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Trigger warning: Sexual innuendo, nudity, violence, gore, cannibalism kinda?
Zaany had oh so quickly disappeared into their room as the couple had left. Back to their desk, in clear avoidance of Andrei. The demon fidgeted with things, but hardly did anything productive. Perhaps they should ... go out, instead.
They got up from their chair, moved across the room, slipped out of their house-robe. Reaching into their wardrobe, they pulled a very nice, but not quite fancy robe out, and began pulling it on.
The door opened so quietly. The dead priest slipped in like a shadow. "That robe is always so nice on you." The dark voice purred. "Though I admit it looks better on the floor."
Someone was in a friendly mood. "Unless of course, you aren't feeling up for it... but I know I can make it worth your while." He let himself into the room and sat and perched, staring at the half clothed elf with a smirk.
The elf knew he was there. Tensed. Turned slowly, stared back at the little man. It was obvious that they weren't sure what to think, were suspicious. But the elf apparently wasn't quite too scared.
A few clicking steps took them closer, hips swaying. Their hand dipped to their hip, rested teasingly on the belt they'd just done up at the waist. "Oh? And what are you offering?"
There was a little grin.
"Something you'll never forget." His dead eyes almost twinkled. He rubbed his hand up and down the staff that was ever at his side, in a suggestive motion. He quirked an eyebrow. Such a strange expression for such a creature.
"Big talk for what you usually do. But I'll bite." They chuckled, rope slipped; the robe fell down, pooled around their feet. And they stepped out of it, toward him, sliding their hands up their hips. "Just use lube this time."
"I really don't think it will help." He stood up, and with a surprisingly quick, fluid motion, he hefted the staff up over his head and swung it in a wide, graceful arc.
It collided with the elf's skull with a horrible dull 'CLUNK!' The priest paused, and stared, waiting to see his handiwork.
Well, this was a surprise. And the look on the elf's face, a moment before the staff hit home, told that entire story.
Zaany went down hard, slammed into the ground, crumpled, with a loud, high pitched yelp. Their tail flailed wildly, their limbs kicking, trying to get up and escape, to curl in a ball - something!
They were still struggling. That wouldn't do. He held the staff over his head with two hands and brought it down hard on the flailing creature on the floor. "Do you think I am stupid? Do you think I don't know what that man is capable of? Do you think jeopardizing the safety of my underlings would go UNPUNISHED?" The inky voices gurgled and roared, nearly incoherent.
"CURSED ARE YOU ABOVE ALL CREATURES! I SHOULD MAKE YOU A FEAST FOR CARRION CROWS AND JACKALS! I SHOULD SEND YOU TO THE DEEPEST HELL!" He struck again, and kicked the poor prone creature in the side.
"What did you expect would happen when you threaten the safety of those under my care? Do you think that this is all for SHOW? That I am a jester? A street performer?" He bent down to grab the elf by the hair.
"I am a GOD, you miserable idiot. What must I do to remind you?"
The creature shrieked, tried to rise even after the second blow; their body began to change, warped, grew - and halted immediately with the next blow. Slowly, the changes melted away, their nose shortening even as the man grabbed hold of their hair. Glowing blue blood, much like their discoloured skin, dripped from between their teeth, down their chin, into their goatee, as they coughed and half-sobbed.
The death god paused. Almost as if from a pang of conscious. But if Cil Raasv or Andrei felt any remorse, it didn't save the demon.
"I had tasked you before with bringing me dinner. I believe it is about dinner hour, now, and there is nothing here to eat. You've neglected your duties and forgotten your station. Consider this a demotion."
Were his nails always so sharp? He slammed a curled hand into the elf's side, pressing deep into the skin with his fingernails. Skin began to tear like paper.
The demon gagged, their eyes widening; their struggle at the words was weak, their control over their own body apparently not wholly there. And then there were the claws.
Well, the shrieking and uncoordinated flailing likely wouldn't stop any time soon, hm? Between coughs, they were breathing too quick, gulping air.
The dead man's hand had carved a ragged hole, and pushed into the poor demon's body cavity. There was shockingly little blood- the vulture knew what it wanted, and how to efficiently grab it.
He seized the liver and with a quick motion only a supernatural being could have mustered, clove it neatly in two with only his hand. He pulled the hot, dripping half from the wound and loudly, messily began to eat.
The organ hardly looked like even a rather normal elf's. It was as if it was some form of radioactive, from how it glowed. The taste was spicy, as if the man were eating mouthfulls of soaked cinnamon.
Zaany was shaking in Andrei's grip, heaving and sobbing, wheezing. One uncoordinated hand found the wound, was holding it tightly. No, there hadn't been much blood before, but after the damage he'd done…
The hand loosed its grip on the elf's hair. The demented figure stood, swaying slightly, licking the bizarre blood from his fingertips. He knelt down, and grabbed the elf by the face with his soiled hand.
"If there is a next time, I will take more than merely half your liver. Be grateful for the mercy you've received." He pressed his lips to the elf's own in a forced, filthy kiss.
Zaany sagged fully to the ground once released, began to curl up into a ball. Jerked once grabbed again, made the smallest whimper.
The kiss was fought, unwanted...at first. They could taste magic on his lips. Their own, granted, but magic. This was an injured creature, and the magic held a promise of healing. Through their sobs and grunts, their tongue darted against him, their lips pressed back, tried to steal back what they could.
Andrei chuckled darkly, and stepped back, letting them fall to the floor. "Clean yourself up."
He stumbled as he walked, catching himself on the staff. He reeled drunkenly from the room, wiping the stray blood on his hands onto his robes. The walls seemed to pulse strangely. Everything tasted and smelled of cinnamon.
Oh. Perhaps a vaasa's liver wasn't the best choice. He had to lie down.
Zaany had oh so quickly disappeared into their room as the couple had left. Back to their desk, in clear avoidance of Andrei. The demon fidgeted with things, but hardly did anything productive. Perhaps they should ... go out, instead.
They got up from their chair, moved across the room, slipped out of their house-robe. Reaching into their wardrobe, they pulled a very nice, but not quite fancy robe out, and began pulling it on.
The door opened so quietly. The dead priest slipped in like a shadow. "That robe is always so nice on you." The dark voice purred. "Though I admit it looks better on the floor."
Someone was in a friendly mood. "Unless of course, you aren't feeling up for it... but I know I can make it worth your while." He let himself into the room and sat and perched, staring at the half clothed elf with a smirk.
The elf knew he was there. Tensed. Turned slowly, stared back at the little man. It was obvious that they weren't sure what to think, were suspicious. But the elf apparently wasn't quite too scared.
A few clicking steps took them closer, hips swaying. Their hand dipped to their hip, rested teasingly on the belt they'd just done up at the waist. "Oh? And what are you offering?"
There was a little grin.
"Something you'll never forget." His dead eyes almost twinkled. He rubbed his hand up and down the staff that was ever at his side, in a suggestive motion. He quirked an eyebrow. Such a strange expression for such a creature.
"Big talk for what you usually do. But I'll bite." They chuckled, rope slipped; the robe fell down, pooled around their feet. And they stepped out of it, toward him, sliding their hands up their hips. "Just use lube this time."
"I really don't think it will help." He stood up, and with a surprisingly quick, fluid motion, he hefted the staff up over his head and swung it in a wide, graceful arc.
It collided with the elf's skull with a horrible dull 'CLUNK!' The priest paused, and stared, waiting to see his handiwork.
Well, this was a surprise. And the look on the elf's face, a moment before the staff hit home, told that entire story.
Zaany went down hard, slammed into the ground, crumpled, with a loud, high pitched yelp. Their tail flailed wildly, their limbs kicking, trying to get up and escape, to curl in a ball - something!
They were still struggling. That wouldn't do. He held the staff over his head with two hands and brought it down hard on the flailing creature on the floor. "Do you think I am stupid? Do you think I don't know what that man is capable of? Do you think jeopardizing the safety of my underlings would go UNPUNISHED?" The inky voices gurgled and roared, nearly incoherent.
"CURSED ARE YOU ABOVE ALL CREATURES! I SHOULD MAKE YOU A FEAST FOR CARRION CROWS AND JACKALS! I SHOULD SEND YOU TO THE DEEPEST HELL!" He struck again, and kicked the poor prone creature in the side.
"What did you expect would happen when you threaten the safety of those under my care? Do you think that this is all for SHOW? That I am a jester? A street performer?" He bent down to grab the elf by the hair.
"I am a GOD, you miserable idiot. What must I do to remind you?"
The creature shrieked, tried to rise even after the second blow; their body began to change, warped, grew - and halted immediately with the next blow. Slowly, the changes melted away, their nose shortening even as the man grabbed hold of their hair. Glowing blue blood, much like their discoloured skin, dripped from between their teeth, down their chin, into their goatee, as they coughed and half-sobbed.
The death god paused. Almost as if from a pang of conscious. But if Cil Raasv or Andrei felt any remorse, it didn't save the demon.
"I had tasked you before with bringing me dinner. I believe it is about dinner hour, now, and there is nothing here to eat. You've neglected your duties and forgotten your station. Consider this a demotion."
Were his nails always so sharp? He slammed a curled hand into the elf's side, pressing deep into the skin with his fingernails. Skin began to tear like paper.
The demon gagged, their eyes widening; their struggle at the words was weak, their control over their own body apparently not wholly there. And then there were the claws.
Well, the shrieking and uncoordinated flailing likely wouldn't stop any time soon, hm? Between coughs, they were breathing too quick, gulping air.
The dead man's hand had carved a ragged hole, and pushed into the poor demon's body cavity. There was shockingly little blood- the vulture knew what it wanted, and how to efficiently grab it.
He seized the liver and with a quick motion only a supernatural being could have mustered, clove it neatly in two with only his hand. He pulled the hot, dripping half from the wound and loudly, messily began to eat.
The organ hardly looked like even a rather normal elf's. It was as if it was some form of radioactive, from how it glowed. The taste was spicy, as if the man were eating mouthfulls of soaked cinnamon.
Zaany was shaking in Andrei's grip, heaving and sobbing, wheezing. One uncoordinated hand found the wound, was holding it tightly. No, there hadn't been much blood before, but after the damage he'd done…
The hand loosed its grip on the elf's hair. The demented figure stood, swaying slightly, licking the bizarre blood from his fingertips. He knelt down, and grabbed the elf by the face with his soiled hand.
"If there is a next time, I will take more than merely half your liver. Be grateful for the mercy you've received." He pressed his lips to the elf's own in a forced, filthy kiss.
Zaany sagged fully to the ground once released, began to curl up into a ball. Jerked once grabbed again, made the smallest whimper.
The kiss was fought, unwanted...at first. They could taste magic on his lips. Their own, granted, but magic. This was an injured creature, and the magic held a promise of healing. Through their sobs and grunts, their tongue darted against him, their lips pressed back, tried to steal back what they could.
Andrei chuckled darkly, and stepped back, letting them fall to the floor. "Clean yourself up."
He stumbled as he walked, catching himself on the staff. He reeled drunkenly from the room, wiping the stray blood on his hands onto his robes. The walls seemed to pulse strangely. Everything tasted and smelled of cinnamon.
Oh. Perhaps a vaasa's liver wasn't the best choice. He had to lie down.
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