Vexilla Regis Prodeunt Inferni
Or, The Banners of the King of Hell Go Forth
from 
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A dove, one of many that roosted within the outer fane of the Temple, had found its way within the inner courts. Now it spiralled lazily around and around, weaving through the massive pillars that supported the brazen dome that sheltered from the elements the rites held beneath it. The dove, unseeing, flew past carvings on walls, strange statuary, and the lesser altars that were cast almost randomly within the Temple. It flew through a faint, acrid haze of incense, felt heat rising from the flames that burned before the minor shrines, and swooped to rest on the Great Altar that sat at the very centre of the Temple. As its clawed feet touched the dark stone there was a sudden hissing crack of energy, the heavy odour of seared flesh and feathers… and of the dove there was no sign remaining.
A slave knelt at the side of the Altar, head down, buttocks against her shins, back straight. She was shackled and chained at the ankles, her wrists bound across each other behind her, her upper arms bound to her body by leather straps that passed beneath her breasts and around. Other than her bonds she was naked.
She was nineteen and had served the Temple and its priests all her life. She had tended to the needs of the Temple furniture, had scrubbed and cooked and polished, had sometimes served the needs of the priests themselves. But never before had she been required to approach the Altar, let alone sit in its shadow for a day and a night while all other ceremony and ritual came to a halt. It was very strange, she thought, as strange as the manner in which the priests had come for her the previous day.
They had come to the slave pens the previous morning. There had been six of them, each an Adept of the Order, men who under other circumstances would not have deigned to look upon her. Each of them was veiled. They had bowed low before her and summoned her to accompany them by a Name she did not know. But the fact that their leader had spoken that Name in a whisper, and with evident dread, had not reassured her.
The five remaining priests had brought with them two long bolts of ancient silk, the colour of old blood. These they unfurled with their own hands (another thing unheard of until then). They had stretched them out on either hand beside her, the silk cutting her off from them, as though the lengths of cloth were walls to shield them from her – or to mark her as something apart, something holy.
Their leader had bowed before her once more and then from a bag of cloth of gold carried at his waist he had drawn out a collar of black iron. He had set this upon her, but had at the same time been careful to avoid looking at her directly. And the hands that lifted the collar and fitted it with unwonted care and gentleness around her neck had been gloved…
This priest had then withdrawn from his robes a sistrum and begun to play upon it strange, disjointed music. Music was a vital part of Temple worship and the slave was familiar with all the forms used in the service of the Powers whom the priests and their Order obeyed. But she had never heard this music, never felt the touch of icy talons skittering over her flesh, and somehow, beneath it… it filled her head with strange colours, fired her with the beginnings of a deep, slow burning hunger… And at the same time it had lulled her, so that she walked with the priests between the walls of silk as one more asleep than awake.
She had returned to herself some unknown length of time later to find herself bound at the Altar’s foot, and alone. For the first time in her nineteen years she witnessed the Temple devoid of life and activity. And that she found strangest and most frightening of all. None had come to her; none had entered the Temple for more than a day now. At her side was a great flat-bottomed silver bowl, full of fresh water. From that she drank, stooping to it like an animal. But of food there was no sign.
Within the inner courts there was no natural light save that which came through the gap between the always partly open doors, doors of immense size and age, of bronze and iron worked over from foot to lintel in script only the priests could read, doors that were never to be closed on pain of death. Other than the single shaft of light that passed between them, penetrating part way into the inner gloom, the sole light within was provided by braziers, wall torches, and the small fires that burned on each of the minor shrines.
Slowly, over the preceding hours, these lights had begun to die. First the shrine fires had guttered and failed, decaying into small heaps of ash. Then the braziers and wall torches had begun to shudder and dim, darkness flowing into the centre of the Temple like rising waters. All the while the slave had crouched, or knelt, or stood and moved to ease her cramped legs. The chains at her ankles were curiously long and offered no hindrance. Her arms and hands had long since passed beyond feeling. And all the while dread had mounted within her as the silence grew ever deeper.
For a while the presence of the dove had comforted her, another living thing in a wilderness of silence and deepening darkness. Until its sudden savage extinguishment, impossible to understand. She had never served at the Great Altar, but she had seen those who had so served laid on its length, bound and flogged, and taken by the lust of the Powers in the person of their priests. Had seen them stretched out upon it, had seen them arise from it unharmed. When the dove had been destroyed she had cried aloud in unthinking terror…
Having nothing else to do the slave sat and watched the single shaft of light that passed between the Temple doors, light which itself waned as the day outside gave way to oncoming night. She watched, her mind sinking into a silence as deep as that which held the Temple. She watched as day failed, night came, and the moon rose in splendour, visible between the narrowly open doors. It took some considerable time for her to register that the doors were closing, very slowly…
A soft hollow clang reverberated through the Temple as the doors met and darkness became complete within, followed a second later by a heavy booming as the bar that bolted the Temple from the outside fell into its slots. All slaves knew, were taught as their first lesson, that the doors were never to be touched, for any reason, let alone closed… and therefore it had often occurred to this slave to wonder what need they had for a bar, and why that bar should be on the outside, as if to protect those not within from some Terror…
She shuddered down into herself, overcome by awe and strangeness. As she did so she heard clearly a sound. It was simple, and it filled her with dread. A step, soft, as though a naked foot brushed the stone floor, yet unaccountably heavy. Despite her fear she was compelled to look up. High above her two golden lights burned in the otherwise pervasive darkness. Until she realised that they were looking at her she could not have said what they were. She had seen nothing like them in the Temple before. They were eyes, golden eyes without white or iris, shining high up in the night. They saw her, did not leave her.
At their glance that deep slow burning hunger sprang suddenly to life. She found her thighs had loosened, that she was suddenly wet, her nipples erect. The thing that looked at her sensed her desire and laughed softly. It was a strangely delicate sound, the chiming of frost shrouded bells, icily cold.
All at once the thing was close to her. A massive taloned hand reached down, took her by the hair and lifted her till her eyes were level with its own. Tears of golden light spilled down its face, illuminating a countenance both savage and tender. Its flesh was the colour of cloudy moonlight, and around its face spilled thick ropes and cables of densely black hair. Pale coral lips curved upward in a tiny smile… then parted and spilled outward a long, thick, forked tongue. This tongue flowed over her breasts, lapping greedily, down between them. Down and down, till it slithered between her thighs and into her pussy. It filled her, slowly thrusting and writhing within her, and all the while she hung suspended before it, its eyes never leaving hers.
It feasted on her flesh, soaking up her juices, and on her desire. She came suddenly, orgasm exploding through her as the flesh within her twisted maddeningly. She was raised still higher, the tongue withdrew, and lips closed delicately around one nipple. The thing sucked softly a moment, then bit, pain flooding through her, causing her to moan deeply and attempt to arch against such delicate cruelty. She felt the touch of something warm and hard, felt it flowing up her, rising against her and between her thighs, felt it fill her pussy, opening her wider and wider, forcing deeper and deeper. At the same time other flesh coiled and writhed around her thighs, up to her buttocks and between them, entering her ass as forcefully, spreading and opening her there also. And finally a third length of flesh, as hot, as hard, as massive, writhed up between her breasts, and forced into her mouth and down into her throat. And then each length began to writhe, and thrust, and squirm within her.
It was not her bonds that held her, nor the flesh that impaled her, but the monstrous will of the thing that possessed her that induced in her utter abandoned frenzy. Lost in overwhelming sensation, stunned by the knowledge that she could not escape and fired by it, she writhed against the flesh that filled her. She felt it swelling and pulsing, growing ever more rigid, the pulsations swifter and more fierce. And at the same time her exaltation, her pain and terrified delight grew to meet the dark appetite that swept across and through her. Her blood hissed and boiled within her, her flesh became incandescent as her desire met and matched that of the One, the Prince of the Flame that held her. Laughter pealed around her, deeper now, as he poured into her again and again, his flesh thrusting in mad abandon….
After, she returned to herself to find that she was stretched out upon the Great Altar. She had been covered in furs. She could feel the collar of black iron at her neck, but otherwise she was unfettered. In a circle about the Altar stood the Adepts of the Order. They were chanting, something low and sonorous. They had their backs to her, their heads bowed, and terror sat upon them like a mantle. By her side there sat One who seemed no more than a man, except that his eyes, which never left hers, bled tears of golden light.
He smiled, an expression at once sweet and terrible, and in a voice that was the chiming of frost shrouded bells said, "Thou art my Beloved forever." For a moment the Demon towered above them all, the air screaming at the touch of his power. And then he vanished, leaving only the echoes of the priests’ chanting to fill the place where he had been… Copyright 1998 SP McMullen.
A slave knelt at the side of the Altar, head down, buttocks against her shins, back straight. She was shackled and chained at the ankles, her wrists bound across each other behind her, her upper arms bound to her body by leather straps that passed beneath her breasts and around. Other than her bonds she was naked.
She was nineteen and had served the Temple and its priests all her life. She had tended to the needs of the Temple furniture, had scrubbed and cooked and polished, had sometimes served the needs of the priests themselves. But never before had she been required to approach the Altar, let alone sit in its shadow for a day and a night while all other ceremony and ritual came to a halt. It was very strange, she thought, as strange as the manner in which the priests had come for her the previous day.
They had come to the slave pens the previous morning. There had been six of them, each an Adept of the Order, men who under other circumstances would not have deigned to look upon her. Each of them was veiled. They had bowed low before her and summoned her to accompany them by a Name she did not know. But the fact that their leader had spoken that Name in a whisper, and with evident dread, had not reassured her.
The five remaining priests had brought with them two long bolts of ancient silk, the colour of old blood. These they unfurled with their own hands (another thing unheard of until then). They had stretched them out on either hand beside her, the silk cutting her off from them, as though the lengths of cloth were walls to shield them from her – or to mark her as something apart, something holy.
Their leader had bowed before her once more and then from a bag of cloth of gold carried at his waist he had drawn out a collar of black iron. He had set this upon her, but had at the same time been careful to avoid looking at her directly. And the hands that lifted the collar and fitted it with unwonted care and gentleness around her neck had been gloved…
This priest had then withdrawn from his robes a sistrum and begun to play upon it strange, disjointed music. Music was a vital part of Temple worship and the slave was familiar with all the forms used in the service of the Powers whom the priests and their Order obeyed. But she had never heard this music, never felt the touch of icy talons skittering over her flesh, and somehow, beneath it… it filled her head with strange colours, fired her with the beginnings of a deep, slow burning hunger… And at the same time it had lulled her, so that she walked with the priests between the walls of silk as one more asleep than awake.
She had returned to herself some unknown length of time later to find herself bound at the Altar’s foot, and alone. For the first time in her nineteen years she witnessed the Temple devoid of life and activity. And that she found strangest and most frightening of all. None had come to her; none had entered the Temple for more than a day now. At her side was a great flat-bottomed silver bowl, full of fresh water. From that she drank, stooping to it like an animal. But of food there was no sign.
Within the inner courts there was no natural light save that which came through the gap between the always partly open doors, doors of immense size and age, of bronze and iron worked over from foot to lintel in script only the priests could read, doors that were never to be closed on pain of death. Other than the single shaft of light that passed between them, penetrating part way into the inner gloom, the sole light within was provided by braziers, wall torches, and the small fires that burned on each of the minor shrines.
Slowly, over the preceding hours, these lights had begun to die. First the shrine fires had guttered and failed, decaying into small heaps of ash. Then the braziers and wall torches had begun to shudder and dim, darkness flowing into the centre of the Temple like rising waters. All the while the slave had crouched, or knelt, or stood and moved to ease her cramped legs. The chains at her ankles were curiously long and offered no hindrance. Her arms and hands had long since passed beyond feeling. And all the while dread had mounted within her as the silence grew ever deeper.
For a while the presence of the dove had comforted her, another living thing in a wilderness of silence and deepening darkness. Until its sudden savage extinguishment, impossible to understand. She had never served at the Great Altar, but she had seen those who had so served laid on its length, bound and flogged, and taken by the lust of the Powers in the person of their priests. Had seen them stretched out upon it, had seen them arise from it unharmed. When the dove had been destroyed she had cried aloud in unthinking terror…
Having nothing else to do the slave sat and watched the single shaft of light that passed between the Temple doors, light which itself waned as the day outside gave way to oncoming night. She watched, her mind sinking into a silence as deep as that which held the Temple. She watched as day failed, night came, and the moon rose in splendour, visible between the narrowly open doors. It took some considerable time for her to register that the doors were closing, very slowly…
A soft hollow clang reverberated through the Temple as the doors met and darkness became complete within, followed a second later by a heavy booming as the bar that bolted the Temple from the outside fell into its slots. All slaves knew, were taught as their first lesson, that the doors were never to be touched, for any reason, let alone closed… and therefore it had often occurred to this slave to wonder what need they had for a bar, and why that bar should be on the outside, as if to protect those not within from some Terror…
She shuddered down into herself, overcome by awe and strangeness. As she did so she heard clearly a sound. It was simple, and it filled her with dread. A step, soft, as though a naked foot brushed the stone floor, yet unaccountably heavy. Despite her fear she was compelled to look up. High above her two golden lights burned in the otherwise pervasive darkness. Until she realised that they were looking at her she could not have said what they were. She had seen nothing like them in the Temple before. They were eyes, golden eyes without white or iris, shining high up in the night. They saw her, did not leave her.
At their glance that deep slow burning hunger sprang suddenly to life. She found her thighs had loosened, that she was suddenly wet, her nipples erect. The thing that looked at her sensed her desire and laughed softly. It was a strangely delicate sound, the chiming of frost shrouded bells, icily cold.
All at once the thing was close to her. A massive taloned hand reached down, took her by the hair and lifted her till her eyes were level with its own. Tears of golden light spilled down its face, illuminating a countenance both savage and tender. Its flesh was the colour of cloudy moonlight, and around its face spilled thick ropes and cables of densely black hair. Pale coral lips curved upward in a tiny smile… then parted and spilled outward a long, thick, forked tongue. This tongue flowed over her breasts, lapping greedily, down between them. Down and down, till it slithered between her thighs and into her pussy. It filled her, slowly thrusting and writhing within her, and all the while she hung suspended before it, its eyes never leaving hers.
It feasted on her flesh, soaking up her juices, and on her desire. She came suddenly, orgasm exploding through her as the flesh within her twisted maddeningly. She was raised still higher, the tongue withdrew, and lips closed delicately around one nipple. The thing sucked softly a moment, then bit, pain flooding through her, causing her to moan deeply and attempt to arch against such delicate cruelty. She felt the touch of something warm and hard, felt it flowing up her, rising against her and between her thighs, felt it fill her pussy, opening her wider and wider, forcing deeper and deeper. At the same time other flesh coiled and writhed around her thighs, up to her buttocks and between them, entering her ass as forcefully, spreading and opening her there also. And finally a third length of flesh, as hot, as hard, as massive, writhed up between her breasts, and forced into her mouth and down into her throat. And then each length began to writhe, and thrust, and squirm within her.
It was not her bonds that held her, nor the flesh that impaled her, but the monstrous will of the thing that possessed her that induced in her utter abandoned frenzy. Lost in overwhelming sensation, stunned by the knowledge that she could not escape and fired by it, she writhed against the flesh that filled her. She felt it swelling and pulsing, growing ever more rigid, the pulsations swifter and more fierce. And at the same time her exaltation, her pain and terrified delight grew to meet the dark appetite that swept across and through her. Her blood hissed and boiled within her, her flesh became incandescent as her desire met and matched that of the One, the Prince of the Flame that held her. Laughter pealed around her, deeper now, as he poured into her again and again, his flesh thrusting in mad abandon….
After, she returned to herself to find that she was stretched out upon the Great Altar. She had been covered in furs. She could feel the collar of black iron at her neck, but otherwise she was unfettered. In a circle about the Altar stood the Adepts of the Order. They were chanting, something low and sonorous. They had their backs to her, their heads bowed, and terror sat upon them like a mantle. By her side there sat One who seemed no more than a man, except that his eyes, which never left hers, bled tears of golden light.
He smiled, an expression at once sweet and terrible, and in a voice that was the chiming of frost shrouded bells said, "Thou art my Beloved forever." For a moment the Demon towered above them all, the air screaming at the touch of his power. And then he vanished, leaving only the echoes of the priests’ chanting to fill the place where he had been… Copyright 1998 SP McMullen.
