NOVEL SIMPLE v2 CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR: (18+) In which an reluctant servant feels unprepared to appear before her elders.
Una’s eyes remained too heavy to open, a dull and distant roar muffled her hearing, and the odor of smoking spices still permeated her nostrils and mouth. Slowly, she noticed motion and then touch. She thought her head lay in someone’s lap, on thick fabric that cushioned the ringing in her skull.
“Shhh,” a voice said, and then a warm hand placed itself on her brow. “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.” A gentle touch brushed hair away from Una's forehead, and a fingertip stroked her temple. Words spoken in the vision of Julian of Norwich, she thought, helplessly recalling her Catholic education with some still-functioning corner of her mind.
She lost track of time, her sense of self slipping away again. Una felt as though she floated underwater, buoyed by unseen currents. Then she felt her body once more and felt hands grabbing her limbs, pulling her dead weight upward. She struggled against them, but her head swam and her stomach clenched painfully. She retched once, and then again; nothing came up.
Una opened her eyes; the light above her burned her eyes, then resolved into a fluorescent tube. Her vision was still fuzzy, the world a blur of color. Then, as shapes sharpened into focus once again, she saw a bed with familiar metal bars, a dresser, the door to the bathroom—and realized with horror that she recognized the furnishings.
This room was the cell where she’d spent many long days as a prisoner of Thomas Spencer. How is this possible? This room… this entire building was destroyed! Una twisted herself, trying to see who held her, but her limbs wouldn't move as she wished.
“Cease your thrashing, wretched girl,” a harsh female voice said, and Una recognized it with a jolt. Sister Mary Margaret. One of my jailers—here in my prison? The one who beat me. She lifted her head to look at the nun, seeing the expected black habit on one side of her. Another woman gripped her ankles—a much younger woman with blonde hair, who wore a Catholic school uniform.
The girl glared back at her. With another start, Una saw who it was—not a figure from memory, but from a dream. Charlene held her legs; Charlene, her high school bully who'd never actually existed, because in the reality of her memories, Charlene Hanrahan and Micki Belmont had been two schoolboys.
“What the…” Una slurred, barely able to force her mouth to form the words. She tried to free herself again, but her body was too limp to do much of anything. She felt like trapped inside her flesh, a passenger rather than a driver in her body. “What kind of fucked up dream…”
Sister Mary Margaret chuckled, a dry sound like bones clicking together. “Oh, you'll wish it was a dream soon enough, you filthy creature of sin. But you're awake. And now we'll prepare you for him.”
With an effort born from panic and fear, Una managed to twist her body and flail out with one arm, catching the sister across the face with a glancing backhander. “Get away from me!” she cried, and Mary Margaret grunted, stumbling to the side.
Charlene gasped and let go of her feet. Una tried to sit up, but her muscles wouldn't respond to her mental commands, and her head bounced off of the concrete floor. “Ow, fuck,” she moaned, closing her eyes again.
She felt a kick impact the side of her ribcage; the wind left her with a gasp. “You're not strong enough to fight, succubus,” the nun hissed. “We'll have to restrain you. Charlene, fetch the chains.” Mary Margaret fumbled to put something over her head, fabric that caught on her horns. A black hood, she realized, as the nun yanked it roughly downward.
Una thrashed again, but she couldn't get any leverage. “Where the fuck is Kyber? I want to talk to him!” she yelled. Her tongue felt heavy and slow in her mouth; she wasn't sure if she'd enunciated correctly, and the nun only laughed in response, kicking her again and making Una's ribs ache.
“You won't be talking to anyone, except to pray for forgiveness,” the nun sneered. “Remove her clothes, girl. I need to inspect her.” Una heard a zipper being undone, and she tried to struggle again, but found her arms held fast and a weight pressing heavily on her legs. Each of her limbs was too enervated to wrench free.
Una groaned and forced herself to breathe. Think. What do you remember? Kyber's face swam before her, and she remembered the scent of his cooking, the way he smiled at his own cleverness, how she had agreed to a bargain she couldn't fully understand. He’d drugged her, then somehow transported her to the Vatican prison where Thomas Spencer had tormented—No! That’s impossible. Her mind rebelled at the implications. This has to be a dream, my worst nightmares manifesting.
Someone pulled at the waistband of her skirt, tugging her underwear down as well and ripping the delicate silk. A hand slapped Una’s bare ass, hard enough that tears sprang into her eyes. She felt fingers probe across her asscheeks, and she squirmed, trying to escape their intrusion.
“Stop!” she shouted. “Stop it!” Her leg lashed out, operating on rage and instinct, and she felt the thick heel of her platform connect with something solid. She heard a satisfying grunt of pain from Charlene, and the weight atop her legs rolled away.
“You fucking bitch!” the girl howled, and Una seized the opening to roll onto her stomach. She crawled forward, trying to pull herself upright while blinking away the pain and dizziness. She felt a foot slam into her lower back, knocking her flat again, and then the nun stepped on the small of her back to pin her to the cold, tiled floor. Una's tail twitched feebly.
Mary Margaret kicked Una again, then knelt on the ground beside her. “You've gotten stronger since the last time, demon,” Sister Mary Margaret said. “But you're still no match for an ancient.” Something struck the side of her skull, and Una’s world exploded into white-hot stars, then the darkness of a moonless night sky.
She knew not how much time passed before awareness returned to her; the sensation of something lifting her brought consciousness back. She was carried, she thought, her body limp as a rag doll, but not by hands; instead, she ascended on a platform.
Una rolled over and felt her naked flesh against something warm and slightly yielding. A rhythm throbbed beneath her like a heartbeat, and some dim and sourceless light barely illuminated a sloping red floor, etched by shallow grooves.
This is not a floor, not a room, she realized. Not far off in the dimness, red pillars rose and then moved slightly, curling towards her. She lay in the palm of some massive hand, she understood with terror, and it lifted her up towards the darkness above.
Una screamed. The sound came out as a hoarse croak, a pathetic noise. The hand stopped moving, its enormous fingers bent overhead. Each ended in a black nail, curved and sharp, the size of a door. With adrenaline coursing, she sat up and saw that each nail had the same figure painted on its back. Though the image was upside down from her vantage, Una could make out whiskers, pointed ears, and eyes that sparkled like diamonds: a white cat, one paw raised, its claws extended.
“Daughter…” The voice that spoke was deep and hollow, like the whisper of a great wind through a cavern. It seemed to billow forth from all directions, as though it echoed within Una's own body and into the surrounding darkness. She felt it vibrate in her bones like the plucked string of some monstrous instrument, and her skin tingled in response to its tone. Without understanding why, she screamed again.
“You fear me. So you did not seek me here, not yet.” The voice rumbled, and the hand tilted slightly, spilling Una towards the edge and causing her to clutch at the warm flesh of the palm to avoid falling. The hand steadied itself, and she felt her pulse race, beating wildly in her throat.
Una shook her head, unable to speak. “Yet here you are," the voice continued. “Your sister-twin avoided my gaze for millennia, hiding from her fate and denying her destiny. But you have embraced your nature, and your path has led you to me, as surely as the rivers run towards the ocean.”
Una stared upwards, her eyes straining for any sign of a speaker or a face. There seemed to be none, only endless shadow. “Who are you?” she whispered.
“You are mazed, daughter. You must free yourself before you may truly seek me, for your mind cannot comprehend me in your current state. But I shall not wait for you forever. Even my patience has limits.”
The hand tilted again, and this time Una fell backwards, sliding towards the edge. She scrambled, grasping at the ridges in the palm's skin, but she was helpless to halt her fall. As she slid, the voice called to her, its tones fading as she plummeted. “Remember your blade, Shaushka. I return it to you.”
Una dropped into darkness and felt her stomach lurch with the sudden sensation of freefall. She screamed once more as she plunged downward, and then she landed, hard, on something solid.
The breath rushed from her chest, knocking the wind out of her. She gasped for breath as she struggled for balance. Hands grabbed her just below the armpits and hauled her roughly upwards. She turned her head, still disoriented, and saw the habit of a nun surrounding the wizened features of Mary Margaret. In the other direction, after a wave of nausea, she saw blonde hair tied in two neat pigtails—Charlene, scowling and sullen.
“Are you finally awake, freak?” Charlene yanked her forward and up. The three of them ascended an unadorned stairwell that looked like it could belong to any office building anywhere. Una stumbled, but the girl dragged her upright, her grip tight around Una's biceps.
“Fuck you!” Una shouted back, and tried to yank her arm free of Charlotte's grasp. The girl responded immediately, punching Una in the stomach. Una's knees buckled as she doubled over, and she would have fallen had Mary Margaret been holding her upright.
Una nearly threw up again, but her stomach was empty. She coughed and spat, tasting acid in her throat. The nun pulled her upward with surprising strength. “Walk,” she barked, and Una struggled to her feet; moving under her own power, weak though she was, felt preferable to being yanked around by her vicious captors.
The stale air of the stairwell chilled Una’s exposed skin, and her bare feet slapped against the cold concrete of the steps, her toes curling involuntarily. She wasn’t naked, she realized; at some point, the pair must have dressed her; she felt straps around her waist and back, and something heavy circling her neck. Looking down as they climbed, she saw her cleavage cradled in two triangles of shiny gold fabric, barely covering her nipples. A thong rode high between her cheeks, leaving the swell of her ass nearly bare, and a garter of gold lace circled one thigh. From her neck, a leash of gold chain dangled, then led to a loop of thick leather in Mary Margaret’s hand.
The nun yanked at it, and Una stumbled forward onto the landing, her hands rising to clutch at the collar around her throat. “You look the part now,” the woman said, her eyes roaming over every inch of Una. “Good at what the humans created you for. A whore, a plaything, a toy.”
Una's eyes widened with outrage, but both women ignored her as they dragged her up several levels. The stairs ended at an open doorway. They passed through it and emerged into the nighttime air. Una blinked in wonder: they were in New York again, high above what looked like midtown Manhattan. Above them, a high pavilion of ornately worked bronze and glass stretched towards an indigo-black sky. Ahead, near the edge of the open platform, Una could make out what appeared to be a large golden throne, too immense to seat a human. The city spread out below them, a pattern of lights stretching into the distance.
From the raised stairwell where they stood, her two escorts dragged her down a short flight of steps and towards the great chair. She saw the shape of a person seated there, silhouetted against the city lights but facing away. Una tried to dig her heels in, resisting, but her feet slipped on the smooth surface. Charlene placed a hand on her right shoulder, Mary Margaret on her left, and the two pushed her roughly to her knees. Pain lanced up from her tendons, but Una gritted her teeth.
The throne slowly rotated on its dais, bringing its occupant into view. The figure was large enough to fill the seat, easily three times larger than the tallest human being, yet the silhouette was humanoid. A mask with the visage of a maned lion, its jaws parted as though it snarled or roared, covered the figure’s face. Coal-black hair streaked with white spilled from around the mask’s edges to cascade down impossibly well-defined shoulders. Below the mask, a body rippling with muscle was clad only in a loincloth, which bore the stylized image of a spider, about to strike.
The creature turned its head, looking directly at her, and she froze in place. The face of the lion mask was an expressionless carving, its eyes empty pits of darkness. Yet she felt the weight of its gaze upon her. She shuddered, unable to break her stare.
The voice of the enthroned giant boomed, echoing across the pavilion. “Spawn of the she-beast. Do you now recall who I am?” It reached towards her, extending an immense finger. The tip touched Una lightly between her horns, and then traced a line down her forehead, her cheek, and along her jaw until it hooked beneath her chin, lifting it.
Una shook her head, unable to speak, her heart pounding so fast and loud that she feared it might burst in her ribcage. “Wh—what…” she managed.
The figure lifted the lower edge of the lion mask and pulled it up, revealing a handsome, cruel face beneath, hard lines contrasting with a full mouth and sensuous, dark eyes. He smiled, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. Una gasped as recognition struck. The man before her was Mr. Nestor, the occupant of the penthouse she’d crash-landed in, but grown to an impossible size. Something clicked in her mind, and she knew a truth somehow concealed. This is Nestor, and this is also Nezz, Archdemon of Control.
He chuckled, and she heard a deep rumble within the sound. It seemed to vibrate her very bones, shaking her loose from her terror. She opened her mouth to speak, and the words came out as a whisper.
“Lord Nezz,” she said, and her voice trembled.
“You remember me now. Good. It pleases me to open my hand from around your mind. I've been waiting for my servants to deliver you.” He leaned forward on his throne and dropped one foot onto the rooftop. The movement sent a shockwave across the platform that Una felt as a vibration in her knees. The sensation traveled upward, and her tail twitched, curling between her asscheeks in a reflexive display of subservience.
Nezz's smile broadened. “Your body knows its commander. Though you look different from when we last trysted. Turn around for me, girl.” The command came with a wave of his hand, and Una obeyed, twisting in place to present her bare backside to his scrutiny. She felt the heat of his gaze, and her cheeks burned.
Una closed her eyes. She wanted to hide, to disappear from his sight, but she felt pinned by his will as surely she would be by one of his black nails, pierced through her body as though she were a butterfly mounted to paper.
“Yael’s little trick,” said the demon lord. “She hides within you still, but you've grown beyond the confines of her design. You are becoming something more. Tell me again, child, by what name do you call yourself?”
She felt her mouth open of its own volition, and her tongue moved. “I am Una, my lord,” she said, her voice sounding far away. Her body swayed as her limbs moved with no intent from her conscious mind. She turned to face him and dipped into a bow with one leg extended behind her and her arms held out wide. Her breasts jiggled, threatening to spill out of her skimpy top.
“Una. A decent name, though I prefer your ancient titles. Here in this seat of power, my will dominates all. But I would know of you, not only of my will. Now that you have sprouted, Una… are you prepared to serve your lord and master?”
Una straightened and felt the hold of his power over her relax as his question hung in the air. She licked her lips and spoke slowly. “I… have my own… destiny. My own desires. I don't belong to anyone. I'm no man's slave.” Her heart raced, and her pulse throbbed in her throat as she spoke, the words coming faster.
Nezz’s enormous features slowly creased, his brows lowering as he regarded her, his mouth turning down. Una saw the muscles in the demon lord's neck tense, and she wondered if he might strike her. Given the size of his brawny forearms, even a glancing touch from his hand could send her flying from the rooftop, or shatter her bones. She swallowed hard.
Instead, Nezz laughed, his voice booming across the rooftop. His laughter shook the entire pavilion; Mary Margaret and Charlene fell to their knees, clutching at Una as they struggled to remain standing. When he spoke, his words came in a rush, like the roar of a waterfall or the crash of waves on the shore. “Still the Unbreakable Ever-Swaying; is that how you fancy yourself, whelp? The wildest fillies are always the best for breaking, and I relish the challenge. I have longed for your return, for I have missed the sweet sounds of your cries and pleas, and the taste of your tears. For now… a lesson in unwilling obedience.”