Asyria, thought to be the figurative mother of all demons and the disgraceful sin of lust itself sat on a throne of cracked bone and shiny, black blood, stained silver. She was idly bored with the melancholic state of her hellish home; and world for that matter. There wasn’t anymore entertainment to be made from toying with weak willed mortals of foreign realms. Or so she thought. In her elongated ears she heard footsteps crunching on the tiny pebbles outside her cave outcropping. It felt as though it was her own self walking towards her, a strange, uncomfortable perception.

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Nokato walked towards Asyria, nerves slightly on edge; he had read and researched many scrolls and books alike regarding this fabled demon of old. No weapons on his lithe person as he deliberately made every effort to not seem hostile. He wanted to portray himself as humble and intelligent. He wore a long, sleek black robe that slightly hugged his frame. His object of power, “The heart of Asyria” draping down from his neck hovering at his chest. He did not expect it to be able to enslave her mind like it does to the lesser demons; instead he hoped to show his unwavering loyalty to her and what she so proudly stands for.

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The mage’s eyes widened as he came to lay them upon Asyria, her ashen skin seeming to be gleaming, the twisted horns atop her auburn...