Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions Chapter 360: Edge of the World

• FIVE DAYS LATER, PORT GLARKIS

The completion of [Mission I] brought Eotigan a lot of benefits. Many souls of great n who’d just died across the Eldorian empire were added to his [Arcane Rune]. The Damned. Souls that had being rejected from paradise, and rather than fall to the fiery womb of Hel and her arduous torntors chose servitude in the employ of the Apollyon.

Eotigan had now close to three million ghouls in his shadow army. This included his Necro Boys.

But the souls gathered to him existed in factions within his [Helpocket] dinsion, ranked by his infernal system from the mightiest before their deaths, and their war experience in homage to the Burning One. Thus the Necro Boys were among the upperclassn of Eotigan’s shade army; they had fought with him the Scrying Spiders of Weeping Well and aided in the defeat of Captain van Tuane and his Ice Spears.

"I must say the ocean favors a girl."

Eotigan pulled his thoughts when he heard the quiet voice, followed after by a shy giggle. The speaker, Inaia looked good enough to eat in her sundress and high-piled dreads. Her words, a complint to the latter, Kambili.

Kambili was back.

And how glad it made Eotigan. It made everyone glad. Clearly, telling the look on Inaia’s pretty face as she praised the darker girl. Saying the ocean favored her was Inaia’s poetic way of telling Kambili she looked good. And the girl did. No one would believe she had once being a hard-sell cargo for slavers looking the way she did. Her yellow skin looked polished in gold and Eotigan guessed she’d had a cut during her travels for the mission he sent her on—her brown hair was shaved down, almost to the scalp, glinting the sunset rays. Kambili was fine as tall glass of mokka. The sea winds had sure been good to her.

She was yet blushing under Inaia’s words and his studying cat eyes.

Eotigan turned over a macabre coin in the flat of his palm, as he enjoyed the girls before his eyes, each peculiar in their own way. The coin was a summoning shard, just as his deadman cards; the one currently winding in and out of sight between his masterful fingers bore the visage of the last King of Frostholm, Warden of the North—a dynasty whom he and Giselle van Imperia had made sexual pleasure of killing. But he was a different demon then.

Nonetheless, this king was part of his shade army now.

Turns out Eotigan had done the North a rcy by drowning the fucker in his own moat. The king was vassal to him now, and Eotigan could conjure his soul with a flip of the coin.

He instead enjoyed watching Kambili revel in his disappearing act.

Eotigan had chosen to remain in Port Glarkis, awaiting Kambili from her voyage because the small island town was not monitored like the rest of the Corynthian isles. His wait was not in vain because he had her here now, and Inaia, and Thyra...and they were all several diamonds richer.

"So she’s one of us now, is she?" Kambili directed her question to Inaia but her eyes on Thyra.

Eotigan sat with the three of them on the open stone patio at the top of the nearby tavern. He had booked a quite fancy dinner for the evening. Cold winds brushed over them, driving in from the beach as they all shared the mont. Eotigan continued flipping his soul coin, interestedly watching the girls. Inaia answered with a knowing smile. "Yep. She sure is now."

Then in a single glance to her [Host] she relived the mory of that torrid night in the attic with Thyra.

Though the bitch had begged for so, Eotigan had denied her—even after making her co so much on his fingers. He was wicked like that. That evening, five days ago, not unlike this one in tranquil beauty, Eotigan had kept Inaia aside—hot and breathless. And he made her watch as he pulled in Inaia to that which she had begged for: suck his big cock to completion. Inaia’s mouth had done so deliverance to him that twilight, and as the first slips of moon parted the clouds he held down her long braids and splurged his hot seed all over her porcelain beauty. Beating his dick all over Inaia’s face had Thyra gulping and clenching her fingers for so.

Again, he was wicked like that. The [Mission I] said he had to make her beg. It didn’t say a thing about what happened next.

Denying Thyra a face-full of his profane, but juicy sen just about made the pirate woman a believer. He’d let Inaia suck his cock. And not her. And since that feverish night of fighting ’nd then so, Thyra had said zilch about her forr Captain, Percival van Tuane.

The man himself lay in rotted white garnts with the pigs in the cargo hold of Eotigan’s prize warship. Forr Captain and old friend, battling mania and slls of swine fart. His first-mate literally a lap-bitch for the enemy.

But then good Captain van Tuane was half to bla for his foolery. Such was the plight of them who had raised sword against the Apollyon of Hel. . .even his mother.

Inaia blinked at the oval table, cutting out Eotigan’s gilded eyes and the mory.

"Yes, she is." Inaia repeated and went on to re-introduce both won, "Thyra, et Kambili, our fierce changeling and amoré too of our [Host]. Kambili...Thyra," she passed a hand over to the silver-eyed blonde, "you rember her, don’t you?"

Kambili flexed her muscled arms, her svelte body cut to the perfection of a leaping gazelle. "I sure do," Kambili agreed, "mostly as she scread our ears off during the battle of ships."

Kambili’s aikeñ accent made her words sounds stilted, and the off ca out as ’aff’.

Inaia broke the stiffness between the shaven warrior and the moon blonde by saying, "it would surprise you to know dat she don’t scream as much in da bedroom."

This made Eotigan stop doing tricks with his macabre coin and smile. Soft laughter scattered on the table among the three girls, including Thyra—shaking her head and blushing all the while.

Their dinner arrived on wheels, a real silvered tray, and in the hands of a very effeminately pretty boy. He stayed with them the entire six-course, enjoying the arena and the beauty of his guests as much as they enjoyed his skillful talent and ponytail.

This supper was on the high end of gold, but Eotigan considered it of no cost. He got to listen to the sounds of distant waves, enjoy surreal evening panorama, chilling August winds; to see and grow fond of his three consorts as they too got to know each other, making small talk at the fine Basquian table. And he almost couldn’t rember what exactly he’d flown the Capital for.

Almost.

To him, these two girls and a woman had beco such as one beautiful, irreproachable thing to him.

In his head he had even derived the perfect acronym for them:

’K. I. T.’

Kambili. Inaia. Thyra.

Simple, yet distinguished, just as the won it represented.

Kambili had returned from her voyage – per his orders to accompany the Cruiser to safe waters as its interim lady Captain where the loot of the Weeping Well Cove would be shared among the surviving passengers of the vessel, and to then return with their portion of the haul. Kambili had done him one better. She had traded their own divided of so twenty pots of gold and ancient armants for the rarest diamonds.

A wise treatise.

So now she sat before him, inviting as hell with her fresh buzz cut—who knew Hel’s Apollyon had a thing for tomboys?—with thirteen glowing gems in the concealed sleeve of her shirt.

One of which was the largest marine diamond west of the Cold Sea. Its equal being only the great ruby which the rqueen, Yemaya had presented Eotigan during their sham marriage.

So then, Eotigan mused, who the fuck gave a flying shit about splurging on fucking dinner?

He could afford this shit. He did this shit. He OWNED this shit.

He was not one to engage self-praise but it was kinda hard not to on a date dinner with three of the hottest chicks to walk the planet. Eotigan was sweeping across the won’s divine bodies with hungry eyes and a lopsided grin, being far too handso for one who’d called flaming fire his ho for thousands of years. . .when he felt a sudden shift in the ambient [mana].

A rift. A spike.

No. A surge!

Port Glarkis had a total of ten supernaturals at best; and that was counting every witch, vamp, werewolf, and fucking hunter in the smalltown. So the mana levels of the place were liminal at [Arcanum] dials—which asured the potent divine or vile energies of a city. Eotigan, as an S-rank devil was privileged to have one built in. And so he sensed the massive upshoot of magic in the air, even before Inaia.

Eight seconds later, she shot to her feet off the table.

"Sothing’s wrong!"

Kambili instantly dropped her fork. Thyra reached for her concealed Bayan pistol. Both won were not new to danger and the horrors of this world, especially with all sorts of the nosferane creatures within it. Kambili jibed, "what? What’s wrong?"

Inaia’s green iris danced in their sockets, like frantic balls on a table, seeking the source; for she and her [Host] knew only possibly a mythical gold dragon could solely elevate the levels of mana in the atmosphere like that. And there hadn’t being a gold dragon sighting since the Age of the primordial Ringed Fae. So what the fuck was happening to the motherfucking magic?

The cute ponytailed server stood at attention.

Eotigan’s citrine eyes were shut, volcanic behind the lids, as he honed his vampiric [Echolocation] to map out the leylines and find the fucker that was shooting up his dinner.

Inaia’s coffee eyes suddenly ca to a standstill. She started, "Lord ho—"

She didn’t get to finish as there was an abrupt flash of unholy crimson light, striking from the sea to sky, splitting the entire world for a nanosecond into only black and white color. In that blitz of ti, everything beca so terrifyingly damned. And then the next second after that terrible lightning, the explosion hit.

CRAC—

—BOOOOOOOOOM!!!

The earth quivered like a shattered rock. The sea tore asunder.

From the patio of that cozy diner, Eotigan, Kambili, Inaia, Thyra...and Ponytail stared at the center of the ocean explode outward and up with a colossal blast.

A terrible, terrible mushroom cloud.

It was the sonic shockwaves that hit the tiny island first. The winds brake the Palms on the beaches faster than one could spit, scattering the treeline of Port Glarkis like the image of a bald pussy. Sand ricocheted in the air like bullets, rising high and fast, blotting out the fading sun. It was as a weird eclipse. Colors of the globe were not as should be.

The force of the shockwave sent the entire smalltown a few kiloters off its geographical position. This was the might of the blast.

Eotigan and the others gripped standing lamposts for stead against the cyclonic winds. Ponytail had his arms wrapped around Thyra’s whole midriff, praying his sexy head of hair not be ripped off to his visceral brain by breezes that seed to want to do just that. People in the town, bay, beach and yonder flailed like flags of at in the ensuing tornado of dust.

"WHAT. THE. SHIIIIIT?!" Eotigan shielding his eyes scread to Inaia.

The whipping sands were coarse enough to flay, and not just blind.

But even in this, a great wave was rising in the sea, mighty of proportion, berth, height, and dread. Lifting over two thousand feet into the fucking sky, it utterly obscured the red sun; Eotigan and the others stared into a blue apocalypse.

The few vessels docking the shores were as but gnats in the might of the hurling ocean tongue.

Eotigan spied his own warship bravely rising untoppled like the board of a surfer, challenging the sea as the colossal wave rolled to shore. Eotigan saw the beach fold—like paper.

"Shite." He heard the surrender in Thyra’s low voice.

Witnessing parts of the town crumble into water and just disappear forever, Ponytail cutie raised his voice high into the heavens, yelling out so loudly words Eotigan would’ve laughed to were his stomach not so tight: "The edge of the world," scread the boy—jelled bangs in his eyes,

"...THE EDGE OF THE WORLD! Holy Martyr, please accept my sacrilegious soul into paradise. Have rcy upon my rry, gay flesh. I AM SORRY FOR SUCKING DICK!"

And then the pretty boy began to cry.

"Shite." Eotigan echoed Thyra’s voice. With no ti to mull it over, he put forward the only way he had in mind to abort ’The Edge of the World’. He said silently in a deep, unrushed timbre:

"Creature calls Creation. DOMAIN EXPANSION: Rod of Moses! Ocean divi—"

[To be continued.]