One of the first and most obvious challenges of having an entire population of demons living in the same place is trying to maintain all of them fed without having them eat one another. Of course, many Demon Lords and Ladies simply allow nature to follow its natural course in the most literal sense of the word, having their demons cannibalize each other endlessly as to have the strong rise above the weak… For obvious reasons, Varzath refused to employ such methods when first establishing his Domain, and as such, he was forced to look for alternative ways to keep his subjects well fed.

And since his following consists of Succubi and Incubi mostly, keeping them fed means providing them with easily available partners from whom they can feed safely; Namely, sex slaves…

After getting a nod from the both of them, Varzath finally steps forward, opening the set of double doors in their way and revealing a short, descending staircase at the end of which a large hall, mostly decorated in crimson red, buzzes with activity, though only a few pair of eyes actually turn to witness their arrival.

With a couple dozen sofas spread around the place, several of which are already occupied, and a pair of baths here and there, Varzath might’ve even described the place as cozy if not for the ever-present green mist which seems to permeate the air as a result of several smoking devices being in use almost at all times by the hall’s occupants.

The entire place smells of drugs, sex, and fear.

In truth, Varzath can’t say he blames them for the smoke. After all, they have little to look forward to other than the next visit they might receive.

With a quick glance across the hall while Sunnazoth steps forward and takes the lead, Varzath identifies angels, demons, elves, nephilims, and even the occasional human, most of whom already have partners in their embrace, and few of whom actually raise their eyes to meet his gaze.

For the ones who do so, however, rather than the hatred he half expects, their gazes are merely curious or even inviting…

“Mistress Sunnazoth!”

Once their trio reaches the hall proper, a tall succubus of impressive proportions, slightly curled red hair reaching below her knees, pale skin, and dark green eyes walks toward them with hurried steps as she immediately throws herself on her knees, before Sunnazoth, and kisses her left foot, which the demon presents forward nonchalantly.

Varzath nearly laughs out loud… He’s also surprised to realize he doesn’t recognize the demon, although she seems to hold a high position here… But then again, at least a couple of decades must’ve passed since he last visited the place.

“…What is this place? I thought we were visiting the dungeons?” Biranal asks as the demon finally straightens herself under Sunnazoth’s command, sweeping her gaze across the hall similarly to how he himself behaved a couple of seconds prior, though Varzath notices she avoids looking at any of the occupied couches for more than a split second.

“These are the dungeons,” Varzath explains drily, “Or, more precisely, their upper section.”

“…Oh.”

Of course, Biranal is aware of the structure under which their kingdom operates, including their necessity for slave labor. However, having no need to visit their dungeons, or similar places spread throughout the capital and beyond, she must’ve put it out of her mind.

“I see Mistress brought guests…?”

As the demon’s dark green eyes turn in his direction, then toward Biranal, her eyes widen, and she is quick to curtsy again.

“You must be Mistress Biranal! Please, forgive my rudeness, I never expected…”

“It’s fine,” Biranal interrupts, waving her hand in dismissal.

As the demon looks in his direction again, still smiling apologetically, Varzath waits for a spark of recognition which never arrives.

“And you are…?” she asks, obviously waiting for him to complete her sentence.

Biranal blinks, while Sunnazoth looks as though she might burst into laughter at any moment.

Varzath grimaces. Not recognized inside his own palace… Hilarious. But then again, soon it won’t matter, so he might as well ignore it.

“Just pretend I’m not here,” he tells her, sighing, “We’re just passing through, anyway.”

The demon nods, shifting her eyes back toward Sunnazoth and hence having mistaken her for the leader of their small group. “I take it Mistress is heading into the dungeons below? Shall I have one of the boys lead the way as usual…?”

As Sunnazoth grimaces, Varzath raises an eyebrow. “You know, I thought you were joking about coming here to torture our prisoners as a hobby.”

“…They enjoy what I do,” Sunnazoth says, somewhat defensively, as she throws him a sidelong glance over her right shoulder.

Varzath shrugs. “If you say so.”

The red-haired succubus glances in between the two of them, a spark of doubt in her eyes. She might’ve been too thrilled by her mistress’s visit to think properly, but by now, she must be wondering about his identity, and chances are, if they hang around for long enough, she’s likely to put two and two together.

As such, in order to avoid the needless drama, Varzath would very much like to be out of view when that happens…

“Love, if you’re done having her kiss your foot...?” Varzath says drily in the hopes of prompting Sunnazoth to finally send the demon away.

“Wait,” Biranal interjects, “Before we continue, Sunnazoth, can you have her tell me about how this place works?”

Varzath nearly curses out loud, while Sunnazoth shrugs, refusing to look at her.

“Just ask her yourself… Or is that tongue of yours also worthless when it comes to its primary function?”

Their audience of one freezes, mouth still half-open.

“Sunnazoth,” Varzath says, sighing exasperatedly.

She groans. “…Tastronnath, explain to her how things work around here.”

Tastronnath smiles tensely for a moment, though she recovers quickly. “With pleasure! As you can see, Mistress Biranal, in here, our well-behaved, less dangerous prisoners are given a chance to serve the Domain by making use of their precious, otherwise wasted Life Force. They’re better fed, well cared for, and often even doted on by the residents of the palace… Though of course, the fact they’re love slaves does not change.”

Love slaves… Varzath grimaces.

“Do they have a choice? Can they refuse a particular demon?” Biranal asks, causing Tastronnath to blink.

“Yes, they can refuse, but they’ll be punished for doing so… And of course, they can always opt to return underground…”

Seeing Biranal’s frown, Tastronnath hurries to add, “But please, take a look around, Mistress Biranal! The number of prisoners to have decided to return after having tasted of what we can offer is almost nonexistent… We make sure they have their needs fulfilled, both sexual and otherwise, and although they cannot exit this place, many of them have found more happiness here than in their previous existences…”

Varzath averts his gaze. By all the Lords, he is going to be sick…

By the time Varzath manages to regain his bearings enough to stare at Tastronnath once more, he realizes all three of them are looking at him, Tastronnath and Biranal in confusion, and Sunnazoth with something akin to sympathy, if he ever thought the demon capable of feeling the emotion.

“Just choose one of them if you ever feel curious enough,” he tells Biranal, somehow managing to maintain his voice even, “Then you’ll understand. For now, we mustn’t waste more time.”

She nods.

“…Ah, excuse me,” Tastronnath interrupts, eyes wide and voice low as she stares at him, her face seemingly having been drained of blood, “The mister… Lord… Lord Varzath…?”

The poor thing seems almost afraid saying the words will turn them into reality. Varzath sighs.

“Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble. As I’ve said, we’re just passing through.”

He could, of course, make her kiss his foot, take her clothes off, or any number of humiliating things, many of which she’d probably enjoy, but honestly, he’s not in the mood after her little speech.

The sooner he leaves this place, the better…

This time, Varzath doesn’t wait to see if the others will follow before walking forward on his own (after all, though the staff might’ve changed, he doubts the architecture of the place has). Crossing the hall with carefully even steps, he ignores the looks his actions attract as he signals for a pair of large, scaled demons guarding a set of red curtains at the back to step aside.

Wisely, having recognized him or not, they do not hesitate for more than a moment before doing so, and Varzath steps through as he releases a small, silent sigh of relief at last.

Damn it… In the past, he has even visited the place on occasion, so to think his hatred for it has always been this deep…?

Surrounded by two large corridors on either side, and a spiral staircase protected by a metal gate covered in runes which leads downwards in front, Varzath waits for the girls to catch up before moving on, though he doesn’t have to wait more than a few seconds before they cross the curtain as well.

Realizing Biranal now looks at him as though she has never seen him before, Varzath sighs. “Just ask.”

“My Lord hates this place,” she says, her intonation making it clear it wasn’t exactly a question.

Varzath shrugs.

“He doesn’t enjoy the irony,” Sunnazoth supplies, “Of having freed us from servitude only so our existence would depend on enslaving others… Even if our slaves are treated thousands of times better than we ever were.”

“Enough,” Varzath interrupts, “Considering our nature, they’re a necessity, and so we might as well make the best we can out of it. Now let’s move on.”

Varzath knows for a fact the corridor on the left leads to several rooms used for privacy, or more complex plays, while the corridor on the right leads to the prisoners’ quarters. Obviously, they haven’t come here just to visit the “food”, and so, he walks toward the barred staircase entrance instead, approaching his hand from the magical lock as he allows the runes the imbued to inspect his mana signature.

Soon, a clicking sound indicates the gate has been opened, and Varzath pulls it open as he steps through, descending into darkness without hesitation.

“Does My Lord believe what she said? That they’re happy living here?” Biranal asks after a moment.

Varzath grimaces; Lords, she’s like a dog with a bone…

“Some of them, maybe. But most of them would rather return to their original Planes and regain their freedom, even if they won’t admit as much out loud.”

“And that bothers My Lord?”

“…I thought we already established as much?” Varzath throws Biranal an annoyed glance over his shoulder as they continue to descend, “There were times when it bothered me more, and there were times when I couldn’t care less. I’m far from a saint, as you very well know, love.”

Biranal’s eyes gleam with something Varzath isn’t quite able to identify. “…I see. And, I’m sorry for prying.”

Varzath clicks his tongue as he averts his gaze from hers once more. “Don’t be stupid, I’m not that fragile.”

Leaving the spiral staircase as they reach the end of it, their trio arrives at a giant space, essentially a big, circular hole dug on the ground which extends hundreds of meters deep, ending in a pool of Hellfire far below.

Circular platforms are built around the hole - which houses thousands of cells within its walls -going down to its bottom.

Each cell is reinforced with metal, as well as runic magic, and watched over by the silent stone creatures perched throughout the place one might mistake for statues at a first glance, perhaps having made their last one by doing so.

In truth, despite the impressive structure of the place, it has remained mostly empty throughout Varzath’s reign, being typically used as a waiting room for the more unwilling slaves captured, or bought, so they could reflect on the benefits of serving in the city above rather than rotting in its dungeons.

Boredom is a great motivator, after a decade or two spent in darkness, and the Succubi and Incubi who care for the maintenance of the place are instructed to make clear what sort of benefits await those who give in… Well, Varzath heard most prisoners don’t last more than a year before giving in, let alone a decade, but there are also those who have resisted for a far greater period of time.

As for those who don’t fit the criteria for becoming a slave, they’re either killed or exiled, without exception, since Varzath simply doesn’t find the reason the keep them here if they have no future use.

Whereas some would call his methods cruel, he prefers them over the alternative. One way or another, criminals and dangerous elements must be dealt with, and if they cannot be reformed, then what is the point of keeping them locked up forever…?

As they descend, Varzath can tell for how long a prisoner has been held in by the look with which they watch their passage; Recent prisoners carry in their gazes hatred, defiance, and scorn, while older ones, if they even bother looking, stare in their direction with empty gazes devoid of all but hopelessness.

Some of the new ones curse or beg at them, though they’re careful to keep their voices low, most likely for knowing the consequences of doing the opposite, and Varzath tells the girls to simply ignore it, mostly for Biranal’s benefit, who is probably visiting the place for the first time. Several of them seem to recognize Sunnazoth… But, to Varzath’s surprise, they seem happy to see her, rather than terrified.

“What?” she asks, having noticed his gaze as she smiles mockingly at him. “Not the monster Milord presumed?”

Varzath rolls his eyes, though he has to admit he owes her an apology. Before he can answer, however, a particular call, much louder than the others, attracts his attention as it silences the ones surrounding it.

“Hey, I recognize you! You’re their Lord, aren’t you!?”

Varzath stops. Surprisingly, he recognizes the prisoner from whom it came from as one of the newly captured angels who partook in his failed party, aka the djinn disaster, now weeks prior.

Although, considering she was forced to serve nothing but drinks that day, he considers the bare hatred in her eyes somewhat unjustified.

Shaking his head, Varzath is about to continue on his way when she speaks again.

“What is wrong, Lord of Whores, too good for the likes of us?!”

“H-hey, what are you doing?!” the angel’s cell companion, another of their kind (though Varzath doesn’t remember her presence at the party), whispers toward the first one, “They’re going to hear you!”

Varzath snorts. He can feel the gazes of the other prisoners on top of him now, much more intensely than before, as well as Sunnazoth’s and Biranal’s.

He could simply ignore them, of course, but…

Giving the angels a second sidelong glance, Varzath changes direction as he walks until he’s standing close enough from their cell’s metal bars to put his arm through them, facing her glare directly.

“Is there a problem?” he asks, tone neutral.

The angel’s eyes are the color of the ocean, not quite blue, not quite green, beautiful even while consumed by hatred. She is slim, half a head shorter than him, and her blond hair, typical of her kind, is short, military style.

Her wings are missing, having been cut at their root, which means she must’ve been bought a slave, rather than captured by his people, who wouldn’t do such a thing…

“A problem?” she says, then spits at him, smiling smugly, “Your existence is the problem, demon, and I pray for the day it will be solved, once and for all.”

Wiping the spit from his cheek nonchalantly, Varzath sighs. In all honesty, he doesn’t know what he expected.

“…I see.”

“Wait!”

However, as he is about to turn away, the angel abruptly moves and grabs the sleeve of his shirt, stopping him from doing so.

Varzath looks at her, at her hand over his sleeve, then toward the mace now next to her frozen expression, having stopped millimeters from it.

“…These bars are expensive,” Varzath says toward Biranal, “So don’t break them for no reason. And besides, I can take care of myself, love.”

Shrugging, Biranal steps away, unsummoning her weapon.

After also waving away one of the gargoyles to have awakened due to the noise, Varzath softly removes the angel’s hand from his clothes, sighing as he meets her shocked gaze exasperatedly.

“What is it? Are the accommodations not to your liking? Should I order better beds built down here? I’m busy, so get to it already.”

Shifting her eyes in between the three of them, the angel swallows. Meanwhile, her cell companion has now moved as far away from them as possible while still remaining within the small space she is confined to, pressing herself against her bed and the back wall with pure terror on her expression. Since her wings are also missing, perhaps they were bought together?

“…Kill me, you bastard,” the angel says at last, grabbing the bars as she presses her face against it and faces his eyes daringly.

Varzath raises his eyebrow. Her bravery is commendable, if misplaced.

“If you merely wished to die, then your coward friend would’ve sufficed, or perhaps one of our dedicated guards…”

“Shut up… I’d rather die than become one of your toys…!”

Varzath laughs softly, then shakes his head. “Oh, I see now where the problem lies.”

“W-what?”

Varzath steps closer, causing the angel to tense her body. Although he is now firmly in her personal space, despite the bars in between them, she seems determined to hold her ground… At least until he smiles at her, brushing the back of his fingers against her cheek, and she jumps back as though having been burned.

Then, as she begins to wipe her face several times, eyes wide and scared, Varzath laughs.

“Your own desire is what you fear, darling, not me or my people. But if the truth pains you so much, then I can do little to help. Swallow your pride and become, as you’ve put it, one of our toys, or fight against your own cravings until the bitter end… Certainly, a pitiful existence. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

The angel screams, cursing at him madly, but Varzath pays her no mind as he turns and walks away, only to stop a couple of steps from the cell as he realizes Sunnazoth has stayed.

“We could’ve had you tortured, or forced you into servitude. Instead, we give you a choice and offer you pleasure... Hate us if you must, but you’ll come to know in time Hell offers no salvation to those unwilling to accept its cost,” Sunnazoth says, facing the angel coldly for a moment before turning away as she follows after him.

Resuming their walk, and now once more ignoring the pleads of the prisoners, their trio continues onward without speaking for a while, until the cells they walk by have become unoccupied, and the temperature has risen considerably, signaling they’re about to reach the lower parts of the dungeon.

Realizing Sunnazoth has a thoughtful look on her face, Varzath gives her a sidelong glance. “What are you thinking about?” he asks.

“Why did you provoke her?” she retorts, meeting his gaze in kind, “A couple of comforting words, and she’d have burst into tears at your feet…”

Laughing softly, Varzath shrugs. “I asked first.”

Sunnazoth is right in that the angel was basically begging to be seduced. But why would he bother, when he’s about to leave, maybe for good? Better to have one of the boys or girls sweep her off her feet instead… It’s their job, after all.

“…Fine. I was thinking how I’d have reacted had she spat on my face instead… Your turn now.”

“I didn’t want to promise her something I cannot give.”

“Since you’re about to leave?”

Varzath nods. “And how would you? Have reacted?”

“Spat on the ground, then forced her to lick it.”

“Petty.”

“But hot.”

“Only if they’re into it.”

“Why does Milord assume she isn’t?”

“…Fair enough.”

Noticing Biranal watching their exchange curiously, Varzath gives Sunnazoth a look. “You’ll have to start acting more dignified from now on, Milady Sunnazoth. No having servants kiss your foot in public, or spatting on the ground for petty acts of revenge.”

She grimaces. “Why do you think I don’t want it?”

Varzath laughs. “Just remember that nobody expects you to act stuck up during a party, and you’ll be fine. If you’re feeling like you need to unwind, throw an orgy or two and have them lick your spit from the ground if you must, but take it from me, you’ll still want to be the last to fall asleep, and the first to wake up.”

“…Fucking great,” she murmurs, obviously less than excited over the idea.

“Don’t worry, it’ll become easier with time.”

Recognizing the platform they currently walk on as the correct one, Varzath doesn’t say anything else, eventually stopping as he reaches the front of the last cell before the stairs leading down to the next platform.

“…Is that her?” Biranal asks.

Inside, a woman kneels, chained against the back wall by shackles nearly covered in runes. Her blond hair is so long it spills around her body as a waterfall, and her forehead is decorated by a slightly glowing golden halo drawn across it, while her white wings lie folded behind her. 

As she slowly raises her head, showcasing eyes which are the blue of a clear afternoon sky, Varzath smiles at her.

“Hello, love. Missed me?”

If the hatred in the eyes of the angel from earlier was a fire easily extinguishable, the look in Zuriel’s eyes, once she recognizes him, is like an ancient glacier easily capable of putting out the Firepit below.

After it becomes clear she won’t speak, Varzath cocks his head. “Nothing? Not even a curse or two? And it has been so long since we talked…”

“…I know you haven’t come all this way just to mock me, demon. Speak your business so that I may return to my prayers.”

Varzath contains a grimace. A hundred years spent in a dungeon, and still, she doesn’t even bother to curse at him. Damn frigid creature.

“Right. Well, since you have such important business to return to, I’ll be brief… I remember, once upon a time, you mentioned to me a husband when I asked you why you resisted my advances so strongly. If I recall correctly, his name was Abdiel?”

Zuriel maintains her expression carefully neutral. “…Indeed, my late husband’s name used to be Abdiel… And I now realize I regret having told you his name, for hearing it from your lips causes me great pain. Please, do not speak of him again.”

Containing a childish urge to repeat the name several times just to spite her, Varzath raises an eyebrow. “Late, you say? Would you mind telling me how he came to pass?”

Zuriel stares at him for a long moment, then sighs. “If it means you’ll leave me alone at last, Abdiel died in the ambush your people orchestrated in order to capture me. He died while defending me. Now go, and leave me to suffer in peace.”

…Varzath is speechless. Almost two decades of attempted seduction before he finally gave up on her, and she never thought to inform him he was responsible for her husband’s supposed death? Really?

Varzath smiles, though the expression feels stiff on his face. “Love, you could’ve spared us both much pain if you had told me as much a hundred years ago. At least, I would’ve given you a painless death, rather than keep you as a caged bird in the vain hope you would change your mind about my cock one day.”

“…I know.”

Varzath frowns. “Then why keep silent? I can’t believe you enjoyed making a fool out of me to that extent.”

Zuriel then smiles, a small upturn of her lips which is almost imperceptible, and Varzath realizes this might’ve been the first time he has ever seen her articulating the expression.

“I enjoyed making a fool of you, yes. Seeing your schemes falling flat, and your obvious frustration at meeting a woman, perhaps the first, who is immune to your charms… I admit, it brought me a small, miniscule amount of twisted joy.” And just as suddenly it had appeared, Zuriel's smile disappears. “But it was not why I kept quiet, no. You see, demon, I knew you’d kill me, perhaps even out of mercy, had you realized why I rejected you so strongly. But I did not wish for death. Not until I had mourned for him, and not until I had paid the price for failing to protect that which I held most dear.”

“…You were punishing yourself.”

“Yes, I was.”

Staring into Zuriel's clear blue eyes, Varzath sighs. “Well, in this case, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but a Seraphim named Abdiel has been spotted attempting to breach Hell with an entourage of angels, and it seems as though he is looking for something over here… So, I guess all of your mourning has been for nothing?”

Zuriel freezes. Just that. Looking at her, Varzath isn’t sure she’s still breathing.

“Hello? Love, did you hear me?”

At last, she quickly shakes her head. “…Abdiel… Abdiel is just an angel, not even an archangel like me. It’s just a coincidence… No, it cannot be true…”

“I don’t know, I also heard he’s newly Ascended… And if what you’ve said is true, and he was present when you were captured, he’d know we were the ones who did it. What are the chances, a hundred years later, a Seraphim named Abdiel just so happens to launch a suicide mission aimed at my Domain?”

Zuriel breathes, fast, desperate, as though she cannot find enough air in her cell. Looking at her expression now, Varzath could almost believe she is a different woman from the one he spent two decades speaking with almost daily… She looks as though she was dead moments prior, and now breaths again.

Lords, he must’ve been blind to not have seen her grief.

“No, no, no, no, no...” Zuriel whispers, over and over again, shaking her head all the while.

“That’s… Not exactly the reaction I expected,” Varzath confesses.

Zuriel screams, wordlessly, as she abruptly pulls at her chains so hard that a small cloud of dust is stirred around her.

“You think I don’t know how this ends, fiend!?” she yells at him, face distorted by burning rage, “You think I don’t know you’ll use me as bait to attract him?!”

Varzath… Might’ve stepped back slightly, though he won’t admit as much unless on his death bed.

“Well, can you blame me? He came here for you, after all. It would be a bit cruel of me to deny him the chance to-”

Zuriel screams again.

“Listen, love, even if I don’t move a finger, he’ll be crushed under the hordes of Hell soon enough. One single Seraphim, no matter how powerful, cannot hope to challenge the entirety of Hell on his own. Most likely, he believes you are already dead, just as you did him, and has come for one final act of vengeance.”

“Silence! I’ll kill you! Kill me now, or I’ll kill you, and every last one of you! I swear on the name of the Creator, I’ll burn this place to cinders, even if it takes me a thousand years!”

Seeing as small streams of blood are already running down her arms where they meet her chains, Varzath grabs the bridge of his nose.

And to think he expected her to see things rationally…

“Fine, I was hoping you’d come willingly, but we’ll have it your way instead. At least now I’ll finally have a use for all those drugs I developed…”