The Rise of the Demon King's Consort

“I’m sorry” Paris panted, “It won’t happen again. It’s not a whore’s task to bear weapons” Paris corrected himself. He gazed to his children. Saieros was coming around, and Sakias and The Light had fought down the last of the opponents. Sakias was breathing heavily, crawling on hands and knees towards his parents. Saieros stirred and opened his golden glowing eyes. There was a deep cut above his left eye which made him nearly unable to see. He stumbled towards his parents as well. Taking no notice of the Demon King, they both literally fell onto Paris’ lap as he sat kneeling next to the King. They rested their heads on his chest, and he could hear them take deep breaths, watching them recuperating by the smell and touch of his skin alone. He felt their love, felt his back ache from experiencing their fatigue, sensing their imposing need to take comfort from his body. And as realization dawned on him, Paris felt gratitude and hope, understanding that deep inside, they were still his boys. Two small ships in the black of night and he was their beacon, their shelter.
Paris looked up to see the spirit of the Treasure Child dance in the air above their heads. The Demon King stirred, attempting to sit up. He finally managed to roll onto his stomach, getting up on hands and knees.

“I am glad you both came”, he addressed them “all though I must say that I have no idea what the future now hold for us” he looked up to the dancing ball of light, “as it would seem that I have been exiled from my own kingdom by the hands of my own offspring.” He cringed as the glowing ball of light sparkled with electricity, flaring and shooting sparks furiously for some time before it seemingly calmed down.

“You’ve destroyed me, burned me with my own powers, and reduced me to a shadow of myself. There’s nothing else to say except I’m sorry, for you should have lived” the Demon King said with gritted teeth, remorse in his rasping voice. The spirit glowed angrily again, and its heat smothered the ground beneath it, singing the leather of his boots, coming closer. The heat was immense, and the Demon king cringed from it, hiding his face from the light, forcing him to move.

Paris watched the Demon King crawl away, herded off like a blinded wolf. He remained on the cold ground, his two demon sons still resting. He watched in amazement as their wounds healed, the cuts sealed themselves up and their skins became more radiant and alive, their wings full with black feathers again.
Paris watched the spirit of the Treasure Child as it disappeared behind the bend of the river side, following the river upwards, up to the cloudy hillside. He was frightened to find the child so angry, its spirit twisted with rage and sorrow. Sorrow over having to die, to be cast out from the warm depths of Paris’ belly. Rage over losing his life still in the casting ladle. Rage over losing the newfound bond to his bearer, losing everything, despairing because his father despaired, fighting the forces of nature which decreed it so that they were to be separated because the injuries to Paris’ body were too great to sustain an unborn child as well. All of this had been revealed to Paris by the blink of an eye.
Irresolution embraced him as he sat there, watching his demon children come round. They were still weak, still dizzy, but got to their feet nevertheless, helping Paris to rise in the process.

“Your sword, father” Sakias said, offering the Sword of Troy to Paris.

“It— it’s not mine bear“, Paris replied, lowering his head in shame, “I’m s—sorry you had to suffer all of this. You don’t deserve to…have to go through all of this..!“ Paris tried to tell them, his voice failing. They were both so vital again, their huge erections prancing in his in vision field like big exclamation marks. And now he was all alone with them, just having witnessed their ferocity when faced with fiends, their hunger for his body. The hunger would never cease. As with the Treasure Child, they’d been robbed of his warmth also. But their anger was different, less ferocious and more moderate. More cynical and pre-meditated. He could see it on them. They lusted for him, the demon blood boiling hot in their veins, urging them to take him, to bury themselves deep within. As panic rushed through his veins, he turned on his heel and ran, the cold snow searing into his feet. He slipped and fell several times, running upwards and into the forest. But they were right behind him, and Sakias picked him up, lifting him into flight above the treetops. He fought Sakias, trying to get loose as the cold air numbed his torso and his legs. Being several hundred metres into the air was too much, and Paris stopped fighting, instead curling into a ball, trying to escape the freezing air. Sakias stopped on a small ledge, urging Paris to turn around.

“Draw some warmth from me, father” Sakias told him, stroking Paris’ shoulders. But Paris shrunk from his touch, having eyes only for the erection. He was so utterly tired, and his more than shocked mind was on autopilot, overloaded as he was with new impressions. He turned his back on Sakias again, asking with trembling and tired voice: “Which way? This way? Or should I turn?” He gasped as he felt Sakias nuzzle his hair, burying his face in Paris’ curls, clinging close to his back, embracing him. The erection was like a red hot blade against Paris’ back, pulsating, waiting to explore his insides. “Be warm, Father” Sakias whispered seductively into his ear.
A comfortable heat seemed to spread throughout Paris’ body, and he gasped again at the feel of the comfortable warmth fanning out, lingering in his abdomen. Sakias grabbed his arms and spun him around so Paris was facing Sakias’ chest. He then tightened his embrace and took off with Paris again, sustaining the magical barrier to keep the chill outside and the warmth inside. The magic had a side effect though. It made Paris’ groin tingle with lust. Upon being landed again at the top of the cliff, Paris turned to gaze at a winding path leading up to a granite castle in the making. He was shaking with lust, and automatically positioned himself on hands and knees, spreading his thighs to his captor. The thought that his captor was also his son, was gone. All he saw, heard and smelled, was a demon. A demon with a huge cock. Another master to serve. He gazed up at the castle, which unbeknownst to him would become his home for the two or so next millennia, while he wondered if there would be any food to be had this evening. He felt the demon kneel behind him, his hands resting on Paris’ buttocks, positioning himself between Paris’ thighs.

There was a light up there, in one of the windows. Like a warm oven fire, or a large candle. A beacon of sorts. Paris anticipated to be breached, pressing backwards, angling his behind for easier access, feeling the need to be mounted. The large hand on his buttocks strayed up to his sides, touching his ribs, counting them. Then, the fingers trailed his backside, traced his spine up to his neck. Paris anticipated a grip around his throat. Some of the masters would sometimes almost strangle him to death, feasting on his death throes as the last he felt as everything blackened, was the peak of a massive orgasm. He closed his eyes, shrinking away, thinking of his children. The yearling, staggering towards him unsteady feet, a big smile on his round face. The three year old who never shut up, telling him time and time again about the wonders of the world, a new toy or stroking an animal. Paris was overcome by a great sadness; at the same time he sensed his lust diminish and the cold grow stronger. Not good. Where were the children now? Oh yes, hopefully still in the palace, his mind rambled, they would not miss him. They’d most likely forgotten about him. He looked up to see another similar demon land not so far from them. The demon was carrying a sword. There was something familiar about it, but Paris didn’t bother to think twice, for he was more concerned with the dangers the sword represented. Would the demon behind him not take him soon? What was he waiting for?

“Our father must rest. He is too thin, too weak to sustain another child right now” the demon behind him spoke, rising, lifting Paris up by his arms. Paris would not have it, not hearing their voices. He wriggled and fell as he freed himself from the demon’s grasp, He immediately moved, crawling on hands and knees through the snowcovered moss. The twigs stung him, cut up his hands and knees, and he felt the skin on his knees going more and more raw every time he moved. He’d soon be too cold to move, and he’d fall down to the ground. And there, they’d bleed him, then rape him and watch him choke on his own blood. Most likely.
Paris rose his head to gaze at the castle before him, finding the window with the golden, pulsating light shining down towards him. It was so beautiful. In his delirium, he saw his two children standing there, peering out of the window, looking down at him, waving at him. They were safe. They had warmth there. And food, probably. Paris’ eyes watered over, and his tears fell into the snow, blurring his vision. He fell, got up and crawled on, then fell again. He fought for air, for the chilly atmosphere was like cold needles in his throat. He was not used to this. All he’d known all his life was the sand, the sea and the sun evolving around Troy, olive groves and green city gardens. This white, chilly substance which pained his naked skin, could bring nothing but death, he was sure of it. He got up once more, only to find the demons looming over him. Their white skins were almost translucent in the twilight, resembling the colour of the snow.

“The Lost Child will not see reason” one of the demons spoke low.

“What happens, happens. If we cannot stop him, then we must at least ensure that Father survives it. We owe him our lives” the other replied. What were they talking of? Paris could not understand. He stirred, getting on hands and knees again, trying to move forward. He was immediately picked up into the strong arms of one of them. He tried not to look them in the eye, tried not to look anywhere at all. He was in fact so tired that he had trouble keeping his eyes open. The other demon took off and flew up to the window, crawling inside. When Paris saw that, he was immediately concerned about his children and what the demon would do to them.

“No!” he implored the one carrying him, “please, no! Don’t let him harm them! Please!” Paris begged. Seconds later, he was lifted off in flight towards the same window. He reached for the window, climbing inside on his own accord, surveying the room for the children. They were no where in sight. It was a huge tower room, circular. The stone walls had been isolated and covered in wood panelling. At the other end of the room was a stair, and in the midst of the room was an open fireplace. The Demon King was sitting next to it, warming his fingers. The crown was missing, and his beautiful black hair was a mess, stained and tangled with dried blood from a fresh gash in the forehead. His fingers were raw and red, like he’d been forced to climb up here on hands and knees. Paris didn’t understand it. The young prince of Troy looked to the fire place which was built into a ring of granite stones. It didn’t look as if the children had been cast onto the flames. That was good. The Demon King looked grim, and was glowering at Paris, obviously thinking ill of him. Paris avoided staring back at him, and instead crawled on sore hands and knees to the stairs, peering down into the darkness, listening for the noise of children. It was all too quiet. Something was not right. He glanced over to the demons. They were eyeing The Demon King. Paris glanced down into the darkness again, seeing the vague shapes of woodwork and ropes. They seemed to be perched on the top of a construction site. How odd.

That was when he noticed the chain. A thin, golden chain which had been strung from the one side of the room which was opposite the window. It was attached to a golden collar around the king’s neck. Paris quickly lowered his gaze as he saw The Demon King staring back at him. Upon seeing the king chained, everything came back to him, and he instantly recognized his demon children. They were on the move, ending whatever conversation they’d had, for Paris hadn’t been paying attention at all. He scurried out of Saieros’ path as the demon trotted over and down the stairs, the wood creaking as he went. Sakias disappeared out through the window, flying out into the night, leaving master and slave to themselves. Paris wondered where The Child had gone to, and why The Demon King had been chained. Paris leapt into the air as the king moved, lying down with a sigh, resting his head on the floorboards. He looked very tired. Paris went over to the window and peered outside. He could see the trees and beyond the woods, a sea. The moon was sparkling in it, shining with a pale yellow light. It was then that Paris remembered that he hadn’t seen a moon in almost four years. Hell held no room for a moon. The midnight sky there was all black, motionless and cloudless. Like black, impregnable velvet. He had indeed emerged to the surface. But for how long would he be able to feast on the sight of the beautiful moon? Was he to end his life here? The circle complete? Born on Earth, dying on Earth? He turned as a sound caught his attention. The Demon King was coughing slightly. He looked sick. Paris remembered his outburst by the river. He didn’t know where the sudden rage came from, as he’d given The Demon King a piece of his mind. It had been stupid, and now Paris regretted it. He lay down on the other side of the fire, as far away from The Demon King’s reach as possible, staring into the flames, dreaming of his childhood days in Troy.