{"loaderData":{"4":{"story":{"id":"5f62678e-0491-45ce-a34f-a23589dfcbf1","seriesId":"c40485ec-4da2-4c9b-baf3-ec040c52970a","seriesName":"A Sorcerer's New Pet","currentUserId":"00000000-0000-0000-0000-000000000000","added":"2021-07-30T16:23:11.316Z","title":"A Sorcerer's New Pet Ch. 11 - Gods And Demons","slug":"a-sorcerers-new-pet-ch-11-gods-and-demons","shortId":"xy3lHgGT","authorNote":null,"disclaimer":null,"type":"Short","paidUrl":null,"synopsis":"Mayhem ensues at the Shrine. A mysterious artist creates a new masterpiece.","partCount":1,"parts":[{"partId":"53edd73d-d4a7-4cab-bf45-6f4308cc1f22","title":null,"summary":"\"Holy One. We are under attack.\" The mortal in charge of defending the Shrine delivers the news","wordCount":5580,"readTime":28,"number":1,"state":"Published"}],"currentPart":1,"contentTitle":"Chapter 1","content":"

\"Holy One. We are under attack.\"

The mortal in charge of defending the Shrine delivers the news in a grave voice. The detestable man was correct, then. Is there nothing to be done? Our gaze turns towards him. A bloodthirsty smile blossoms on his face. We can tell he is not here to protect us. He is here for revenge.

'We should hide. It's dangerous here!'

'We should fight. The intruders are just mortals.'

'Mother would not resort to violence, isn't there a way to convince them?'

We bicker, as we are wont to do as we feel our followers dying in droves. We wonder if the man will intervene now or lure the Enemy deeper inside his trap. We would ask, but it's not proper for a mortal to enlighten a Goddess. We would have read his little mind, but he has protections around his soul: something that should be forbidden.

\"Capture the intruders. They are not Devils, just mere mortals.\"

We command our Guardian, who rushes down the hall with the rest of our followers who can wield a weapon.

'They can't do it. The Enemy is powerful.'

'This revolting man should do something. His blankness unnerves us.'

'Why aren't we talking to him? Do we care about etiquette?'

The stupid man has a lot of scars on his face. His hair is black and reaches his shoulder. He has blue eyes that remind us of frozen ponds. When he speaks, his voice is gravelly. Murderous intent coats his words.

\"Whatever happens, do not engage the Soul Mage, Holy One. He wouldn't be here if he didn't have a way to deal with you. I will take care of him.\"

The man is unhinged. How could a mortal \"deal\" with a Goddess? Our only concern is that Asmodeus is aware of us now. The arrival of the Enemy confirms it.

'This Enemy feels more like us than a mortal. Is he even human?'

'It's because of Faith. He has Believers. Few but strong.'

'Is that how they found out about us?'

It's shameful, but we are unsure of ourselves. We are better acquainted with Love and Secrets than with Warfare.

'We should destroy them when they appear.'

'Yes, erase them from this plane.'

'Would that even work? We cannot perceive much from him.'

Without notice, the annoying man places himself in front of us, watching the entrance. Two mortals, a familiar Priestess, and The Enemy enter the room, covered in blood from head to toe. They look surprised to see the man standing in their way.

\"Seymour. Color me impressed. How did you find out about this?\"

The Enemy looks amused. His two companions have sour expressions but maintain their composure. We do not appreciate being ignored by mortals, but we endure. At the appropriate time, we will strike down these maggots and go back into hiding.

\"Hmpf.\"

\"Seriously? No rant about bringing me to justice this time?\"

If not for the idiot man offering his servitude in exchange for a chance to fight the Enemy, we would have left days ago. Yet, the man is strong for a mortal, and his attitude will improve once we bless him with our Soul Brand. Our connection will make us more powerful and, we hope, less fragmented.

\"Words are wasted on someone who's about to die.\"

The mana in the room swells enough to make us uncomfortable, attacking everyone in the man's path. The Enemy's companions are now writhing on the floor, and their hoods have fallen off, revealing a tiefling and a half-elf. The Priestess is cowering in a corner. Our attempts at controlling her are thwarted. It's as if the Soul Brand Mother has placed on her has been tampered with. We look back at the Enemy with newfound caution.

\"Harsh, as usual. Well then, shall we end this?\"

Unfazed by the man's attack, the Enemy exerts his command on the fabric of reality, conjuring dozens of translucent swords. We prepare Ourselves to intervene at the perfect moment.

We can feel the Threads of Fate weaving themselves around us. We are determined to escape their grasp.

------

I must admit I did not expect this to happen. How did Seymour hear about our little plan? How did he find out about Luna in the first place? As far as I know, he doesn't even know the truth about the Gods.

His presence is a wrench in our plans, and it forces me to improvise. Our plan to obtain an audience with the Goddes has failed since they had been expecting us. Jade's poisons and Diana's powers were instrumental in conserving my mana while forcing our way in. But they are useless against Seymour, who is at least a couple of leagues above them.

The man has defeated Archdevils in the past, and can probably survive against one of the Seven Sins, placing him at the uppermost limit for a human. If not for extensive planning on my part, I would not have survived being hunted by him for thirty years.

I have been saving up energy as much as possible for the past month, so I am in peak condition. Ivy's recent progress is also very welcome, as it allows me to have some much-needed leeway in terms of how many spells I can cast. Yet, I will not come out of this unscathed, if at all, since Seymour has caught me by surprise.

I am excited, giddy even. I am as close to losing it all as I have ever been. One of the only men I consider a threat is staring me down, hellbent on murdering me. I have forced him to kill his daughter, so there is no chance of bribing him or avoiding conflict. My only options are conquering these odds or dragging him to The Hells with me.

I let a smile creep on my face as all the mana I have accumulated fills the room. Translucent swords surround me while dozens of fireballs and giant ice shards emerge from nothing, streaking towards me. I can feel Seymour's burning rage and cold hatred empowering the spells as I raise my defenses with haste.

Freeform magic is what distinguishes Sorcerers from Mages. Unless a Mage can wield mana with their intent alone, without resorting to predetermined spells, then they will never obtain the coveted title. This type of magic, also known as Wild magic, is what Dragons and Ancestral Elves used to wield and is the first step towards Godhood.

In an attempt to distract me, Seymour blasts me with everything at his disposal, my swords shattering as they block his attacks. I have studied his fighting style, so I know he's about to teleport behind me. Only an extremely skilled Sorcerer would risk bending space in the middle of a veritable magical storm. I make a point of ignoring Luna as I turn around towards where I anticipate my opponent to appear.

I am blasted in the back by a lightning bolt, which breaks my concentration. Seymour tricked me. It was a feint.

\"All that power is wasted in the hands of a coward.\"

I am on my knees for the first time in decades. The metallic taste of blood in my mouth mixed with the smell of burnt hair fills my perception. If I hadn't scrubbed the concept of pain from my soul, I would be screaming right now.

Seymour does not waste any time and ionizes the air around me, turning it into incandescent plasma. I barely avoid turning to ash by stepping through space, reaching the other side of the room. I am heaving. My lungs are burning.

The whole room has become a scorching inferno after the rest of the oxygen has ignited, turning into deadly ozone. Jade has evacuated with Diana, bringing Tamara with them. She was to become my Angel, so she could not be left behind. She also had a crucial job left to do if she wanted to earn a spot for her husband.

I use some mana to heal myself while I conjure a shield around me. I use mana to reduce the ozone into oxygen, expelling the excess atoms in a burst of flames. I then mix the oxygen with nitrogen extracted from the guard's blood covering my clothes to create breathable air. I thank my younger self for the lessons in alchemy I forced myself to take and regain my breath.

This was going to be tough.

\"What a shame. I would have loved to see you burn.\"

Seymour is relentless and does not give me any respite. The last time we faced off, he paid a heavy price for his habit to ramble when I managed to hit him with a bout of Soul Pain. Now, he has found a way to protect his soul, rendering my stronger attacks useless. I Counterspell most of his moves, but I am retreating, my back to Luna. I am surprised by the Goddess' restraint, and I am starting to fear she will not attack me, despite my efforts to ensure she has plenty of openings.

Could Seymour have convinced her not to engage me? That would be a huge problem, but how did he manage to talk some sense in a God? If there was someone who did not listen to advice, it was that lot. I've been a Godslave long enough to know the opinions of mortals mean less than dirt to them. Hells, they could have won the war if they had heeded some of their followers' warnings.

\"You do know that if you kill me, your daughter's Remnant will perish as well, right?\"

I try to goad him into making a mistake, but Seymour keeps pummeling me with spell after spell. I can barely keep up with his pace, no match for the prodigy of the Kingdom of Lyra. How the Hells did he manage to protect his soul? Somebody must have helped him, but who?

\"That fiend is not my daughter. Whatever you've done to her, she has died a long time ago.\"

A vicious attack hits my right shoulder, corroding it. I cannot feel the pain, but the effects on my mobility are evident. My disadvantage is growing, and the Goddess still has not moved. I need to take a risk, or I'll never get out of this alive. Channeling all the mana I have left, I create a sturdy barrier around me and begin chanting in Infernal.

Guessing my intention, Seymour bellows.

\"Don't fall for it! He's bluff-\"

\"You shall not summon Him in Our presence, Mortal!\"

Luna blasts my barrier out of existence, hitting me with divine energy. My body slams against the walls of the Shrine, barely surviving the attack. Under the onslaught of Luna's power, I am on the verge of death. But it matters not. Finally, I can put my original plan into motion.

\"Daisy, it's time.\"

\"Fucking finally, Master.\"

Lily's Mistress emerges from the deepest recesses of my soul, where she resides. My deadliest pet is out of her cage, and she is not one to play nice. She is far more than a Remnant since she sacrificed herself at her peak to join me for eternity. On that occasion, I had time to set up a collection ritual, so her soul has remained intact. I was planning to do the same for my beloved Lily, but Seymour killed her before I could harvest her.

I collapse on the floor with a smile on my face. I can see a barrage of magical attacks homing in on me, punctuated by Seymour's screams. It's too late, you piece of shit. I have already won.

------

\"Oh fuck yes!\"

Daisy drank deeply from the naive Goddess' power, becoming more corporeal by the second. The asshole that killed her little project was doing his best to stop her, but nothing he conjured was able to penetrate the maelstrom of divine mana surrounding her and her Master.

\"Why is our power not heeding our command? Release us immediately!\"

\"But you have sooo much! Won't you let this needy slut have a taste of it? Pretty please.\"

Daisy was a typical Eastern girl. Se had unruly black hair that reached down to her jawline, and dark, almost black eyes. A lithe and athletic body with modest breasts and white jade-like skin. Her owners had raised her a Maiden of the Sword, and she had earned her freedom by completing dangerous missions for her Sect, as it was custom in those regions. Leaving a way out for a select few would pacify the rest of the slaves, according to the Daimyo that ruled those lands.

She had spent the rest of her adolescence traveling the East Coast back and forth from Hinomiya to the desert town of Adhara, escorting merchants and killing monsters for bounty. Her nomadic lifestyle had lasted until Master had hired her as a guide during one of his travels.

Contrary to his other pets, Daisy had joined him of her own initiative. She had voluntarily submitted to him in exchange for his help. She had been obsessed with the idea of finding a Soul Mage that could realize her lifelong dream: becoming an Ancestral Weapon.

Beings of ancient legend, Ancestral Weapons were revered around the world. Not even Gods could disrespect them, and they were free to roam as they pleased, unfettered by celestial politics. It was a crazy aspiration to entertain as a mortal, yet Daisy had always been the most unhinged person she knew.

Power for power's sake. That was the Way of the Sword.

She would lick and suck and serve and beg without a second thought if it meant she could sharpen herself. Master had involved her in every soul modification, and they had trusted each other from the start. She could tell from his eyes he was a freak, just like her.

He was obsessed with his goals, which he didn't bother to hide from her once he had taken a peek inside her core. They were a match made in The Hells. She would be the perfect little deadly pet he needed, and he would mold her from the inside, turning her into the perfect weapon: a being able to contend with Gods and Demons alike.

Now, a step away from becoming a God, her Master had called upon her to protect his life. In exchange, she would become the strongest among his Angels. Just thinking about what he could do to her once he became a God made her tingle in arousal. The thought of Master honing her soul never failed to get her hot and bothered.

Daisy finished absorbing the divine mana storm and stretched her newly created body like a cat. It felt fucking amazing to be out, and she had absorbed enough energy to enjoy herself to the fullest for once. She turned towards Seymour, who was preparing another barrage of spells to throw at her. Their eyes met, and a manic smile spread on the Sword Maiden's face. She willed a katana into existence and prepared her move.

Enraged, Luna tried to blast her out of existence. Daisy laughed and extended her Soul Brand to create a barrier around her. Thousands of daisies as sharp as knives swirled around her, shredding the wave of power. Every fragment of divine energy was then absorbed by the girl, to Luna's dismay.

\"How is this possible? You are not a Goddess. Our power is too aspected for you to wield.\"

Avoiding several fireballs thrown her way with cat-like grace, Daisy cackled at the dumbfounded Goddess.

\"Honey, I am a daisy. Do you have any idea how many meanings are associated with my Soul Brand? I can absorb almost anything as long as I can handle it, and Master made this body from your energy, so I'd say it's pretty sturdy, don't you think?\"

\"That is impossible! You should be fragmented, like us. Even more so.\"

Slicing an ice shard in two, Daisy closed the distance between her and Seymour, who barely managed to avoid her strike. The Sorcerer tried teleporting near Master Dyne, but she conjured several Spirit Weapons to protect his body. Nobody would touch her ticket to Godhood.

\"Oh! But I am fragmented, sweetie. We simply all want the same thing, so we get along wonderfully.\"

That was the advantage of having a well-defined objective. It didn't matter how much Master messed with her Soul. She could always center herself around her core desire. According to Master, Soul Mages called this having a Zenith: a craving or obsession that would always be a point of reference despite heavy soul modifications. Soul mages loved people with Zeniths — or Nadirs, which were deeply-rooted fears that followed the same principle — because it allowed them to go crazy without the risk of ruining the subject's ability to function.

If she had to be perfectly honest, Daisy loved having multiple versions of herself. It allowed her to chat with the others when bored and improved her battle ability significantly. Each personality could pay attention to different things, so she would rarely be caught by surprise or outsmarted during battle.

Seymour disappeared from his position, reappearing immediately above her. In his hands, he held a black lance, which seemed to absorb the light around it. Daisy could feel the weapon siphoning part of her energy. She was sure that being hit by it would spell doom for her. A weapon that could hurt a God was not something a human could find on his own. Who the Hells gave it to him?

In a single, fluid motion, she cartwheeled backward then jumped, closing the distance with Luna. Seymour had no choice but to follow her, pointing the lance at the Goddess.

\"How DARE a mortal point an Artifact at us!\"

\"No! Holy One, that's not wh-\"

Another blast of divine energy crashed Seymour against the wall, while Daisy had already jumped out of the way. She took advantage of the Sorcerer's distraction to heal her Master in front of the raging Goddess.

\"We had enough of your dirty tricks! Kneel or die, you maggots.\"

Immense pressure fell on the room but did not affect a single one of the three mortals present in it. All of them had decent soul protection after all, and this type of divine command worked by exerting pressure directly on it. It was a technique almost no one knew how to counter. Unfortunately for Luna, the people in this room were notable exceptions.

Realizing how empty her threats had been, Luna flew into a rage. The resulting mayhem almost collapsed the giant blocks of white marble that made up the Shrine's walls. If not for Lyra's blessing protecting the structure, they would have found themselves buried in a mountain of rubble. Still, only a well-timed barrier by Daisy had managed to keep her Master from suffering additional injuries. He could barely stand as it was, even if she had just healed him.

Contending with a God was brutal. Daisy's skin was flushed all over. To motivate her, Master had made it so that fighting strong opponents would arouse her to the point of madness. Only by winning the fight could she climax, while losing would give her the horrible feeling of a ruined orgasm. It had happened to her once, and she had promised herself it wouldn't happen a second time.

She would show that whorish Goddess what it meant to stand in her Master's path.

------

Thousands of naked creatures were thrashing among each other, driven to madness by the presence of the Master of the obsidian hellscape that surrounded them. Bound by heavy chains, they were allowed no rest in the frenzied orgy they were forced to endure daily.

At the center of the mass of flesh towered a granite throne, upon which sat a massive Demon. He was a nightmare of leather wings and deadly spikes, from which a tangle of writhing tentacles spread to gorge itself on the damned souls that littered His domain.

Ashtaroth was indulging in the pointless act of sating His endless hunger. To Him, this was the epitome of Lust: the unending fruitless attempt at filling the infinite void of existence.

And so, with abandon, He forced Himself upon the multitude of screaming victims that adorned His surroundings. He could never be satisfied, but he was enjoying Himself, and that was the only thing that mattered to a Demon.

While pondering how to corrupt a virgin's soul that had caught his fancy, He was interrupted by the sudden opening of a portal right next to Him.

Had it been anybody else, He would have flayed and dipped them in acid for such a slight. However, the sight of His warlock tumbling out of the portal with two companions — all three covered in horrible burns — gave him pause.

He recognized one of them as a mortal who was part of the same Cabal as Diana. The third person was a Holy Priestess of Lyra: a rare delicacy here in the Hells. Some Archdevils joked that there was a hidden reason Father did not announce His victory over the Heavens. That reason being that there would be no Holy men and women left to corrupt. Ashtaroth always found it funny how close this was to the truth.

Ignoring the two members of the Cabal and their cries of pain, the Demon of Lust descended upon Tamara. The girl was in agony from the horrible burns all over her body, but it didn't matter. He would break the girl thoroughly and corrupt her before any of His brothers or sisters could claim her. A dozen tentacles approached the girl, but a flash of dark energy repelled them, carrying His Father's authority.

Confused, Ashtaroth halted his onslaught and asked His warlock.

\"Maggot. Is this Father's toy?\"

\"Ahhhrgh. M-my L- Lord! P-please.\"

The crawling insect seemed to be distracted. Ashtaroth drowned her in pain to make her focus.

\"AAAAAaaaaaaaaa S-She She is to be D-Dyne's Angel!\"

So that's how it was. Ashtaroth had heard the upstart's name and knew that many were not fond of his imminent ascension. Ashtaroth was beginning to agree. It was just not fair to hog delicious things all to yourself. He wanted to ruin her. But He could not bring Himself to defy His Father's seal.

A flash of Holy light shone from the Priestess, healing the wounds of the three mortals. The sacred energy only made her more appetizing to Ashtaroth, whose tentacles were now surrounding her in the hundreds. The girl was trembling in fear, delicious tears streaking down her face. He was really starting to hate this Dyne. Maybe He could join one of the plots which aimed to stop him.

To His surprise, the Holy Priestess crawled towards one of His tentacles, fighting her revulsion for His magnificent form. When the sweet little thing reached His appendage, she murmured in a delicious broken voice, fighting her tears as she spoke.

\"P-please mighty Lord Ashtaroth, listen to t-this slut's request.\"

Intrigued, the Demon motioned her to continue by enclosing her with his tentacles. She was terrified, beautifully so. He really, really wanted her. Would Father truly get mad at Him if he broke the seal?

\"Talk.\"

\"T-This slut is unworthy. I bear a message from m-my Master. He wanted the mighty Ashtaroth to know that he considers you exalted among Demons and that he has ordered me to please you however y-you wish. He only asks that you spare this worthless cunt's life so that she may keep serving him after You finish with her.\"

Ashtaroth was so shocked he stopped moving for a whole second. For a single, blissful instant, the thousands of damned souls found reprieve from their endless torture. However, before they could appreciate the moment of respite, the Demon resumed abusing them with renewed enthusiasm.

He knew it! This Dyne was clearly a good kid who respected his elders.

With the same glee of an Imp flogging his first victim, the Demon restrained the trembling woman with a tentacle for each limb, raising her in the air. With a casual swipe of His appendages, he threw Diana and Jade in the pile of bodies to join the festivities.

The Priestess was doing her best to keep from having a panic attack, failing miserably. The full attention of a Demon was not something a mortal could brush off, after all. How should He approach this? Fear or Desire? Pain or pleasure? Should he break her, eat her, flog her, rape her, poison her mind? So many options! He should keep her alive, but nobody had said anything about messing with her body and mind.

He would reward the kid, He decided, by teaching him a thing or two. He would turn this delicious holy treat into a depraved, drooling, delectable mess. He considered Himself an artist when it came to this. It was a matter of personal pride to impress His juniors.

After considering for a moment, savoring the delicate taste of the girl's anguish, he began his work by slathering her with an acidic secretion. The substance had two effects: it dissolved her clothes and removed any hair and imperfection from her skin, leaving it glossy and smooth. To her, it felt like being dipped in fire, but no marks would remain on her body. Her cries of pain were soothing music to His ears and made the time fly as he practiced His craft.

Once He could see every inch of her body, he identified all the areas that needed improvement. This woman trained regularly. Her toned muscles were a clear indication of the time she had spent working out. He could tell — looking at her in more detail — that someone had defiled her already. She seemed to have served many different people, judging by the bruises and hate-marks covering her soul. She had healed her body every time, but some things were just impossible to forget.

This travesty would not do. Perversion thrived on contrast, not amplification. There was no beauty in ruining something desecrated. The only thing still worth something was the girl's devotion to her husband, but even that was now only the shadow of what it once had been.

Ashtaroth knew what He had to do. He invaded her tiny soul, lulled by the sound of her whimpers, and began cleaning, scrubbing, polishing, and healing everything He could find. When he was done, the Priestess had forgotten all that had happened since her capture. He had also removed other hidden trauma she had been carrying from before. She was as pure and devoted to Lyra as she had ever been, as perfect an image of Mercy as a mortal could be.

No Soul Mage could manage this feat. Only a Demon who had tinkered with innumerable souls for millennia had the precision and knowledge to erase memories and heal soul wounds without leaving a trace. Tamara was looking around with wide eyes and a dull expression. In a few moments, she would assimilate the changes and regain consciousness.

To avoid ruining his work by traumatizing her, another tentacle with needle-like protrusions pricked her skin, injecting one of the innumerable poisons Astaroth's body could produce. The substance would induce a deep trance in the girl, increasing her neuroplasticity to extreme levels. Her brain would become very receptive to the variations in her soul, ensuring her nervous system could adapt to the changes He was about to make.

The next thing he had to take care of was her body. He spent the next hours injecting all manner of concoctions, poisons, and hormones in the Holy Priestess.

His warlock's half-elf ally had extricated himself from the tangle of bodies and had begged Ashtaroth to allow him to bear witness to his work. Surprised by the fact he had managed to escape the field of Lust Magic surrounding the orgy, He had allowed the runt to watch in silence to broaden his horizons.

Tamara's body was now very different from before. Her dirty blonde hair, which had been barely shoulder-length, dry, and matted with sweat, was now luscious and silky-smooth. It was so long as to be impractical and had a glossy quality that would maintain itself naturally by sapping her mana.

Her toned muscles had turned soft and weak as if she had never trained a day in her life. Her smooth skin was now milky white and free of blemishes and calluses. She had once been quite tall and imposing, but Ashtaroth had employed some clever shapeshifting, reducing her height by a few inches. She was now petite with a smaller waist and wider hips. The perfect example of what young Devils nowadays called \"rape-bait\".

He had also added a soft layer of body fat to accentuate her curves without ruining the impression of frailty he was trying to convey. She had to look weak and demure but alluring and obscene at the same time. For this reason, her breasts were now almost twice the size they used to be, with round puffy nipples that would always be hard. He had also sculpted her ass to be the perfect complement to her slightly thick and soft thighs.

Her face was still recognizable, yet nobody would think her older than nineteen. Her lips were fuller, her teeth pearly white, her eyes bigger and rounder. Ashtaroth poured over every inch of her body, tweaking it to his tastes, treading the fine line between innocence and temptation. After he had finished, Tamara could pass as the holiest Succubus or the sluttiest Angel he had ever seen.

But such a depraved body was nothing but an empty shell without an equally perverse mind to match.

And so, enraptured by His creative flow, Ashtaroth began altering Tamara's nervous and endocrine system. He increased her estrogen levels, making her far more susceptible to arousal. This small change required tampering with a plethora of neurotransmitters He had taken centuries to research individually. The human body operated on a fragile balance of substances, and it was much easier to tamper with the soul and let the body adapt. Anybody could do that though, and He was not just another amateur dabbling in body modification. He was at the pinnacle of the art, constantly pushing its boundaries, and the girl would be another one of his jewels.

After making sure everything was perfect, He moved on to increase the amount of fluids her body would produce. Her mouth would always be watery and warm. Very uncomfortable during daily life, but perfect for prolonged cock worship. Her tongue and lips would be as erogenous as her clitoris, making the acts of talking, eating, licking, and sucking as sexual as being penetrated. Her breasts and nipples would be sensitive to the point of making her orgasm just by pinching and fondling them.

He would never forget to enhance how sensitive her secondary erogenous zones were. The Demon increased the number of nerve endings in her ears, inner thighs, neck, wrists, knees, and feet. Stimulating them would add a whole new dimension to her pleasure. Now, anyone could make Tamara come just manhandling her. Of course, she would also be extremely sensitive to pain, but that was her problem to deal with, not His.

Her pussy and asshole were the last part of her body to receive His attention. He remodeled every millimeter of them to accommodate as many nerve endings as possible. He made sure to heavily skew them towards signaling pleasure even when they should be feeling pain.

Her pussy would always be dripping wet, and He raised her body temperature by a couple of degrees. She would feel feverish all the time, but she would be a true cock-warmer, so He made the trade without a second thought.

The only muscles Ashtaroth strengthened were those in her pelvic floor. This way, her holes would always be tight and ready to clench on any cock that penetrated her. When her Master fucked her, the stimulation would be too much to handle for her brain. She would be unfit for anything other than being a constantly orgasming sex doll, but true art was unconcerned with practicality.

He was making a Cumslave. A classic that had gone somewhat out-of-fashion in the Hells lately. His brethren thrived on inflicting pain, torment, and humiliation. They could not see the appeal of having a slave that enjoyed herself too much. Crass and idiotic, this was His opinion of them. How could they not see the sublime cruelty of drowning someone in pleasure? The ineffable beauty of somebody begging you to stop, for it felt too good to bear?

To Him, the highest gate to Hell was at the peak of Heaven, amid inescapable bliss. This concept was what his art tried to convey. His numerous mouths smiled as He applied the finishing touch. Deep in the core of Tamara's soul, He found what he was looking for: Lyra's Soul Brand.

He judged the kid's work to be passable. He had corrupted Lyra's blessing, turning it into a Mark of Submission. It was nothing special, but it made the bearer terrified of disobeying her Master, so it made sense in context. The ability required to corrupt a divine blessing was nothing to scoff at, raising Ashtaroth's evaluation of the kid by a few notches.

The Demon crushed the Soul Brand with ease — Lyra knew better than to fight back — making the unconscious Tamara wail. He had removed a pillar of her identity, and her whole ego would crumble without its support. He had to put another in its place if he didn't want His work to have been for naught.

He knew the kid had a thing for flowers; not surprising considering his origins. As every artist worth his salt would do, He decided to follow the overarching theme, choosing the perfect name for His creation. By doing this, the kid would take Lyra's place in the girl's soul, becoming her God.

\"Henceforth, you shall be named Peach Blossom. I'm sure your Master will appreciate the implications.\"

With that, His work was complete. Ashtaroth, the Demon of Lust, had created another masterpiece.

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