The Succling and Her Dues

Chapter Two: Act 6

Trigger Warning: Explicitly graphic and s****l content. Readers, please be advised.

[Victorian District, 2018 (Continued…)]

An hour had passed. Anara’s relentless screams still carried from the room to the foyer. Phillip paced in circles, sweat trickling down his forehead. The need to protect his mother outweighed the wrath that surfaced under Cauva’s skin suit. Aquarius, however, silently insisted he forgo the theatrics and allow Cauva this small victory.

Deciding it was time to course the steps leading up to the second floor, Phillip quipped, “May Cauva eat s**t after!”

Aquarius clasped her hand around his, pulling him down a step. Her heart skipped a beat, staring deep into the pools of his darkening caramel eyes. She would never get over his vexed gaze. Neither would her percolating c******s. “Let’s go… together,” she gulped the last part.

A faint smile greeted her and then vanished, with pursed lips in its place.

Together, they sped up the staircase, reaching the door to Cauva’s infamous Black Box—a room separate from her sleeping quarters. Like Cauva, it could transform into anything a person’s heart desired. With demons and succubi, the roomscape acted as a pseudo portal. Giving them a sense of fiery paradise away from the depths of Hell.

Phillip had accidentally come across the four-walled theatre some years ago…

☽☀☾

He thought it was just an empty cube with an ordinary door absorbed by the void; but as soon as he entered, it was transformed into a lavish chamber of a palace. Peacocks squawked in the far right corner, where a balcony appeared. Throw pillows, ox and cattle hide, and embroidered silks littered the granular floor. Rich perfumes made of jasmine and roses swirled in his nostrils. Vases filled with tiger lilies lined the walls, with a golden rose poking out from the top of each bundle. What intrigued him the most was a single, glowing blue lotus floating in the center of the room. It palpitated and hummed a sweet lullaby—one he remembered Anara singing to him as a child. He walked up to touch it, wondering how the petals would feel.

“This room is off limits,” Cauva interrupted, her eyes glowing ominously bright in contrast to her already light rose-gold irises.

Phillip flinched, quickly glancing behind.

Cauva’s glow, alone, created a window that cut across the bridge of her nose, highlighting its rich cacao palette. If what Anara said was true, then Cauva was indeed cut from the royal cloth.

Phillip chuckled and spun around, tucking his hands into the pockets of his suede trousers. “I didn’t realize.” The room faded into darkness, both of them standing in the black hole. “What is this room?”

“Nothing that concerns you… yet” she murmured. “Step foot in here, again, and you’ll beg for death.”

He stilled for a moment, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. He had never taken her threats seriously before, but her visceral stance and abnormally wicked smile churned his stomach. He fled from there after that, ignoring said room like the plague.

☽☀☾

Now that he stood in front of the slab that separated them from Anara, Phillip dreaded turning the doorknob. The threat lingered in his conscience, reminding him of the consequences of entering. His sweaty palm gripped the knob and turned it clockwise.

It clicked open, with Anara’s screams subsiding into a hysterical gasp.

Phillip’s jaw clenched. Before him was Anara covered in her own blood, riding Cauva’s serrated phallus. Her eyes held pleadingly at him. A twisted hue of sapphire and splotches of gold. “Seven Hells! What the f**k are you doing to my mother?” he growled, lunging into the room.

Aquarius grasped his arms and held him back like her life depended on it. Her eyes, though, burned with as much passion, eclipsed in blinding alabaster rings.

Cauva paid no mind to Phillip disturbing them, nor did she acknowledge Aquarius’ presence.

“Please,” Anara begged, her eyes shooting down at Cauva.

Rolling her eyes, Cauva sat up and flipped Anara onto her back. “Only because we have company,” she murmured low enough for the other two not to hear. Her meaty weapon retracted, pulsing out a thick black goo, which also discharged from Anara’s vaginal hole.

Tears and blood spilled from the sides of Anara’s face, her cries resonating in the room.

“Come now,” Cauva jested, loud enough for Phillip and Aquarius to hear. “It’s not becoming of a salubrious little succling to cry after taking a rather… titchy punishment.” She leaned over and licked away at Anara’s tears, her stomach rattling after a taste of the delicious mixture of sweet copper and salt. “Mmm. Your apology is accepted, Tê klaré. You may heal yourself, now.”

Unbridled anger boiled within Phillip. How could she endure pain like that? he wondered. He watched on as Anara shivered, lingering on the veins of her neck as they pulsed frantically, and calmed down once her breathing leveled like a content, peaceful breeze.

Anara stood up, crimson trailing down her caramel skin and washing away to the onyx floor from the invisible rain. A result of the illusional rolling of clouds on the ceiling. Her graceful smile appeared, one Phillip often noted after seeing her part from Cauva. Perhaps it was her way of telling him she was alright. That a fraction of her well-being was concealed from the horrors she constantly endured.

“To what am I owed this pleasure?” Cuava leisurely asked. She leaned against the wall, a cranberry-colored robe forming around her hourglass figure. Her eyes glowered, pinning Phillip to his spot.

Another form of magic. How quaint, he supposed. He felt his muscles fighting to break free from the restraints she conjured. Luckily, his fists were the only indication that he had some control over himself. His tongue flexed within the confines of his mouth, threatening to pour out his innermost conflictions, but a sigh escaped his parted lips. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he found it rather hard to breathe.

Aquarius stepped forward, a smirk plastering her face. She wore Cauva’s brilliant red handprint well on her left cheek. “I’m sure he has much to say,” she remarked. “I, however, come bearing great news.”

Cauva’s jaw ticked, the corners of her lips perking up. “Which is?”

“Rumor has it that the Sabbath Laire will launch a rather… interesting event. Private rooms can be booked now, and I thought we could have a little more…” She glanced at Anara, then looked back at Cauva before continuing, “Fun.”

“Stupid girl,” Cauva gritted. “Always searching for outlets to get away from your purpose. After years of running, do you think it is safe to walk for food? All for the claims of fun?”

Stunned, Aquarius took a step back and lowered her head. Shame came over her in waves. Running? She thought. Aquarius stopped running during the summer months of 1975. Ceased being consumed by the endless fear of being stalked by another predator that had long since purged her flock. Left behind her guilt of not being able to protect her family. And importantly, washed away the fact that she was the very last siren in the world.

“How else would I eat?” Aquarius finally countered, chuckling. “As I recall, I have never been reined on a tight leash. Was it not my decision to have all of us come to this district? Was it not my idea to go to the gala?”

“Nothing was ever your idea.” Cauva’s jaw ticked. “ You only believe it was so, because I requested it, and you obliged.”

Their tit-for-tat argument made Anara’s head swell. She agreed with Aquarius’ claim on deciding where they should be at any given moment, as she had far superior social skills to her and Cauva. It meant food for them, but Anara never understood this. Maybe the side that made her partly human had a play in this.

“Enough,” Anara defused. Her eyes held contempt between Cauva and Aquarius, but they faltered and soothed into a heartfelt gaze. “It has been a long night for everyone. Please, let’s get some rest.”

“We will rest,” Cauva spoke, “after you tell us what inclined you to disobey me!”

☽☀☾

Awaiting in an exquisite chamber filled with various shades of blanketed darkness, Syifus lay in the center of the bed half naked, a hole in his chest cavity, with a carved wooden box with blood stains stationed beside him. Taverian inscriptions bordering the trim of the lid indicated what it contained—his still-beating heart.

The cold silk sheets did nothing to bring down the temperature of his sweat-drenched body. It prickled like little razors against the minor cuts on his arms. He struggled to wedge his hand in the pocket of his tan trousers, but once he did, he pulled out a photo. He committed every feature to memory, tears cresting at the corners of his eyes. Closing his eyes, he mumbled a prayer, kissed the photo, opened the box beside him, and placed it face down on his heart. “Thank you, once again, my friend.”

Death appeared beside an elaborate vanity that housed an obscenely large crystal mirror, his eyes burning through the side of Syifus’ skull. “I imagine it would have been better to have thrown your life away after she nearly crushed your heart.”

Syifus jolted from the bed, quickly closing the lid. He huffed as if out of breath, his head bowing in submission.

Never having cared for decorum, Death reappeared on the other side of Syifus and sat on the edge of the bed, conjuring a flute glass filled with cherry wine. He gulped half of its contents, a trail spilling over like dribbles of blood against his pale skin. The stinging buzz of the alcohol put Death at ease, reminding himself of why he came to Syifus, rather than Cauva. “What is it like to clean up other people’s messes?”

“Pardon?” Syifus crossed his arms. It was a poor attempt to cover the gaping hole.

“I admire your willingness, but my reservations about your character only draw so far… Being that you’re the Demigod of Prayer and Protection.”

“What is it that you are implying?”

Death tossed the glass aside, chuckling as it shattered into millions of pieces on the onyx tile below. “Was it not your duty to protect Anara from harm, hmm? Even in your figurative death, you’ve yet to prove that you deserve such a title.”

Syifus’ lips parted, ready to retort; but he quickly shut his mouth. He had no excuse. He did not fulfill his promise to Nanektah. There was no denying his part in allowing Cauva to reign over him in such a way that compromised his obligations to Anara. “What could I have done differently?” he asked.

Smirking, Death replied, “Kept your filthy lips to yourself.”

This made Syifus stiffen. No matter how the event occurred, Syifus could never shake the velvety press of Anara’s lips against his. It was a single kiss that set him aflame. One that he never regretted but often buried deep inside. Like a forbidden secret that only he could cherish in thought. Unrequited and beautiful.

“Don’t think for a moment that all is forgiven, simply because I have allowed Anara to explore her interests—be it physical, intimate, or otherwise.” Death glared for a moment, then sighed and laughed as he stood. His mere presence towered over Syifus by two feet. Cowering before him was only natural, so when Syifus only straightened his back more, Death took it as a challenge. “Remember why you’re here,” he continued. “You are not only at my mercy, but Cauva’s as well. And you’ll do good to mind your place, mule.”

He brushed past Syifus, disgust visible in his beautiful alabaster features and the snarl on his lips. “Do clean yourself. You reek of manure and moldy copper.”

A portal spiraled open beside the vanity, and Death entered, leering over his shoulder as Syifus’ stature drooped in defeat. And, with that, Death took that small victory with pride.