“At last, we have the High Priestess of that loathsome church in our grasp,” the hooded figure declares in triumph as others lead the young leader of a faith in decline to the prepared altar.
The priestess says nothing, but her desperately loyal attendant screams through tears for her to call down the light of the goddess and fight, her voice cracking as she does so. She would not understand if she was told the priestess offered herself to them to spare her life.
Chanting fills the air. The Cult of Elni finishes their preparations, binding her in the ritual circle’s center. They mean to summon their Great Demoness using her body as a vessel, and a quick glance at the runes surrounding her confirms that the summoning circle is perfect.
She closes her eyes and allows herself a private smile. All
according to plan. She looks forward to meeting the demon
whose power so eclipses her sad little goddess. Her poor attendant could not possibly understand, but she will. All the others in the church will too.
The ritual reaches its climax, and she feels infernal flames bloom deep within her, carrying a presence unlike any she ever felt before. A voice like poisonous silk sighing the single word “mine” reverberates inside her head.
“And you are mine as well,” she responds lovingly.
Hidden runes tattooed in secret on the priestess’s body flare to life, and within the headspace of the priestess, the demon finds herself collared. The power she should have been able to overwhelm the mortal’s mind with is instead shared between them. “How?” she hisses.
“I’m afraid this body is as much mine as it is yours,” the priestess responds to the demon within. “We will have to learn to get along, my love, if you mean to tear down what remains of the church and dethrone that pathetic goddess. What do you say?”
The attendant watches in horror as the ritual completes. Her beloved High Priestess is transformed into a towering demoness, skin the color of blood, clad only in a wreath of flames. The demon’s dreadful laughter chills her to the bone, but not as much as the look she gives her.
She cannot move as the Great Demoness approaches, her hips swaying, her eyes appraising the attendant as though for the first time. A clawed finger lifts her chin, and in a voice like poisonous silk, one word drifts to her ears. “Ours.”