Their pleasure rose, a wild crescendo. Seraphine, stimulated by Lilithara's tongue, reached orgasm first, her raspy cries tearing through the air, her thighs trembling.
Lilithara followed, her body convulsing under Valzaroth's assaults, her walls tightening around him, her screams echoing. Valzaroth, growling, released inside her, his thrusts slowing, his body trembling with exhaustion. He collapsed on the bed, pulling the two women against him, their sweat-slick bodies clinging together.
They lay there, panting, the chamber saturated with their heat. Lilithara, nestled against his chest, whispered, "You're a monster." Her lips brushed his neck, a satisfied smile on her lips. Seraphine, lying on the other side, snickered. "And we're worse."
Valzaroth, an arm around each, stared at the ceiling, his breath still uneven. "This world is ours," he said, his voice deep. "And we'll take it all."
The ravaged lands of Cinderfall, in the heart of the Ancient War, were a hell of ash and screams. The skies, torn by lightning, spat divine flames onto the demonic armies. Valzaroth, then a rising Incubus, fought his way through the chaos, his leather armor stained with blood, his black hair plastered with sweat. His prominent muscles strained with effort, his scarlet eyes scanning the battlefield.
Barely freed from his slave chains, he commanded a small legion, his reputation as a ruthless killer beginning to spread. But that day, he sought a specific prey: Seraphine, a fallen angel exiled from Heaven, whose hatred for the heavens made her an ideal target for his ambitions.
He spotted her atop a hill, a solitary figure among the mutilated bodies. Seraphine was a vision of contradiction: battered silver armor, stained with blood, molded her athletic body, her black wings folded like a cloak of night. Her blonde hair, braided into a tight plait, framed a hardened face, marked by a scar running down her left cheek. Her piercing green eyes burned with restrained rage. She slashed an angel, her long sword cutting through golden armor like paper, her enemy's entrails spilling in a disgusting gurgle. Blood splattered her golden skin, highlighting her firm curves—her modest yet defined breasts, her narrow waist, her muscular thighs.
Valzaroth approached, dodging a celestial lance that crashed at his feet, pulverizing a demon in a spray of flesh and bone. He brandished his halberd, smashing an angel's skull, brains bursting like rotten pulp. "Seraphine!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the tumult. She turned, her eyes sizing him up, a mix of wariness and curiosity.
"An Incubus who knows my name," she said, her voice raspy, tinged with sarcasm. She planted her sword in the ground, leaning against a broken lance. "You're either suicidal or just stupid."
He chuckled, wiping blood from his face. "Neither. I want to talk."
She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. "Talk? Here?" A demon charged, and she pivoted, her sword slicing his torso in two, his smoking organs scattering. "You've got five seconds before I gut you."
Valzaroth didn't flinch. "You hate Heaven. They betrayed you, exiled you. I can offer you a chance to make them pay." He approached, his aura of supernatural seduction pulsing, his scarlet eyes fixing on her. "Join me, and we'll burn their wings together."
Seraphine snickered, but her eyes softened slightly. "Demon promises. I've heard that before." She spat on the ground, her armor creaking as she crossed her arms.
"Why you? You're just a dog who broke his chains."
He stepped closer, his face inches from hers, his warm breath against her skin. "Because I bow to no one. Not angels, not demons, and especially not you." His voice lowered, a whisper charged with threat and charm. "With me, you won't be an outcast. You'll be a queen."
Their conversation was interrupted by an angel squadron, their divine lances illuminating the sky. "Get down!" Seraphine shouted, diving to dodge an explosion of light. Valzaroth rolled to the side, his halberd slamming into an angel, tearing off his arm in a fountain of blood. The angel screamed, and Valzaroth drove his weapon into his chest, the heart bursting under the impact. Seraphine, beside him, danced in the carnage, her sword tracing deadly arcs. She slit an enemy's throat, blood spraying her face, then impaled another, his entrails spilling like wet ropes.
They fought back-to-back, an instinctive synchronization. Valzaroth crushed a golden helmet with a punch, bones cracking under his knuckles. Seraphine, more precise, decapitated an angel, the head rolling into the mud. "Not bad, for a dog," she said, panting, a smirk on her lips.
"And you, for a traitor," he retorted, pulling a lance from his shoulder, blood flowing in rivulets. The pain only fueled his fire. He charged a final angel, throwing him to the ground, his foot crushing his rib cage in a damp crack.
Calm returned, a heavy silence punctuated by their raspy breaths. Seraphine, covered in blood, fixed him, her sword still in hand. "You're serious, huh?" she asked, her voice less biting. "You really want Heaven on its knees?"
Valzaroth approached, his chest heaving, his eyes locked on hers. "I want everything. And I want you with me when I take it." He extended a hand, a gesture both defiant and inviting. "Vengeance, power, glory. Everything Heaven stole from you, I'll give it back."
She hesitated, her green eyes scrutinizing his face. Then, slowly, she took his hand, her calloused fingers gripping his. "If you're lying, I'll cut off your balls," she growled, but a spark of complicity gleamed in her eyes.
Their alliance was forged in the following weeks, through battles and intrigues. Seraphine, with her tactical genius, became Valzaroth's strategist, planning ambushes that decimated angelic legions. But their bond deepened one night, in an abandoned cave where they took refuge after a bloody battle.
Rain pounded the entrance, the fire crackling weakly. Seraphine, her armor removed, wore only a torn tunic, revealing her muscular arms, her golden skin marked with bruises. Her blonde hair, undone, framed her face, softening her hardened features.
Valzaroth, bare-chested, bandaged a wound on his flank, dried blood cracking on his skin. "You fight like a fury," he said, a smirk on his lips.
"Heaven must regret letting you go."
She snickered, sitting beside him, her thighs brushing his. "They'll regret more when I plant my sword in their hearts." She fixed him, her green eyes softer, almost vulnerable. "Why do you do this, Valzaroth? You don't need me. You're already a storm on your own."