In the dim red glow of Molik's underworld lair, the first succubus stirred slowly on the cold stone floor. Her dark wings twitched, bruises fading as she pushed herself up, long hair falling over her face. The other three began to wake too, groans soft, bodies aching from whatever heavenly force had knocked them out.
Molik sat on his conjured throne inside the glowing seal circle, eyes fixed on them like a predator. Fury boiled in his voice when he spoke. "You failed!"
The words hit stern and sharp. He leaned forward, horns casting shadows. "I sent you to seduce those angels, keep them busy, blind them to my plans. And what do you do? Let them turn the tables, beat you senseless, and trap me here like some common imp!"
The succubi stayed calm at first, rubbing sore spots, exchanging glances. The first one, the boldest with crimson streaks in her hair, tilted her head. "We tried, master. They were stronger than—"
"Stronger?" Molik snapped, voice rising. "For that reason, you will free me!"
"From what?" she asked, confused, glancing at the chalk lines around him.
"From this seal!" he roared, slamming a fist on the throne arm. "I can't do anything while I'm stuck here, you useless sluts!"
The first succubus approached reluctant, the others watching wary. None of the four knew what the seal truly was or what it did—just pretty glowing lines to them. She reached out slow, hand hovering over the circle edge.
A ray of pure white light shot out instant, burning bright and hot. It sliced her hand clean off at the wrist, neat as a blade. Blood sprayed dark, the severed hand falling outside the circle, smoking.
She screamed loud, pain raw and piercing, clutching the stump as blood poured. The other three rushed around her, snarling at Molik, eyes glowing angry red.
But Molik burst into laughter hearing her screams—deep, mocking, echoing off walls. He clutched his sides, tears almost coming.
The succubi helped their sister, hand already healing slow—flesh knitting, bone regrowing demon-fast. Full again in minutes, but pain lingered.
Molik stopped laughing abrupt, face turning serious cold. "Listen here," he said low. "I am trapped because you failed your mission. You failed to seduce those angels, and now they have me caged. My plans are foiled, and you all know I would have skinned you alive for that—slow, piece by piece."
The succubi froze, remembering his cruelty.
"But I need something from you," he continued, voice smooth now. "My mission must go on. I never have any losses, and I'll not start now. Gather all the demons under my ranks. Make sure to call me by my name when gathering them, or else they won't believe you."
"But isn't your name Molik?" one asked, the youngest with pale skin.
Molik leaned back, smile dark. "No. That is my demon name, after I was sent to hell and back to earth severally for multiple centuries progressively. My real name is Salomon. That was my human name. I was a nobility with a dark heart, and instead of being punished for it, I was rewarded with powers beyond your comprehension to be more evil."
The succubi listened careful, eyes wide as he told the short tale—human lord cruel and twisted, death bringing gift instead of chains.
He cut it short abrupt. "End of story. Now go and gather all the demons to come to me. I await them."
After the last word, he sat back in his throne, waving dismissive.
The succubi sank into their shadows smooth, melting into dark pools on the floor, disappearing silent to carry his command.
Alone again, Molik's eyes narrowed. He used powerful telekinesis, lifting a sharp chip from his stony throne. Aimed careful at the circle edge, trying to rub off even one sigil.
The chip flew fast—but exploded mid-air, fragments shooting all around like bullets. Some scarred his face deep, blood trickling black down handsome cheeks. Pain sharp, but he grinned through it. Seal held perfect.
***
Back in Hira's palace, the dining hall felt heavy that evening. King Harlan sat at the head table, eating slow—still weak from illness, but better. Queen Shala beside him, the new "queen" across, concubines lined quiet. Food rich—roasted meats, fruits sweet, wine flowing—but silence lingered long, thick as fog.
Shala broke it gentle. "May I sleep in my own room tonight?" she asked, voice soft. "Permission, my king?"
Harlan nodded, fork pausing. "Granted."
The new queen smiled quick, lips parting to speak—eager maybe.
But Harlan cut her. "You will also sleep in your own room."
Her face fell, jealousy flashing eyes.
He continued calm. "I'm feeling under the weather tonight. Need only one concubine to take care of me."
The new queen retaliated fast. "I can do that for you, my king."
Harlan gave her stern look cold. "Stay in your lane."
"That will be all," he said standing weak, pointing to one concubine—beautiful with long dark hair. She stood instant despite plate half-full, ready to follow.
He stopped her gentle. "Finish eating first. Then come."
She bowed slight, sat back down graceful.
The new queen looked around jealous angry, cheeks flushing. Hands tight on cup.
Shala watched quiet. Not the kind to argue or gloat. She could tell the other woman would sabotage plenty if given chance—but happy deep down. She'd stripped her of authority before it started. Harlan man of his word; he'd hold the bargain—no bed shared, no power real, children nobility only.
This felt punishment suitable for disobedient woman—her own actions bringing rival, now tamed.
That night in her chambers, Shala took out silphium sourced quiet from doctor. Chewed the herb slow—bitter, preventing seed take root. Guilt from Ban lingered, body remembering heat. Couldn't risk child not Harlan's.
Sat on bed edge after, looking out open window at moon and stars bright. Sleep started to take over heavy, eyes closing.
But dark figures moved around room—shadows shifting unnatural, eyes maybe glowing faint. She blinked tired, trying to focus, but sleep pulled stronger. Took her deep before she could call out or move.