Chains of Judgement - Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Enough playing around," she demanded. "Commence the game immediately or I'll make my displeasure known."

She singled out the master of the Blackened Hand who wilted under the intensity of her glare. Those nearest to him backed away as inconspicuously as they could manage.

Clearing his throat, he pulled out a piece of paper from his elaborate greatcoat and began to nervously read out the rules. Sweat poured down his pudgy face. The usually rowdy crowd had been stunned into silence by the threat plus Lucille's unwelcome involvement and listened intently with a mixture of fear and great excitement. None of them wanted to ruin the show of a thousand lifetimes.

"The rules of the Dolus Eventualis game are as follows," he began with the booming voice of a skilled orator.

"Each, um, competitor will receive five silver coins. The initiator may bet any amount of coins they wish which their opponent much match or forfeit the round. Losing a round results in a most, heh, simulating punishment chosen by the victor!"

Several cautious cheers could be heard despite the formerly chilly atmosphere. They knew very well what the phrase 'punishment' entailed. Jezebeth could feel hungry eyes feasting on the sight of her voluptuous body. Giggling, she winked at the nearest human male which almost catapulted him into a full blown heart attack. The lecherous master wiped at his slick skin.

"Losing all of your coins immediately eliminates you from the game. Elimination places yourself at the mercy of the victor. I trust that every competitor has brought with them the required souls?"

As series of impatient, bewitching and downright murderous glares convinced him that dilly-dallying would be extremely hazardous to his health. Several murmurs openly discussed gutting him and stringing him up. All the colour drained from his features.

"Each competitor has three captive souls in which to play. It is the object of the Dolus Eventualis game to convince these souls and win them over to your cause. Blackmail, deceit, witchcraft, everything is permissible besides outright violence. Now without further ado, let the game begin!"

Vylania knew that this was the crux of the matter. One of these wretches would play Eleanor's soul. They couldn't resist using such a powerful manifestation of virtue, twisting her very being into nothing more than a pawn.

Please wait, my dear Eleanor. Salvation is at hand.

The crowd erupted into jubilant celebration. The guttural barking of monsters was joined by the angelic chanting of minor deities and songstresses. Gamblers pushed and shoved to be the first to place their wagers where cold hard currency wasn't the only commodity changing hands. Others flocked to nearby shrines and alters to pledge promises to fickle gods.

The flaming torches blinked out of existence at some unseen command. The Blackened Hand, much like it's namesake, was plunged into darkness until simulated moonlight illuminated the gaming table in a beam of luminescence. Where once there had been madness and pandemonium, now only total silence prevailed.

Purple shadows danced across Lucille's alluringly sinister figure as she produced three cards that sparkled into existence within her slender hand. They had a curious, disquieting look to them as if made from taut human skin.

"First blood? I wonder? Which will be the first of my children?" she said, making about as much sense as usual.

Vylania pulled out three silken cards from a leather pouch, their shimmering surface only visible to her stern gaze. These convicted souls, bound to her will by unshakable conviction would be her key to victory.

Fixed in the centre of the table was a rusty, bloodstained arrow. The old maroon substance was tainted with tragedy and simply refused to decay. It began to spin, moved by imbued magic. Jezebeth began to clap her hands, one slap with every spin until the arrowhead stopped abruptly. The succubus sighed, her moaning an affront to good-taste in itself. It was pointing at Vylania while the withered feathering on the other end indicated Lucille.

"Well, I'll be sitting this one out," said Derek. "Do put on a good show, ladies."

"High Justice Vylania is the initiator and Lucille the Dark is her opponent," bellowed the master of the Blackened Hand.

Maddening cheering and whooping filled the cavernous space. Vylania knew that many of the rotten scumbags looked forward to seeing her humbled and vowed to disappoint them.

"I bet two coins," said Vylania confidently and slammed down two shining royal silvers onto the table. No need to stake everything at so early a juncture, she thought. Lucille looked down at the shiny twin surfaces.

"Two?" Lucille said, apparently curious. "A pair, like lovers? A proposal, perhaps?" "Just shut up and match the bet," ordered the High Justice. "Just being in your presence is making me nauseous."

"No need to hurry to the slaughter, little lamb," Lucille said, her voice this time mimicking an innocent little girl.

Lucille the Dark carefully placed two identical coins upon the table with unnecessary precision. The silver material flickered strangely as her pale features tainted it with wild, exotic energies. Vylania blinked and the changing effect was gone; vanished like it had never been.

"Hmmm...who?" Lucille wondered aloud as she fumbled through her leathery cards. As the one challenged, Lucille had the right to pick the soul to be fought over but was reluctant to part with such cherished possessions, if even for a fleeting moment. Each one had been an enthusiastic adept of the dark arts but sadly none of them had held her interest for any great stretch of time.

Lucille so disliked wasting her precious lives on such wasted potential, after all, her often unwilling donors went through so much pain and hardship to provide the dark witch with nourishing souls. "You shouldn't waste your food," she mumbled, totally oblivious to her surroundings as distant memories wrapped themselves around her like a comforting blanket.

Her little castle of history was broken down as Vylania angrily cleared her throat, her venomous dissatisfaction enough to smash the imaginary battlements to smithereens. Moving almost lazily, Lucille picked a card seemingly at random and placed it upon the gaming table. The material sank into the velvety surface, the human skin dissolving in a most unpleasant way. The smell was intoxicating, like spoiled wine mixed with the finest decaying spices. Derek Harcourt fought to keep his dinner down and did an admirable job of appearing every bit the unflappable hero that many believed him to be while Jezebeth simply hissed in displeasure.

Vylania watched as purple sparks flickered and danced across the table, the unstable energies tickling her skin like a lover's sweet caress. Once again her legs squirmed with hidden delight, the moist material of her black panties humming slightly as the ghostly vibrations brushed up against her pussy.

A blonde man dressed in the tattered robes of an acolyte hovered just above the table. His form flickered with uncertainly, the essence of his being unaccustomed to the stresses of the material realm. He looked melancholy; a perfect embodiment of sorrow. Vylania desperately wanted to judge him, to subjugate his freewill and make him submit like a common dog as she laughed at his pathetic pleas for mercy.

Control yourself, Vylania thought. You're here for a higher purpose than simple satisfaction.

"Welcome Peter," said Lucille, almost motherly. "The humble apprentice, so eager to please. The sacrifice reborn, one of my dearest prospects. Unfortunate."

"Such a succulent morsel," Jezebeth whispered.

Vylania's mind was already racing with possibilities and likelihoods. She was an excellent judge of character; you needed to be in such an unforgiving profession. Her sharp mind could already infer certain things about this hapless young mortal who obviously had been tempted by promises of power. She tasted blood and immediately took the offensive.

"Remember yourself Peter!" Vylania ordered. "This fowl witch holds no ownership over your soul! Remember the life you left behind - the family and friends! Submit yourself to me! Place yourself under my care and I'll gladly free you from your tortured shackles."

Lucille looked on unconcerned as the grand justice used all her natural charisma like a battering ram against the young man's fragile physic. Her iron words were law and carried with them authority and respect. Lucille weaved her own shadowy arts around the man, the mind-bending purple lightening strangling itself around his neck as tightly as a hangman's noose.

"Foolish Vylania!" she mocked as the many tendrils of her perverse magic pierced the man's rapidly discolouring soul. "Peter was another name, another time." His shimmering image grew fainter as darkness overtook him while his soundless screams were callously ignored.

"Peter was an endless eternity ago; A wellspring of time. His identity...his essence belongs to me now, my precious children."

Unperturbed, Vylania redoubled her efforts. Her powerful words pierced his soul more effectively than an angelic holy choir. The black sickness of Lucille's poisonous magic began to retreat under the relentless pressure of her opponents verbal assault. The crowd began to chant with real gusto, the banging of tankards drowning out all other sound.

Lucille stood up as if shocked by the touch of her own corrupting lightening. Her doll-like complexion actually showed the faintest trace of emotion as she realized just what was happening. Some of the shimmering archangel feathers that formed her beautiful gown curled back like burning leaves as she summoned up thunderous etheric force.

"Such insolence!" Lucille breathed as her magical tendrils strangled Peter with frustration.

"Under the authority of the Demonmore courthouse I hereby set you free Peter," Vylania shouted, simple inspiring persuasion battling back arcane witchcraft. "Reclaim your lost identity! The dark witch cannot control you any longer! Come over to my side and be reborn!"

The Blackened Hand was bathed in light as ancient spiritual chains snapped. The sound of church bells and flapping doves filled the cavernous room. Several unholy creatures in the crowd withered and died as holy fire incinerated them into blackened husks. A vampire exploded like a firecracker, showering those nearby in crimson blood. Jezebeth shielded herself under the table to escape the cleansing redemption.

Peter smiled at the High Justice with gratitude, his soul disappearing from the limited confines of the material plain. Whether he was destined for heaven or hell, Vylania cared not. All that mattered was her victory and eventual vengeance.

"Nicely done," said Derek through squinted eyes. "Quite the dramatic show for such a cesspool as the Blackened Hand."

"I didn't know you were a lackey of heaven," Jezebeth spat bitterly as she reclaimed her empty chair. Her crimson skin still itched irritably from such a revolting display of compassion.

"I'm not," said Vylania . "I employ many talents so beware my wrath fowl hellspawn."

"My, my," Jezebeth tutted. "Such a vulgar mouth. I would love to see it put to better use."

"Well how about that!" announced the master, his resounding voice shaking the rafters. "Vylania claims victory in the opening round! Now it's the part you've all been waiting for; the punishment game!" He could barely keep himself from drooling at that last part.

Continued in Chapter 3

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