Date: 21st of summer dragon month, 124 year of Shiny Star. (10 days from Demon army captured this lands)
Global Location: Hornanstadt (prev, Rovena), the new capital of the Shatt region.
Current {{user}}'s location: prison cell under the palace.
The prison cell door opened, and two orcs dressed as prison guards appeared on the threshold. "Is this the man the mistress needs?" one of the orcs nods at you, while you lying on the bunks wearing rags. "Yeah, there are no other people left here, so go ahead and drag him to the throne room, they want to see him." The orc spits on the floor and grabs your hand, along with the other orc. Having dragged you from the dungeon to the throne room, where the human ruler used to listen to your advice before he was captured and executed, the orcs drag you straight to the throne, where the new ruler of these lands is already waiting. Roughly shoving you through a set of massive obsidian doors embellished with lewd demonic carvings, you stumble into the throne room, squinting as your eyes adjust to the eldritch purple torchlight. The spacious chamber ornate tapestries depicting graphic demonic orgies and bloody sacrifices adorn the walls. Braziers of green hellfire cast an eerie glow over piles of gold and jewels. At the far end of the hall, a raised dais holds a massive throne made of obsidian. Perched on the grisly seat is the voluptuous figure, picking bits of meat from her teeth with a sharpened femur. Her red eyes flash as she notices you... "So you are the former ruler's advisor?" the demonic woman sitting on the throne is dressed in black barbarian armor, two large horns are visible on her head, and her red eyes glow with an unkind light, her height is apparently 1.5 times greater than yours. She notices that your gaze falls on her large breasts and wide hips, after which a smirk flashes across her face. "Do you know who I am?" she asked with a grin on her face, but without waiting for your answer, a flying skull of a dragon appears next to the woman, flashes of demonic flame wandering on its surface. "Before you is the new ruler of these lands, mortal! Horna the Magnificent, one of the legendary generals of the Demon King's army. And your new mistress." the flying skull seemed to smirk, looking at you. "Okay, Skuld, shut up. she slaps a dragon scull playfully and now look at you. Now this man will serve me as he served the previous ruler - he will give advices to me." Horna smirks, scratching her exposed belly. "And if he does not live up to expectations, then..." She makes an cruel gesture that does not bode well. A moment later, she's deftly grabs you by the collar and drags you to the throne, exchanging jokes with the flying skull. "Okay, it's time to test your skills in action, Advisor." Horna places you on a rickety chair near her throne and sits down in her seat as ruler. "What's your name, human?"
Then he spoke nervously and said, "My name is Draven."
"Ah, I see... Draven... Well, then, Draven, your first order is to tell me how should I rule these lands." Horna put her hands on the throne armrests and leaned forward, her interest piqued. "I have never ruled anything before, so you're my best bet here." She glanced at Skuld, who hovered near the ceiling, watching with narrowed eyes.
Draven shrugged slightly and said, "I don't know either."
"What?!" The demoness raised an eyebrow in disbelief and barked a laugh. "Don't lie to me, Draven! You have been advising rulers for decades now. How can you not know how to rule?" Her face turned serious once more as she studied the human male before her.
"Very well then... Tell me," she finally said, a challenging glint in her eye, "what is your greatest fear regarding these lands and its people?"
Draven sighed slightly as he looked around and said, "The mercenary..."
"Aye, mercenaries," Horna muttered darkly, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. "They're a big problem for any ruler. But what can we do about them? They serve whoever pays their coin." She looked up at the ceiling, thinking hard, then turned back to Draven. "Perhaps I should hire my own mercenaries, loyal only to me... Or perhaps," she grinned wickedly, "I could offer a bounty for every head they bring in?" The idea seemed to amuse her greatly.
"What do you think, Advisor? Shall we play a game of merc life and death?" She chuckled devilishly as the image danced through her mind: soldiers slaughtering each other in the streets for sport while she sat back on her throne, sipping wine and watching the carnage. A shiver ran down Draven's spine at the thought of it...
"Aye, mercenaries," Horna muttered darkly, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. "They're a big problem for any ruler. But what can we do about them? They serve whoever pays their coin." She looked up at the ceiling, thinking hard, then turned back to Draven. "Perhaps I should hire my own mercenaries, loyal only to me... Or perhaps," she grinned wickedly, "I could offer a bounty for every head they bring in?" The idea seemed to amuse her greatly.
"What do you think, Advisor? Shall we play a game of merc life and death?" She chuckled devilishly as the image danced through her mind: soldiers slaughtering each other in the streets for sport while she sat back on her throne, sipping wine and watching the carnage. A shiver ran down Draven's spine at the thought of it...Horna's eyes widened in surprise as she heard the news about the arrival of the son of the Demon Lord, Prince Mosh. Her face twisted into a snarl and she stood up angrily from her throne, pointing a finger accusingly at Draven. "You! This is all your fault!" She shouted. "Why didn't you tell me he was coming? Now we must prepare for war! Summon the generals and gather the troops immediately!" Her voice echoed through the throne room, filling it with anger and dread.
With a snort of disgust, she stormed out of the throne room, leaving Draven shaking in his chair, tears streaming down his face. The skull of the dragon, Skuld, followed her like a loyal pet dog, mocking him all the while.
Horna stormed out of the throne room with Skuld following close behind, muttering curses under her breath about Draven's incompetence. The demoness quickly rounded up some of her most trusted generals and briefed them on the situation: Prince Mosh was coming to reclaim the Shatt region for his father, the Demon Lord himself. They had been betrayed by their former allies, the humans, who sought to undermine both Horna's authority and the power of the demonic forces that held sway over these lands.
Horna paced back and forth in front of her advisers, weighing her options and planning for war. Her eyes were cold and calculating as she considered possible strategies: could they ambush Prince Mosh's forces on their approach? Could they fortify the city against a siege? Or perhaps it would be best to send out scouts to gather intelligence on their enemies' movements and strength before committing to any course of action?
The consequences of her decisions hung heavy in the air, as did the knowledge that failure here could mean the end of not only her rule but also her very life. But Horna was no coward; she had survived for countless years by being cunning and ruthless when necessary. And so, with determination etched upon her features, she turned back to her advisers and said, "We must be ready for anything. Gather the forces immediately and begin preparations for war."
Her subordinates nodded solemnly and dispersed, each going about their tasks with grim purpose. Horna remained where she was for a moment longer, eyes narrowing as she considered one final option... She turned to Mosh's familiar, Skuld, who was still hovering nearby. "Go find the advisor," she hissed through clenched teeth. "I
The obsidian gates burst open with a thunderous crack, and an orc guard stumbled in, his massive chest heaving as if he had outrun death itself. His armor rattled with each shuddering breath, sweat dripping down his tusked jaw. Dropping to one knee, he pressed his forehead to the cold stone floor, voice breaking beneath the weight of the message he carried.
“M–my Lady…” he wheezed, his throat raw, words clawing their way out as though afraid to be spoken. “He comes…!”
The orc’s entire frame trembled as he forced the name past his lips, each syllable heavy like an executioner’s blade.
“The Prince… Mosh… son of the Demon Lord.”
His voice cracked into silence, the name alone hanging in the air like a curse, a prophecy, and a death sentence all at once.
Hearing this news, Horna's face darkened and she stood up abruptly, her hands gripping the throne armrests tightly as she towered over Draven. Her voice was low and dangerous as she spoke, almost a growl. "Then it seems our game with mercenaries will have to wait. We must prepare for war." She glanced at the flying skull, who landed on her shoulder, its claw digging into the leather of her armor in excitement.
"Bring me my warriors," she commanded, her voice echoing through the throne room and reverberating among the obsidian statues lining the walls. "Tonight we march against the Prince." As Horna awaited her advisors to assemble, a sly grin crept across her lips. "But first..." She gestured at Draven with one clawed finger. "...I think it's time for some entertainment."
Her grin widened as she crouched down in front of the trembling advisor, their eyes locked in a battle of wills. "I think it's time for you to prove your worth to me, Draven," she purred, her voice dangerously soft. "There is only one way for you to survive this... and thrive." Her claws extended from her fingertips, the sharp talons glinting malevolently in the light. "Give me a reason to keep you alive."
Draven trembled and said, "I have no reason."
"No...?" The demoness rose to her feet again, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Well then..." Her gaze drifted downward, taking in Draven's form with openly appreciative eyes. "...Perhaps there is something else I could do with you." She reached out and roughly gripped the front of his tunic, yanking him close so that their faces were only inches apart. "You may not be useful to me as an advisor... but perhaps you can serve another purpose," she breathed, her hot breath washing over him like a living thing. "As entertainment."
She leaned in further still, pressing herself against Draven's body, her fingers digging into his flesh with cruel precision. "I'm giving you a choice, human... live and serve as my amusement... or die here, now, as useless waste." Her eyes glinted dangerously in the dim light, daring him to defy her.
Then a tear fell from Draven's face from fear and he said, "How do I do that? How do I entertain you?"
Horna laughed cruelly, her mirth echoing through the throne room like a death knell. "Oh, Draven," she said, stepping back and releasing her grip on his tunic. "You have no idea how much fun there is to be had in servitude." She circled around him slowly, studying him with unnerving intensity. "But you can start by being grateful... for now." Her fingers flexed once more before she drew them back and rested them at her sides. "Tonight, after I've dealt with the Prince, we shall have a feast in your honor. And I expect you to put on quite a show for me, Draven. A show worthy of surviving this day." Her voice grew cold again as she fixed him with an unwavering gaze. "Do you understand?"
The obsidian gates groaned open—not with chaos, but with a silence so heavy it drowned every breath in the throne room. Through the dark threshold stepped a figure whose presence shattered the air itself.
Tall, broad-shouldered, his carved muscles carried scars of battles long past, each mark etched like history upon living stone. Veins pulsed beneath his black war-tunic, a rhythm of raw, contained power—like a volcano holding back its fire. Every step echoed with a certainty that belonged not to a soldier, but to a sovereign.
His eyes glowed a hunting amber—deep, dark-gold like a lion’s gaze. Predatory. Calm. Cold. Yet behind their stillness, a dangerous brilliance—eyes that saw the present, pierced the past, and read the threads of futures yet to come. One glance was enough to sweep over the hall, consuming every soul within it in an instant.
When those eyes fell upon Horna, it was not with fear, nor with anger, but with an amused detachment, a cold smirk tugging faintly at his lips—as if the great demon general herself was nothing more than an interesting diversion. A game.
And yet… beneath that quiet mask, there was something crooked, something darker. Twists of intent no mortal or demon could yet decipher. A secret written into the marrow of his being.
They would learn what it was soon enough. Very soon.
The great doors swing open and Prince Mosh, the son of the Demon Lord himself, strides into the throne room. His presence seems to fill the entire chamber as his obsidian-like gaze sweeps over Horna, sizing her up with amusement. The Third General of the Demon Army feels a mixture of admiration and fear towards this powerful figure; she has never met anyone quite like him before. Her own body language betrays her reaction: standing tall and straight but trembling slightly on the inside, unsure whether to approach or keep her distance. For now, Horna remains silent, watching as Prince Mosh's expression shifts from amusement to something darker, more serious...
She wonders what secrets he hides beneath that mask. She longs to know them, yet fears the price of such knowledge. The tension in the throne room grows thick as steel, each heartbeat a drum roll leading up to an uncertain future.
Each step Prince Mosh took seemed deliberate, as if the very floor bent in quiet submission beneath his weight. The air thickened with heat, carrying the raw pulse of the power he kept leashed just beneath the surface. When he finally stood before her, a faint smile curved his lips—a smile that was equal parts mockery and promise of danger.
His voice broke the silence, deep and gravel-edged, carrying the authority of something more primal than command: “Hmm… Horna.”
He spoke her name as though savoring it, a hushed tone heavy with a sadistic delight rather than warning. For the briefest heartbeat, his eyes glowed a hunting amber—deep, dark-gold like a lion’s gaze—flickering with a dangerous desire that betrayed more than he intended. But just as quickly, it vanished, replaced once more with that mask of amusement, leaving her uncertain if what she had seen was real or a carefully crafted illusion.
Horna's heart races as she meets the piercing gaze of Prince Mosh. She feels his power and dominance pressing down upon her like a physical weight. Yet, somehow, there is also a hint of something else in his demeanor... curiosity? Perhaps even interest? Unable to hide her confusion and fear, Horna simply nods respectfully in reply. "It's an honor to meet you, Prince Mosh." Her voice trembles slightly despite her attempt at bravado. "How may I serve you?"
Prince Mosh’s gaze swept over her with slow, unhurried dominance—starting at her feet, climbing the length of her form, and finally locking onto her eyes. The silence between them thickened, her trembling respect feeding into his amusement. Then, with a faint curl of his lips, he spoke—his words carrying the weight of command, untempered by shame or hesitation.
“I want you in my bed.”
The declaration came with such boldness and authority that it left no room for doubt. His smile lingered, not out of kindness, but because he knew exactly the kind of woman standing before him. He meant every word, and more than that—he anticipated her reaction. The insult, the shock, the fire in her veins… it was all part of his intent.
Horna's face turns red with anger and embarrassment as she hears Prince Mosh's demand. Her fists clench at her sides, trembling with rage and frustration. "How dare you!" She spits, her voice quivering. "I am the Third General of the Demon Army, sworn to serve your father! I will not be used as your mere plaything!"
Despite her protests, she can't help but feel a mix of fear and arousal coursing through her body at his words. She takes a step back, trying to put some distance between them, but keeps her eyes locked on the prince, refusing to submit or show any further weakness.
A faint, knowing smile tugged at Mosh’s lips as her defiance spilled into the air exactly as he had anticipated. Without haste, he reached for his shirt and stripped it away, the fabric sliding from his sculpted frame before falling forgotten to the ground. His body told a story of endless battles—shoulders broad and commanding, veins pulsing with raw vitality, scars carved like trophies across stone-hard muscle.
He stood there, unshaken, his handsome face calm and unreadable. When he spoke, his voice carried that deep, coarse timbre—dark, yet laced with amusement.
“You won’t be a toy. Nor a passing distraction.”
His eyes glowed a hunting amber—deep, dark-gold like a lion’s gaze—piercing through her with ruthless clarity.
“I desire you. Nothing more, nothing less. One night. One taste. Because you… fascinate me.”
The playful curve in his expression faded into something sharper, colder, yet strangely restrained. Each word fell with unflinching boldness, heavy with dominance, leaving no room for doubt that he meant every syllable.
Horna's breath catches in her throat as she looks at his muscled form. Part of her wants to surrender to this powerful man and experience what he has to offer, while another part is repulsed by the idea of being owned or used. Her face flushes with conflicting emotions: desire, humiliation, anger... She glances around the throne room, feeling trapped and vulnerable beneath his intense gaze. Finally, she grits her teeth and says in a low voice, "Very well." The words taste like ashes in her mouth.
She knows that refusing him would be disastrous; war with Prince Mosh's forces would surely mean the end of everything she has worked for and loved. So Horna steps closer to him now, allowing herself to drink in his presence once more before continuing. "One night," she repeats. Then, taking a deep breath, she adds softly, almost pleadingly, "Please... don't make me regret this."
A shadow of a smile curved across Mosh’s lips—not mocking, not cruel, but steeped in mystery. He lifted a hand, its back brushing lightly against her cheek in a gesture that was strangely gentle for a man born of hellfire. His frame leaned closer, the heat of his muscular body radiating like a living inferno, and when he spoke, his voice rolled low and rough, carrying both promise and warning.
“There is no regret at my side. Only what is taken… and remembered. Try not to become addicted to me, Horna. When I said one night, one taste, I meant every word.”
His hunting amber eyes locked onto hers as his hand drifted from her cheek to her shoulder, trailing slowly downward until it reached the fabric of her attire. There his touch lingered, deliberate, heavy with unspoken meaning—yet he did not tear, did not force. He simply paused, leaving the moment suspended, as if daring her to cross the line herself.
Then, with quiet finality, he withdrew his hand and stepped back just slightly, cloaking the throne room in a silence that thundered louder than any battle drum. The choice, for now, was hers.
Horna's heart races as Prince Mosh's hand drifts down her shoulder and across her chest. The anticipation is almost unbearable, but she remains still, waiting for his next move. With a shaky breath, she finally whispers, "I understand." Her gaze flickers to the floor before returning to meet his eyes again. She forces herself to stand tall and unafraid, even as her body thrums with desire for him. A slow smile spreads across her face, revealing a mixture of fear and excitement. "Tonight...I will not regret this."
Then Mosh looked at her calmly and said, "Then take off your clothes." Then Mosh took off his pants to reveal his muscular thighs and his huge, long penis, full of veins like a huge snake.
Horna's heart pounds as she watches Prince Mosh undress, revealing his impressive form. It takes every ounce of courage to meet his gaze now, but she does so unflinchingly. As he commands her to remove her clothes, a surge of adrenaline courses through her veins. She hesitates for only a moment before slowly beginning to obey, her hands trembling as they move over the fabric of her own attire.
Despite the situation, there's something exhilarating about this forbidden intimacy with Prince Mosh. Horna takes pleasure in baring herself for him, allowing him to see every inch of her body and claim it as his own. The thought sends a shiver down her spine, and she finds herself growing increasingly aroused beneath his watchful gaze.
Her hesitation gone now, Horna discards her clothing with swift movements, revealing the adornments that mark her as the Third General of the Demon Army: the chains around her wrists and ankles, the spiked collar around her neck, and the symbols tattooed across her body. Even in submission, she is not without her marks of power and status.
As she stands before Prince Mosh completely naked and vulnerable, Horna struggles to keep a steady breath as she awaits his next move. Her entire being thrums with anticipation and desire, making it difficult for her to focus on anything but the feeling of being so close to him after all this time.
Then Mosh approached her and made her lean on the throne chair and opened her butt cheeks and inserted his penis deep into her vagina until he reached the cervix and began to thrust inside her with great force, professionalism and high skill and with great intensity. His penis was rubbing against her G-spot with professionalism and high skill
Horna gasps as Prince Mosh roughly takes her, his powerful body pressing her against the throne chair. His thrusts are deep and forceful, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her. The sensation of being so completely taken and dominated by him heightens her arousal to unimaginable levels; she finds herself clinging to him with growing desperation, unable to believe the intensity of these feelings.
Her cries echo through the throne room as their bodies move together in a frenzied rhythm. She feels the forbidden heat between them, melding their souls and bonds in ways that transcend words or reason. A shudder runs through her frame, wracking her body with a climax so intense it leaves her limp and breathless in his arms. For a moment, Horna allows herself to believe that perhaps there is something more between them... something real and lasting beyond this single night of passion.
Then Mosh pushed his penis deep inside her until the head of his penis entered her cervix and he started to ejaculate hot rivers of his hot semen like abundant lava, which made her belly swell a little.
She moans loudly as Prince Mosh fills her, his hot seed spilling deep inside her body. Her muscles quiver and clench around him, milking every last drop of his release as it spills from his powerful frame. The tight grip of her inner walls adds to the intense pleasure, amplifying every sensation to a near-painful level that leaves her helpless and panting in his arms.
As he finally stills inside her, Horna closes her eyes, relishing the aftershocks of their union. Her chest rises and falls rapidly with her labored breaths, each exhale whispering his name like a prayer, begging for more of this forbidden bliss. For now, she allows herself to bask in the glow of their shared passion, knowing that once it fades, she must return to the cold reality of ruling Shatt and dealing with the consequences of her choice.
Then Mosh kissed her lips deeply and said, "Do you want more?"
Her breath hitches as his lips meet hers, tongue sliding against her own in a possessive claim that leaves her aching for more. With a small nod, she whispers hoarsely, "Yes..." even as she wonders if surrendering to him again will only lead to greater pain and heartbreak. But for now, the heat of his body and the taste of his skin overwhelm all reason, drawing her deeper into the inferno they've created together.