." She groaned. "It's so petty, and mortal."
She shifted her weight, and Mel felt her ass press against his crotch far more. Despite his best efforts, his blood started to pool there, and he started to get hard. He hoped she wouldn't notice, but her giggle denied him even that.
"Oh, now that's a much better idea than simple talking," she said, he could imagine her licking her lips, "and great way to get warm." She placed her ice cold hands on his, and began to move them up her body, towards her breasts. "What do you say? Only one drawback, in that it will kill you, but," her voice went low and husky, "I can promise to make it worth it."
Mel could hardly think, his mouth dry. "I-I-"
She laughed and let go of his hands, "No," she said, "sorry, for the joke. I don't think I want you to pass on just yet."
Mel managed to force out a laugh, "oh. Have you ever done that before?"
"Reap someone that way?" She looked over at him with a sly grin, "oh, didn't think you'd want to know that? Well, since you ask, just once. Funnily enough, that was the same soul your 'master' and his friend want. I can tell you the story." She wriggled her ass against his hard on, "it's the least I can do after doing this to you."
And before he could say anything, she started the story. However, they didn't quite come out as words so much as images that pierced his mind. Before he knew it, he was there inside the story, seemingly watching it from his own two eyes.
~~~
There was vast, barren land, stretching out from horizon to horizon. Try as he might, Mel couldn't place it, it looked nothing like any land he had seen or heard of. In the center of it all was a tower constructed of black obsidian, rising up into the clouds. There, standing on the highest balcony was an elf, tall and thin, wearing dark purple wizard robes. Mel moved closer to the wizard.
He had bronzed skin, and short blond hair. His features were sharp, a face of all angles. He recognized that face, that was Eld. The wizard who had taken on an army of orcs on his own, the one who fought back the elemental spirits in the early days, the founder of the elven kingdom. Mel had been told that after Eld left on his great journey, he had achieved immortality.
Eld stepped away from the balcony and made his way into the tower. The inside was luscious. The floor was covered with silks. A massive feather bed floated about a foot off the ground. In the center of the room was a roaring fire. Eld moved through the room, until he stopped by a bare patch of floor. He waved his hand over the spot, and a summoning circle engraved itself into the floor. With another wave, a knife appeared in his hand, and with a quick cut, he spilled a drop of his blood onto the circle.
Mel couldn't help but watch, breath in his throat. The single drop of blood seemed to multiply as soon as it hit the circle, spreading out all over the image. It kept growing until there was a circle of blood on the floor. Then, the fire flickered, a strong wind began to move through the room, and from the circle, a single figure rose up. Mel recognized her instantly.
Death rose up from the floor, clad in a dress of flowing shadows. As soon as she was in the room, the wind stopped and the fire seemed to double back to its full size. She opened her eyes, and stepped out of the circle. She walked past Eld and towards the bed. She sat on it, and crossed her arms under her chest.
