Damnation
Ennui relishes the thrill of battle, the surge of adrenaline that courses through her veins with every strike. EachEnnui relishes the thrill of battle—the sharp rush of adrenaline, the intoxicating edge between life and death. Every strike, every gamble, is a dance with fate. But here, standing in Lady Aleyna’s lavish chamber, gladius in hand, unease prickles at her skin. These mercenaries are an unknown variable, and in an ideal world, she would have studied their habits, their weaknesses—taken them apart piece by piece. But time is not a luxury they have.
She has no doubt these men are Ziad’s, notorious corsairs from the Golden Isles. The kind bred for blood and conquest. How many lurk in the halls beyond? How many could she and Mamir cut down before they were overwhelmed? It’s almost disappointing.
Ennui presses a finger along the edge of her blade, drawing a thin ribbon of blood. With motions she’s practiced a dozen times, she kneels and carves a crook and two small stars into the pooling crimson on the floor—a sigil old as time, a dark invocation she has not dared use in years. But tonight, necessity outweighs hesitation. Murmuring incantations under her breath, she watches as the symbols pulse with an eerie, unnatural light.
The air turns acrid, the scent of sulfur and ash flood the room. A deep red glow bleeds outward, swallowing the symbols whole. The warmth intensifies, flickering across the dark walls in wicked, pulsing waves. Then, the circle ruptures.
From the center of the circle emerges a houndlike creature, its fur as black as obsidian. Its burning eyes are a fierce red, betraying its infernal origins. A hellhound. Perfect. A sense of relief washes over her. Of all the beasts she could have summoned, hellhounds are known for their speed and ferocity. They are also known to be fiercely loyal to their masters. It forces its way through the circle, tearing through the barriers as if they were nothing more than earth.
With a vicious growl, the hellhound shakes itself free of the slimy ichor that coats its jet-black fur.
Aleyna clasps a trembling hand over her mouth. “What is that?” she breathes, pressing herself against the wall, eyes wide with fear.
Mamir scoffs, adjusting his grip on his bow. “Hellhounds? Bloody wonderful.” He exhales through his nose, unimpressed. “Ennui, you’d best keep that beast under control. It’s as big as me, and I know it sees me as a snack.”
“But you are a snack.” Ennui smirks, scratching behind the hound’s massive ear.
Before Mamir can retort, a second hound forces its way through the sigil. This one is rabid, restless—its breath a furnace, embers curling from between its bared teeth. The air trembles with the heat of them. Ennui watches the circle expectantly, hoping for a third, but as the last remnants of crimson fade, the sigil vanishes. The blood scorches into the tile, leaving nothing but blackened stains.
“Curious thing about hellhounds,” Ennui murmurs, casting a glance at Mamir and Aleyna. “Only those who witnessed their arrival can see them in the material realm.”
Mamir coughs, waving a hand in front of his nose. “Knew I smelled them on you before,” he mutters. He taps the lower limb of his bow against the tile. “Shall we be about this, then?”
Aleyna stares, still frozen in disbelief. “Wha-what are you?” she whispers.
“A servant of a higher power.” Ennui chuckles, inspecting her blade. “Or lower, I suppose. Depends on your perspective.”
Stepping lightly across the floor, she leads the way, hellhounds stalking close behind. Mamir presses his ear to the door, bow at the ready. After a brief nod, he pushes it open. Beyond, opulence sprawls in excessive display. Towering ceilings adorned with frescos, marble columns bathed in golden paint, and a plush crimson carpet rolling down the length of the corridor. Zeruhan does not merely suggest wealth—it drowns in it. The very air reeks of power, of dominance, of control. No palace in the Desert Cities could compete with this garish grandeur.
Ennui steps into the hall, her wrapped boots silent against the stone. The music grows louder, the murmur of voices weaving beneath the strained notes of a viol. She stills. A musician. Fucking minstrels. Magick is older than kings, older than steel and war, and of all its forms, none are as dangerous as song. The first people of Talmus learned that through melody, through harmony, the fabric of reality could be bent, shaped, controlled. A gifted bard could weave enchantments stronger than any spell. She clenches her jaw, pressing forward, alert. Mamir creeps behind her with his shortbow at the ready, a freshly fletched arrow nocked.
A servant scurries across the Grand Hall, a silver platter clutched in her trembling hands. Ennui flattens herself against the wall, vanishing into the shadows as the girl stumbles. A pewter mug topples from the tray, bouncing across the carpeted floor with a dull clang. Laughter erupts from the distant revelers, their amusement cruel and unchecked. The servant, a slight elven girl with dark hair, drops to her knees, hastily gathering the fallen pieces. Her fingers shake as heavy footsteps approach, the slow, deliberate tread of someone who enjoys watching others squirm. The girl freezes, her head bowing instinctively, as if making herself small enough might save her.
“Need a hand?” a gruff voice asks from behind her.
Ennui grips the hilt of her gladius, waiting. The figure comes into view—a hulking brute of a man, towering over the girl like a predator savoring the moment before a kill. A goliath. Ennui grimaces, her mind flashing back to her last encounter with one of their kind. It had not ended as swiftly as she would have liked. Her fingers tighten around her weapon.
The goliath squats behind the girl and tangles his thick fingers in her hair, giving it a sharp yank. She yelps, her hands flying up in a feeble attempt to pry him off. Ennui stiffens, their eyes meeting for a fraction of a second. She presses a finger to her lips. Be quiet.
“I-I’m sorry,” the girl pleads, her voice quivering. “Please, please. Stop!”
The goliath laughs, a cruel, guttural sound. “I thought Ziad would’ve had his wenches better trained.”
“I’ll do better, I swear,” she whimpers.
“Break another plate, and I’ll break your hand,” he says, releasing her with a shove.
The girl stumbles, tears welling in her eyes. “I—I was never a house servant—”
Her words are cut short by the sharp crack of his palm against her cheek. She gasps, her head snapping to the side. “Best you learn, then.”
Ennui grits her teeth, looking away. She has no use for sentimentality, but something about the pitiful, swollen-cheeked girl stirs a slow-burning rage in her gut. A twang cuts through the laughter—a quiet, deadly note that only Ennui’s keen ears pick up.
She turns sharply, catching the subtle tension in Mamir’s stance, his bow still ready. The dwarf’s face is flushed, his brows furrowed in fury. The arrow’s release had been barely audible. The goliath jerks, his massive hand flying to the shaft embedded in his thick neck. He spins toward Ennui and Mamir, his other hand fumbling for the sword at his waist.
“Kill,” Ennui whispers.
The hellhounds, unseen by their prey, let loose a vicious growl. Chaos erupts. The goliath thrashes, roaring in pain as unseen fangs sink into his flesh. He swings wildly, trying to shake the beasts off. Ennui lunges, driving her gladius against his chainmail. The blade bites but does not pierce.
“DEVIL!” The goliath bellows, his voice a thunderclap of rage. He swings his sword haphazardly, his hand still pressed against his neck, staunching the rapid bleeding.
His sword comes crashing down. Ennui catches it with the flat of her gladius, the force of the impact rattling through her bones. Her weapon is wrenched from her grasp, clattering to the floor. Damn. She pivots, snatching a dagger from her belt and hurling it with all her might. The blade buries itself in his thigh. Shouts in the distance call out to the goliath. The elvish woman crawls across the floor to the side of the room. The viol’s tune in the distance comes to an abrupt halt.
“Inga?” a voice calls from the distance.
“DEVILKIN!” Inga shouts in an earsplitting guttural cry.
A boom of laughter follows. “What’s that about a devil?” the voice replies.
“Help,” the woman whispers to Mamir, scampering towards them.
Mamir rushes to the woman’s side and places his hand over her shoulder in an effort to guide her into the safety of the hallway. The goliath, now named, snarls, staggering under the relentless assault of the hellhounds. Their fangs tear at his ankles, pulling him to one knee. His sword drops to the sandstone floor with a ringing clang. Ennui does not hesitate. She steps in, driving a sharp kick into his wrist. His grip falters. Inga growls, his bloody fingers curling into a fist. Ennui draws another dagger, aiming for his throat. But he moves faster than expected—his massive hand snaps up, catching her wrist mid-strike.
“Got’cha,” Inga sneers.
His fingers tighten, the crushing pressure threatening to snap the bone. Ennui yanks against his grip, panic rising. With a swift motion, she kicks upward, the hidden blade in her boot slicing through his jaw and into his mouth. A bloody gargle arises from his throat, yet he holds his grip. Despite the wounds he has suffered, the goliath tarries on. He pulls Ennui onto the floor with him, his free hand reaching for her throat. The hounds continue to bite and attack, their ferocity ignored by the solid figure. Ennui smashes her free hand against the goliath’s face. Greater pressure builds in her chest, unable to breath. She kicks with her boot knife, the blade piercing the Goliath’s skin repeatedly. A sudden twang from the hallway brings it all to a halt, the goliath’s hand squeezes uncomfortably tight, only to suddenly release his grip. Ennui pulls herself from underneath the dead man’s form, noting the arrow sunk half shaft deep through his eye.
The second figure begins to run down the stairs, shouting for Inga. Armor clanks together, more corsairs appear on the stairs of the Grand Hall. Blasted dwarf. Collecting her gladius, she turns to face the oncoming combatants. The hellhounds approach her flank, turning back to face the masses with her.
“Certainly,” Ennui pants, “we c-can come to some sort of peaceable solution?”
“Hells!” one shouts across the Grand Hall.
“She killed Inga!”
“Witch!”
“Bloody witch!”
Ennui sighs. “Not a witch,” she corrects. “But listen, if you walk out of here now, you might just live to see another day.”
The man with the viol laughs, stepping forward. “A lone devil?”
“I have the might of the hells on my side!” she roars with a cackle of delirious laughter.
“And I’m the bloody Saint of Flames!” one man snarls in mock laughter. “You’re a fuckin’ loon.”
The others burst out laughing. They unsheathe their weapons in a loud ring of steel. Ennui sighs, looking at the two hellhounds at her sides.
Ennui glances at the hellhounds. “Scorch ‘em.”
The beasts obey. Their jaws part, releasing torrents of crimson fire. The hall ignites in a wave of searing heat. Screams fill the air, bodies crumple, flames lick at flesh. Ennui watches, expression impassive. Mamir loosens arrows from his quiver in quick succession before ducking back behind a marble column. Ennui waits for the flames to subside. Painful screams fill the great hall, men fall to the floor, their clothing ablaze. From the inferno, figures emerge—burned, but standing. Resilient bastard.
The musician steps forward, unscathed. He lifts his viol, the bow gliding across the strings. The low, droning note sends a sickening tremor through the air. The sound is unbearable, gnawing at the edges of her mind.
Ennui furrows her brow as a low, unbearable ringing thrums around her, vibrating in her skull like a struck bell. The hellhounds whimper, lowering their heads, their ears pinned back in agony. Gritting her teeth, she pushes forward, determined to silence the wretched screech. She swings her blade with unrelenting fury, but the musician moves like smoke, sidestepping and spinning with unsettling ease. His laughter twists into wailing, the discordant notes shattering glass lamps and sending pottery crashing down the Grand Hall’s steps.
With a sharp flick of his bow, he points it at her and utters an incantation. Sparks crackle from the wood, searing through the air. Blinding light floods her vision. “I’ll send you to the hells!” she snarls through clenched teeth, staggering back as a vice-like pressure clamps around her skull. A deep, splitting pain radiates from the center of her forehead.
The hellhounds scatter, shaking off the unnatural sound before lunging back into the fray, sinking their fangs into the corsairs still ablaze from their earlier assault. But Ennui keeps her focus locked onto the musician. Eyes squeezed shut against the brilliant flare, she swings blindly. Her blade meets resistance, biting into flesh with a familiar give. Her vision clears just in time to see the musician staring at her, his wide eyes filled with disbelief. His bare hand grips the sharp edge of her gladius, blood spilling down his wrist. The viol slips from his grasp, clattering to the ground as he fumbles for the rapier at his hip.
“Unwise,” Ennui breathes, her bloodshot eyes flicking around the battlefield before settling back on him. She drags her thumb beneath her nose, wiping away the slow trickle of blood. “What’d you do to my head?”
The musician glares at her, his breathing ragged. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
She cocks a brow. “No.” With a savage yank, she rips her sword free, severing the fingers that clung desperately to the blade. They scatter across the tile like sausage links.
The musician gasps, his free hand flying to the hilt of his rapier. He barely manages to unsheathe it before Ennui drives her gladius deep into his gut. She leans in, twisting the blade with a cruel efficiency. Blood bubbles from his lips as he stumbles back, collapsing into a lifeless heap.
A hush falls over the hall. Mamir stands in the hallway, shortbow raised, an arrow nocked and ready. The surviving corsairs drop to their knees, weapons clattering at their feet as they throw their hands up in surrender. Their wide eyes fix on her—not with defiance, but fear. Ennui presses her fingers against her temple, her head still throbbing.
“Where’s the ikati?” she demands.
A young minos[1] lowers his head. “I don’t know!” he trembles.
Ennui lifts her gladius. “Really? You don’t know?” she asks again, her words cutting.
“Wai-wait!” another corsair stammers, throwing a desperate glance at his comrade. “Maza?”
Mamir steps forward, his voice a low growl. “Aye, a blonde ikati with green eyes.”
The corsair nods rapidly. “Marcus took a shine to her. He keeps her to himself.”
Ennui stills. Her grip tightens on the hilt of her blade. “Keeps her to himself?” The words slither from her lips. Her hand trembles at the implications behind the words.
The minos shrinks under her gaze. “Marcus is lupo… he’s very protective of what he thinks is his.”
Ennui scoffs, kicking the musician’s corpse. “I figured this,” she sneers, delivering a second violent kick, “was your bloody captain.”
“Seban was just our musician… kept us entertained. That’s all,” another corsair mutters. “What’re you gonna do with us?”
Ennui squats before them, her tail flicking lazily behind her. “I don’t like to leave witnesses… but you might prove useful yet.” She flashes a sharp-toothed grin and gestures toward Mamir. “I’ll leave my dwarven friend here to watch the two of you.”
Mamir shoots her a dubious look. “Are you intending to leave them alive?”
Ennui hums thoughtfully. “I’ve got some questions for them.”
Before Mamir can protest, a figure steps out of the hallway—the elven servant girl. She clutches a sharpened paring knife, her knuckles white around the handle. Her face is streaked with tears, but there’s a burning rage in her eyes. “You can’t let them live,” she says, voice raw with fury. “These men… they’re monsters.”
Ennui eyes the four men kneeling before her, considering the elven woman’s words. She has been called a monster before. She knows what it is to carry that brand, to be feared, reviled. Perhaps—perhaps—she can offer these men a fresh start. The elven woman’s hands tremble at her sides. Her face is streaked with tears, her arms littered with fresh bruises and cuts. Rashes mar her knees and elbows, telltale wounds left by cruelty. Ennui has seen this before, too many times. She has seen this sort of handiwork before, left behind on concubines by cruel clients.
“Was it any of these?” Ennui asks, tilting her head at the men. Her voice is unreadable, almost casual. “If it was, I’ll let you slit their throats now. If it’ll bring you closure.”
The four men tense, eyes averted. The woman reaches out, hesitates. Then, with a shuddering breath, she lets her arm fall limply to her side, the paring knife slipping from her grasp onto the cold tiles. “N-no,” she confesses softly. “Though they bore witness.”
Ennui shrugs. “This is no time to be shy. If you want to feel free of your captor… of those that raised their hands against you, now would be the time,” she urges. “After tonight, you may never get another chance. “So, I ask you again… which of these men laid a hand upon you?” she asks, her crimson eyes boring through the men. She takes a dagger from her belt and extends it to her, offering the hilt. “Now is your time,” she encourages.
The woman remains silent. “I th-think you killed them already… but they’re all burned up now.”
Mamir crosses his arms. “Well then, how about we go pick out the man… then we’ll string ’em up for you?”
Ennui scoffs and thrusts the dagger back into her belt. “Alright, Mamir. Take care of this. If any of them move, kill them.”
Mamir offers a nod in reply, preparing an arrow.
“You! Minos! Where is the lupo’s chamber?” she asks of the young corsair.
The minos swallows. “Up the hall, across the courtyard,” he stammers, pointing.
Ennui rubs her temples. The throbbing in her skull has not ceased. “And how many more can I expect with him?” she asks, impatience flickering in her tone. Her tail lashes behind her as she adjusts the cowl over her horns.
“Not many. He likes to keep to himself. Doesn’t like company… unless you’re a lady.”
Ennui sheaths the gladius. “So, he should be alone then?”
Mamir watches her warily. “We’ll manage, Ennui,” he mutters. “Just go help the girl. I’ll get to the bottom of this.”
Ennui clicks her tongue, beckoning the hellhounds to follow. She uses the minos’ instructions and takes the passage down another grandiose hallway lined with potted ferns and opulent mosaics. She walks along the crimson Rhazian rug. Her head continues to pound, her ears ring in pain, causing her to become disoriented while she struggles down the passage. A sudden unbearable pain halts her in her tracks, pain unlike anything she has experienced in the past brings her to her knees. Her stomach churns, bringing up her last meal: kelp wrapped goose and carrots. What did he do to me?, she thinks to herself. She places her head against the marble column. The hellhounds nudge against her, encouraging her onward. Samael, what the fuck did that minstrel do?
A low ache forms in her thigh. Haunted by the pain, she reaches down, her vision blurred. Sticky wetness. Impossible. She looks down where the arrow had pierced her, a growing red blotch leaks through the thin linen fabric. She pushes her hand against it, the blood presses through onto her palm. The Hellhounds next to her push against her.
“Alright, fine,” she mutters before she wipes her lips over her sleeves. “Let’s get this over with.”
Ennui is certain the pain in her leg, along with the blood that she had felt, is part of a delusion caused by the musician. Uncertain of the truth, she rips her sleeve in haste, wrapping the linen cloth about her thigh. The path continues for some distance before turning sharply towards an inner courtyard. She follows the directions from the minos. A large bronze censer sits on either side of the massive Dolman elderwood doors. A heavy perfumed scent wafts through the hall along with the thick gray smoke rising from the ashes. The two doors stand nearly twice her height, each hand carved with expertise. Murals depicting scenes of hunting are scored into the wood, giving it a feeling of splendor. Ennui places her hand on each of the doors, pushing them open with a mighty shove.
“Maza!” she calls, her voice echoing through the dim chamber. The hinges groan in protest. “Here, kitty, kitty.”
The hellhounds nip at her heel once she steps into the dark room, the massive elderwood doors progressively peel open. The room sits in absolute darkness, Ennui’s eyes adjust to the dark, picking up her surroundings in shades of gray. A collection of cushions litter the center of the room in various shapes and sizes. Another bronze censer sits in the center of the room, a pungent earthy scent drifts from its smoky tendrils. Ennui unsheathes her gladius. The hellhounds at her heels release a low and throaty growl, their bodies pointed to a wooden privacy panel in the corner. Her eyes look below the panel, revealing a pair of wobbling legs.
“Maza, if it’s you… we’re here to help,” Ennui says calmly. “Just tell me where the lupo is.”
A ragged whisper follows. “He only just left.”
Ennui steps closer, rubbing her temples. “Then he’s gone?” She sheathes her gladius, moving toward the wooden screen. “You can come out now. We don’t have time for delays.”
The young ikati emerges, hesitant. The sight of her stops Ennui cold. Her face is swollen, cheeks dark with bruises. Blackened wrists, nails cracked. Raw wounds mar her ankles, evidence of restraints. Her hair is uneven, great chunks missing. The tips of her ears are scabbed over from cuts. Ennui’s hands tremble at her sides. What kind of monster—?
Her voice is steel when she speaks. “Where did he run?”
Maza raises a shaking hand, pointing toward the billowing curtains. Dust and sand swirl through the open window, the remnants of his escape.
Ennui pushes the pain out of her mind, convinced it is naught but an illusion of the musician’s trickery, she forces herself to the window. She clicks her tongue, motioning for the hellhounds to follow.
She turns to the hellhounds, their eyes locked on hers. “Seek,” she orders, voice low. “Tear him to shreds. Take his soul with you to the hells, if it pleases Samael.”
The hounds bare their fangs in recognition, then lower their snouts to the ground. Within seconds, they bolt through the courtyard, kicking up sand and dust.
Maza takes a shaky step forward. “What—what should I do?”
Ennui doesn’t look back. “Go to the main hall. Find Mamir.”
Then she leaps onto the windowsill and drops into the storm. The dust storm blows heavily, obfuscating her vision, but the beasts continue their course through the arches. Once the hounds reach the external gardens, they seem to lose their scent, the tall walls of the estate no longer block the interrupting dust storm. Ennui rubs at her thigh, reminding herself that her pain is nothing more than illusory, a mirage.
“Seek!” she commands again.
The hellhounds whimper in response, their noses pressing back against the cobbles. They circle a small area until one finds traces of the lupo’s scent. The trail is fading. She follows hastily behind them, slowed only by her slight limp. The hounds push through the external garden doors and down a set of stone stairs into an alley. Losing herself in the thrill of the hunt, she stumbles on sand piled on the stairs. Grabbing hold of the wall, she holds herself up from falling further. The hounds press on just ahead of her without looking back. A sudden shout and yelp force Ennui to dash towards the sound.
A daunting figure stands at the end of the alleyway, rapier in hand. One of the hounds lays over the cobbles, shifting to ash before her eyes. She turns back to the lupo standing before her. The lupo pulls his tawny scarf over his nose and mouth and slowly moves towards Ennui, his yellow eyes glow with malice upon his approach.
“Think I ‘an’t smell the hells from a mile away, devil?” he asks in a gravelly voice. “Salt an sulfur is it?”
Ennui rolls her shoulders, flicking her gladius in her grip. She looks to the hound beside her. I’ll need your help. The lupo moves first, rushing across the distance with great force, his bushy gray tail sweeps behind him. Ennui rolls across the sandy cobbles, gladius ready to counter.
The lupo stops and turns back to face Ennui. “Wait, wait!” he says suddenly. “I bloody well know youse. Y’re that devilkin woman. On’ou or some shit, right?”
Ennui’s face screws up. “W-what?” Her hand tightens on the hilt of her blade. This must be some trick. “What the bloody hells did you even just call me?”
“Nah, nah. ‘Ear me out,” he starts, “I mean, you’ve got the Desert Cities, and I’ve got the Lorian Sea… I’m a fish outta water ere’, ya’understand?”
“And?” Ennui asks, raising a brow curiously.
The lupo sheaths his rapier. “‘ow bout this? I’ll give ya some gold and ya let me go on my way, ‘an when ya need passage across the Lorian Sea, I’ll give youse a pass, ‘ow bout it?” he asks, thrusting his hand into a leather pouch at his waist.
Ennui pauses, shaking her head in dismay. “I don’t tend to cross that way all that often, but I gather… you’re Ziad’s man?”
“Bold,” the lupo says, nodding in affirmation. “Goin’ after Emir Ziad Zeybek’s property. I appreciate the boldness of it, really do. But, love… ya understand. Business is business, so ‘ows bout it?”
Ennui takes a moment to consider, her eyes fixed on the bumbling man. “The girl. Maza. She’s a bit banged up. How’d it happen?”
“She’s a clumsy girl,” he replies all too swiftly. “We were just following Ziad’s orders. Protecting ‘is property an’ the like.”
“Right, right,” Ennui whispers. Her gladius slides back into its sheath, her eyes flicker to the hellhound inching closer to the lupo. “Perhaps it’d be best if you just went on your merry way.”
The lupo clasps his hands together. “That right? The great On’ou is gonna let me go?”
Ennui nods lazily in response, her eyes meet the hellhound’s, a sense of knowing forms between the two of them. The hellhound opens its gaping maw, releasing a stream of red hellfire across the cobbles. Ennui dashes forward, withdrawing her gladius in a flash. She bursts through the flames, slashing across the lupo’s chest, as he covers himself from the flames. The hellhound follows Ennui with a howl. The lupo stumbles backwards in shock.
“Youse thought it’d be that easy, did ya?” he grumbles angrily, ripping the rapier from its leather sheath. “I thought I smelled more than one shite,” he growls.
The lupo grabs the hilt of a second knife tucked in the back of his trousers. He stands before Ennui, rapier and swordbreaker at the ready. Ennui’s vision falters briefly, her eyes narrow to focus on the man before her. She rolls the hilt of the gladius in her palm. The sweat from her efforts and the heat drips down her brow. The lupo moves fast, his steps agile and without pause, dashing murderous lunges. Ennui parries them to the best of her ability in her fading state, catching a lengthy gash across her side. The pain in her head continues to ring like a tolling bell. I need to end this before—her thoughts are suddenly cut off, the lupo pushes forward again, his swordbreaker catches the gladius. The gladius bounds across the cobbles. Her eyes close, a biting cool steel punctures her abdomen.
“Fuck,” Ennui groans between grit teeth.
The lupo smirks, the hilt of his rapier thrusts flush against her skin. “‘ows it feel, On’ou?”
She sucks her teeth. “It’s been a while… since I’ve been penetrated,” she chokes with a laugh. She coughs, blood spraying onto the lupo’s cotton shirt.
“D-don’t make light,” the lupo demands, bringing his dagger to her stomach. “I’ll put you outta yer m’sery.”
“No, please!” Ennui pleads mockingly. She grabs his wrist with the dagger. “Leave it in,” she insists with a bloody grin.
The lupo looks at Ennui in dismay, his eyes shaking as he realizes his mistake. “Jus’ die, woman!”
Ennui pushes against the lupo’s strength, pushing him against a wall in the alley. The hellhound bites and chews at his legs. She holds him firm, chuckling in a delirious fit. She pushes against the dagger pressed against her stomach with her left hand as she reaches into the belt at her waist with her right. She lowers her head, slowly pushing her horns against the lupo’s face. He calls out in pain, the bony horns rip and tear against the tender flesh of his cheek. She finds the hilt of a dagger in her belt, in panic she begins to jab quickly. The lupo, unable to free himself of Ennui’s grasp, yelps in pain, warm crimson blood splatters across Ennui’s pale hand.
“Jus’ die, wolf,” Ennui mocks. “Hey,” she pants, “did you pick such… long blade to compensate?” She thrusts the dagger upward with a vicious twist.
The lupo grits his teeth, blood drips from between his lips. He lets out a roaring laugh and with a last exasperated breath, the resistance against Ennui’s hand ceases. He crashes against the wall and onto the cobblestones of the alley. Ennui falls to her knees beside him, digging through his leather pouch.
“Fucker better have some salve or something,” she groans loudly and turns to the hellhound. “You can go back to S-Samael,” she whispers. “You can see your damn mate again.”
Ennui’s breathing is labored, the pain in her abdomen flares every time she touches the steel. She sighs, closing her eyes. The hellhound trot towards her. It licks her cheek, the heavy scent of sulfur and ash fills her nostrils with each lengthy lap from its heated tongue. Ennui raises a hand and leans against the dead lupo. The hellhound nudges its head against her hand. The sandy wind blows over her battered body.
[1] Minos(MEE-nos): Beastkin the traits of bovines.