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Alecto: The Red Fury
- Alecto: The Red Fury -
Her name was Hermesia, and she had for the vast majority of her life been an attendant priestess at the temple of the ancient mother goddess, the great Magna Mater known as Cybele... where the male devotees oft underwent the painful and sometimes dangerous castration procedure to become sacred eunuch priests, in honor of the god named Attis, who it was said had been the consort of the mother goddess herself. Attis had castrated himself, according to all the legends, and oft did young Hermesia wonder why. What zealous fervor, what fiery devotion or longing... or madness... could drive a man to do something so impossible to take back or undo? And it was said in many of those legends that he had done this as a rejection of his own maleness, to become more like the goddess he adored. With that hot desire coming later, and other reasons coming first. Those reasons being the subject of conjecture and debate among the wisest members of the cult of Cybele. That, she did find that she could understand... him rejecting his maleness... for she had always been mistrustful of men in general, after her father had been less than proper with her as a child and done vile things with her that she found that she could not speak of to anyone. She wished in her heart that all such brutish men as her father had been might thus be prevailed upon to mutilate that part of their body that they all to oft used to hurt or harm others. And what her father had done with her, had harmed her mind greatly... though not her spirit, never her spirit. For that belonged even then to the goddess, and was something even his perversity could not touch or defile. The Galli were those eunuch priests mentioned previously... who so lived their lives as women rather than as men. And so it was that, being so oft surrounded by them Hermesia was accustomed to an understanding of diversity and fluidity when it came to gender roles. A rejection of toxic masculinity in all its' forms was something the young priestess could comprehend perfectly, as noted before. But Attis was said by many scholars to have done this out of a kind of uncontrollable love and unspeakable sort of passion for the mother goddess first, with his rejection of his former identity as a man having come only after the deed was done, perhaps as an attempt on his part to rationalize it in a way that he could live with, knowing that his act of castration could never be undone now. And so, she always viewed Attis as having been quite different, therefore, than those Galli whom she was used to and comfortable being around. She knew that she could not have been so comfortable around the god Attis himself... for the difference was, they did all that they did by choice and had no regrets. But Attis seemed to be a man who had regretted his hasty actions, and then had to find a way to live with the consequences of them. Such was the somewhat contradictory doctrine in her particular temple at least... though Hermesia had heard that other temples to Cybele held other variations of the legends that spun a different tale around Attis and why he had done what he did. This was an old faith, a mystery faith to many, and there were secrets within secrets that the clergy of the Magna Mater held fast and secure even from many of its' own acolytes. And it had been long since the Roman Empire had fallen... longer still since the rise of the empire of Byzantium. By Hermesia's time, the ancient cult of Cybele had been forced underground because of the rise to prominence of the Christian faith that had become the dominant religion of those times into which the girl had been born. She had to journey to the underground temple in secret, and on her way home she had to depart it with equal secrecy, lest she betray the location of a cult that intended to keep operating and practicing its' traditions no matter that the Byzantine emperor declared. And his declarations against the old ways were terrible, his fury against them filled with self-righteous cruelty that had made it dangerous to be of the old religions during that era of history. All of this went through the young priestess' mind as she found herself staring at the statue of Attis in the circular chambers that were used as the temple's great hall and holiest of precincts. The kindly old eunuch who had been her teacher and mentor in the cult smiled and asked her: “Hermesia, child, wherever is it that your mind is when it goes to... wherever it ventures... during these long moments of silence that you so oft favor?” to which she answered with all due honestly: “Many places, my old friend, and all of them so complex!”
She was well educated by the cult, less so by her father during the years before her joined. Whilst her father was a follower of the old ways and was pleased with his daughter for joining... he would she had always imagined preferred to keep her as naive and ignorant about things in life as possible. “Likely so he could find me easier to victimize.” she mused to herself silently on the matter before snapping out of her gloomy reverie. The old eunuch smiled kindly once again... whilst also trying to seem as dignified and serious as possible despite the wide smile, and then explained: “Complexity is a part of life, child, and not a bad thing in and of itself... the universe is complex, after all. As are we all who dwell within its' confines.” Unlike many of the eunuchs, this one still identified as a priest rather than as a priestess, and had difficulty with putting aside his maleness entirely. Hermesia oft wondered if he would always have been so kindly towards he had his manhood remained fully intact, but chose not to speculate upon the matter too deeply lest it depress her by causing her to remember her father's wickedness again. And she was trying now to focus on other things! She cleared her throat, for the air was dusty in the temple today, and the old eunuch continued to speak, saying: “Child, I need you to go to town today and fetch for us an old scroll that is said to have come hither from the Greek island of Delos. There is something written within it that cannot fall into the hands of the followers of Christ, something only for the eyes of the most learned of our sacred order. It is a pleasant evening, though it had been a hot enough day for this part of summertime... and I suspect that some time in the night air might be agreeable for you.” and the girl did not mind in the least, because she was after all quite eager to get out of the cavern for a bit... and to go someplace other than back to her home on the outskirts of town. She was already dressed for the trip, wearing the attire of her official public job, that of a dancer and entertainer. She had on a rather delicately embroidered sleeveless dress, which was sky blue in color. And around her waist was a wide red belt that had a white sash tied about it for added decoration. She wore a pair of leather sandals on her feet, and her dark reddish brown hair was tied up in a fanciful coiffure that only dancers wore, the type of hairstyle that was of a sort that had originated in Greece in bygone times, but which had in some way remained popular throughout the old Roman period and on into Hermesia's time. Like many of her fellow dancers, she had her ears pierced and wore in them pearl earrings, along with a pearl necklace around her neck. She was very dark-skinned, for her ancestors came from North Africa originally, but she was sad to said she knew nothing about those ancestors, for her father preferred to be a man solely of his times, and her mother had left him for another when she was still a child. The two had never been wed officially, and so there was no scandal in their parting... though Hermesia had remembered that her mother had been very gentle and kind, though sometimes bitterly sad, and so she missed her. There was a time when she loved her father too, and a part of her still did, despite his treatment of her as if she were his private prostitute. She was luckily barren, else she would have likely born his bastards long since, although she felt it a sad thing that she had to be grateful for something most other women would consider a horrible thing and as far from a blessing as one could imagine. She was a dark beauty, and had a bright spirit to her that brightened the spirits of all who were near her. But she had something of the vixen in her manner at times, especially when performing her dances for crowds. Sometimes other activities less innocent in nature for those private clients who would pay for such services as she had a mind and the skill to offer for coin. She had not been a virgin in a very long time indeed, and despite all that her father had done to her, Hermesia still had a great deal of passion and sensuality to her, and was proud of it. Something that any proper Byzantine woman would have said was sinful in the extreme. But yet, the hypocrites revered their Magdalene saint as holy did they not? All whist claiming that she had been a prostitute once. She despised hypocrites greatly! When she swayed to the rhythm of music, many man and some women too would eye her saucy and ample buttocks... and her generous breasts... and smiled in ways that were far from Christian. “They all see me as an object.” she mused oft, and yet she fueled their desires and fed their objectification of her in order to earn a living that actually did pay.
She had full and luscious lips, oft painted red for her performances, and big dark brown eyes that had a kind of innocence to them that she only wished reflected her soul. In starkest contrast to her, the old eunuch who saw her off on that night was plain and gray, favoring as he did the kind of robes worn by Roman noblewomen in the days before the fall of that great and storied empire. But always were those robes he chose a dull color, for he was not a vibrant sort of person in any way. Even his eyes and short curly hair were gray! And he was very frail in body, wrinkled, and seemed to be far wiser than even his years should have allowed for. And so they were a contrast to behold... one that amused Hermesia just a little to notice on that eve. “Be well, child, and stick to the safe parts of town! The messenger who has the scroll will be waiting for you at the edge of some parkland, near to the inn known as 'The Bacchus Cup'. You will recognize him because he will be wearing a red and white tunic and posing as a soldier. May the goddess keep you well!” and they hugged before she went upon her way, leaving the warmth of the cavern's torch-lit chambers behind her as she beheld the starry skies of the evening and breathed in a lungful of the pleasant summer night air. It was sad how much the old eunuch had become more of a father figure to her, than her own father had ever been! Ironic that so odious a man could bring a child as bright as she into the world, whilst one who could never create life was better at nurturing it and far more worthy of the title of father. She wondered if the old eunuch had ever had any children in the days before joining the cult of Cybele, and if he had then it was never spoken of by either him, or by others.
Here and there did thick dark shadows seem to lurk and cling to the long alleys and sharply turning streets of the city in which Hermesia had lived her entire life thus far. She never found any of this to be oppressive or distressing though... she was a city girl, after all, and knew nothing of country life. This was her environment, and the night was the time in which she always felt most alive. The skirts of her dress rustled with the breeze that was blowing through the streets that night, and it always indicated to her that the next day might likely bring rain. Torches and lamps provided the only illumination, some from the houses and buildings around her... and some set up along the streets to provide some manner of convenience for those who had to be about after dark. She enjoyed walking, her shapely legs being quite used to physical activities be it walking or dancing. Sometimes even running when the mood thus took her, which was rare though... for she disliked how winded running made her. The streets of the city were sometimes quite labyrinth-like, and had she not spent her whole life in such a place it is a certainty that she would have been quite lost. But she knew all the landmarks, all the signs and all the ways of telling one city section from another. She was feeling elated to be out and about and not having to work the streets seeking clients on this night, and just to be safe she always carried in a sheathe at her belt a metal dagger with a red ruby set into the hilt... the only gift her father ever gave her that she truly did find herself grateful for receiving. But never had she actually had to use it... at least until that night. She heard footsteps behind her, loud and heavy, and her breathing quickened out of fear for she knew that something was wrong on this evening even if she could not know what it was. She tried to lose the people who were behind her, rushing down this alleyway and that and looking back over her shoulder every once in a while but not seeing anyone there. Yet, the footsteps returned every so often and it was as if those who made the sounds were trying to encircle her but remain just out of her sight. This felt like a trap, and she did not like it in the least. This was always a safe neighborhood, and she knew the difference! She kept her hand on the hilt of her dagger, as she turned around the corner of a curio shop that was closed and unlit, with there being a wide avenue after that which would eventually lead to the part of town she was trying to get to. All she had to do was reach it as quickly as she could! She found herself walking faster, and the pursuing footsteps matched her pace... then, she ran. And they ran also. Soon, she saw both ahead of her and behind a large number of men wearing all black attire. They had been herding her like cattle into this avenue, and she had no means of escape. She heard them chuckle.
Hermesia froze in her tracks and tried to catch her breath as one of the men walked towards her from behind. She spun around to face him, and saw that he was an average built man wearing a short black tunic and matching leggings, with leather sandals on his feet and a black cloth over the lower part of his face. His head was shaven, and his hazel eyes had a predatory gleam in them. He too had a dagger, a very long and wicked looking weapon with a serrated edge to one side of the blade. All these men were dressed this way, and she suspected them to be thieves or worse. Her heart was thumping, pounding in her breast... she had never run afoul of criminals before, and wondered why these seemed to seek her out in particular. “Oh please, sir! Do not hurt me... tell me what you want. I have money.” To which the man said evilly: “Oh, you do? Good, good... we'll take that too.” and he was breathing hard, staring at her breasts in a way that made the girl feel very uncomfortable. He kept walking towards her, menace in his manner, and she back up more and more until she was against the wall of one of the houses. All of the houses were so close together, that they may as well have been one long wall that was at her back. The man touched his crotch obscenely with his free hand, the one that was not carrying the dagger, and chuckled in a lusty manner, saying: “But we'll just worry about your money later... I, am going to take some time with you girl, and then the lads are going to take their time with you also. Each in turn! And before we're all through, you'll tell us about that scroll you're after... and maybe we won't kill you. Or maybe we will, little heretic slut that you are!” She knew what they intended now, and was not going to let them violate her, nor was she of a mind to give up that scroll to these lowlife scum that were clearly in the Church's employ. She slashed at the man's face with her own dagger, but he dodged her attack easily and grabbed her wrist, forcing her to drop her weapon lest he break her bones. “Not very funny, you little slut!” he shouted, pushing her back even harder against the wall behind her. Two more men rushed over, and held her arms tightly so that she could not move them. She tried to kick, tried to shake the men free, but then the man in front of her pressed his body against hers and she found it impossible to move her legs comfortably enough to kick any further. She could feel the hard bulge between his legs moving up against her crotch, and had he not at the same moment put his dagger against her neck she would have screamed even louder. He hissed: “You've more than coin to give me, and I've no need of coin form you... already been paid well and handsomely enough for tonight's work, and your body will be the best payment of all, for the lot of us.” He moved his free hand up her thick thighs, then further, until his hand slid up under her womanhood and she felt his hand feeling and squeezing it in a way that had it come from anyone who was not hurting her then it would have been a very pleasurable thing to experience. She gasped, not expecting herself to do so. “See, lads? The slut likes this!” the man said, letting his fingers push the fabric of her dress up and in a bit. Her body was betraying her, and that was the cruelest part of all, for the man noticed: “She's getting moist! And he withdrew his fingers and gave them a sniff, seeming to savor the scent of her moistness. One of the other men complained, saying: “Come on, come on, let's just take the bitch and get this over with! We're not at the brothel here, you know.” to which the man who was up against Hermesia, apparently their leader, said angrily: “This will be our brothel for the rest of the night, lad! And this girl here is very own private our whore... one of her, for all of us. And all the city guard paid to be elsewhere for the occasion.” She was a short woman and these brutes seemed like giants to her. She had tears coming into her eyes, and could only resign herself to whatever horrors were to follow. Then, the leader put his dagger aside and began to slap her face cruelly, whilst asking her over and over again all manner of questions about the scroll. She had not even seen it yet, and knew nothing about it herself, but even if she had... what little she knew she would never have told them. Cybele would surely deliver her, for her loyalty and devotion! Tiring of smacking her, the leader tore the front of her dress open, ripping it down to her belt and exposing her breasts. He squeezed her breasts very hard, all of the other men crowded around to watch... there were maybe ten or twenty men in total, an entire gang of foul ruffians. Her nipples were hard, and she hated that they were.
The men acted like wolves, salivating over her exposed body, and the leader told the men to bring her unto the ground, which they did. Her arms were still being held, and she felt hands grasping her legs and pulling them wide open. “Oh goddess, no! Please, goddess, Magna Mater no! Help me! Help me!” the young woman screamed, her screams echoing loudly through the alleyways and streets. But there was no help coming, and the men mocked her for her faith in the goddess and some of them hit her and kicked her, and she could not bear the cruelty they treated her with. She was sobbing, breaking down in tears and grief so profound that any decent men would have stopped what they were doing... but these were not decent men. The leader threw up the skirts of her dress, pulled them up to her waist, and then used his dagger to cut away her undergarments, as he eyes her rounded belly and the hairy cleft of her womanhood. She kept on sobbing, even when her screaming ceased, and could only look on in horror as the man pulled his leggings down and took his member forth from his undergarments, tucking the folds of his tunic into his belt as he did so. Hermesia tried to close her eyes tightly, knowing what was about to happen to her. Through her closed eyes, she could see only darkness, but felt the man's hands moving all over her legs and thighs, and other men's hands touching and squeezing her breasts, playing with her nipples. The leader inserted his finger into her, between her legs, and moved it in and out with a swift rhythm. Then, he forced himself into her, and began to heave up and down on her body, moving in and out of her and grunting like a pig. “Keep on sobbing, girl... it only makes it sweeter!” the leader said, and he took his time having his way with the young priestess, making sure to fill her with his hot seed, which in her would produce nothing. Then, he smacked her face again several more times before letting the other men do as they pleased with her, cautioning them only to not kill her until she could talk and tell them all that they wished to learn about the scroll. At least five or six more men raped her and beat her before the sound of a great commotion filled the street and all the surrounding area. This caused the woman to open her eyes, and she saw to her delight a group of eight armed men carrying swords and other weapons... all of them soldiers, wearing red and white tunics. “Filthy lowlife rapists!” one of the soldiers screamed aloud, and though they were only eight compared to the larger gang they confronted... it was easy for the trained, battle-hardened soldiers to make short work of the entire gang. Soon, the entire group of ruffians lay hacked to pieces except for the leader who was instead crippled so that he could not escape. Then, the captain of the soldiers began to interrogate the gang leader whilst the captain's men helped Hermesia get to her feet. They brought over a blood red cloak for her to put over her body, to cover her torn garments, which by then had been ripped nearly to tattered shreds by her rapists... the cloak did little to help cover her completely, and the woman was hysterically crying and screaming, mad with rage and all manner of grief and pain both physical and otherwise. She had so many bruises and cuts and scrapes, and the worst of all for her... was that her womanhood was so slick with both the fluids of those men, as well as her own wetness. They had forced her unto climax, and because of her own body's forced betrayal of her, she hated herself as much as she hated those who had assaulted her so savagely. The scents of those mixes of fluids, hers and theirs, were strong in the air and it was making the young priestess feel sick to her stomach. She was beyond reason, her mind lost in a thousand places... all of them dark and terrible. Her voice shaking and quaking with words she did not even know she was saying... as she made piteous sounds that were heartbreaking to hear anyone utter. These new men, these soldiers, were kindly and she could hear them say that they were taking her to someplace to see to her healing if possible. Medicine back then was primitive still, yet there were some healers who could at least ease their patients' suffering a little if not do any real good for their overall health. She felt them carrying her, because her legs were hurting terribly and she found that she could not walk on her own power. She saw blood, gore, and viscera all over the alleyway, and was glad that it all belonged to those men who had raped and beat her. As the soldiers bore her off, they passed the spot on the ground where the gang leader was being tortured by the captain. The woman smiled... satisfied.
Five years had passed since that night, and various members of the city clergy began to turn up dead, each and every man castrated before he was killed. Several nobles who had held strong political ties to the emperor, were found likewise murdered. Their bodies were hacked to pieces, their tongues cut out, and their eyes removed. As far as the city guard knew, this was the work of a butcher... a criminal who was surely little more than a beast with a taste for blood and horror. At each murder scene, there was a calling card of sorts left behind... a beaded bracelet dipped in the victims' blood, a bracelet of the sort that professional dancers typically wore. The old eunuch regarded Hermesia with admiration as he said to her one night during the height of these killings: “I am proud of you, my dear girl... ever since those soldiers allied with our order saved your life and helped you to find and bring us that scroll, you seem to have been training yourself remarkably both spiritually and physically. Now, you have muscles that would be the envy of any female gladiator of old, and whatever it is that you are going out and doing each night... it seems to be making you very happy, since I have not seen you feeling sad since the first month or so after you came back to us form your ordeal. Your tears have ceased, and I can see in your something of your old joy and sense of wonderment again! What it is that you are doing, if I might ask, that is keeping your spirit so bright once more?” And in the part of the cavern where the fighters of the cult trained to attain peak physical perfection, Hermesia had somehow beaten all the strongest out of the cult's warriors, out of all those who had presented themselves for training upon that day. She was still the same girl she had been before that night of terror she had experienced... and yet, she was totally different at the same time. She had cut her hair short, wearing it in a style more seen in men or boys... and her strength was on par with any trained soldier's now. She had mastered every weapon in the entire arsenal of the cult's protectors, the soldiers whose tunics were red and white... and they had taken her on as one of their number so that no longer was she simply a priestess, but also a warrior woman who was both ruthless and efficient in her methods. Somehow, the old eunuch suspected that it was she who had been responsible for the killings, she who was still hell-bent upon seeing them through. And he did not ever once say it, but he knew it in his heart and was happy to see justice being done. The leader of the gang had told all he knew, before the soldiers put him to death at last... and the conspiracy of who had hired them, who had sought the scroll, went higher and deeper than anyone knew. The hidden cult of Cybele's soldiers just did not have the authority to act openly against such powerful and influential people without also putting the cult's secrecy in jeopardy, and the city guard were paid off by the ones responsible for what occurred on the night of Hermesia's defilement... so that they would not act even if they knew who was actually lining their pockets and why. But one person acting alone, no one would take notice of or link to the cult... and that person was indeed Hermesia. She was out for vengeance so fierce and ferocious, that she would not stop until literally everyone who was involved in her rape and debasement was slain. She wore a blood red long-sleeved tunic and blood red leggings on those nights when she went out on her grim and zealous crusade... as well as a mask made of dark metal, almost a black metal in color, that was shaped like a demonic gorgon's face. She told her victims that her name was Alecto, and that she was that legendary fury come to punish the wicked and the guilty for all their transgressions. And oh, how she punished them! No target was untouchable by her, no number of hired guards or thugs were too skilled for her to slay to the last. She had read that scroll, learned its' secrets, become something more than human... and she was the only person to understand the scroll's teachings and master them. Yet even so, she had yet to unleash the full power of what she had learned! That, she was saving only for when she needed it the most. She used a wide range of weapons, and sometimes a great deal of creativity went into each of the killings she embarked upon... she started to see herself as an artist of death and dismemberment, painting works of art with human blood, with the whole city as her canvas. Sometimes, she wondered if she was enjoying it a little bit too much, this work she did! But each time she killed a man, she pictured her father's disgusting face and it got easier and easier to do it.
As the killings reached their peak of brutality, they were also becoming less and less frequent, as the woman who styled herself as “Alecto the Fury” cut her bloody path through those depraved and guilty men who had been corrupting her home city and allowing criminal elements to ruin its' peace. But the more she did this, the more she began to realize something... the city had never been peaceful, and she had merely been naive regarding just how corrupt it really was. It had always been corrupt, and that is what made her task all the more necessary. One night, the scarlet fury made her way to the house of the city's most wealthy weapons merchant, the man who had wanted the Delos scroll for himself, the one whose money and power and influence had made it possible for all the others she had slain previously to do as they did with impunity. Even the nobles and politicians were in his debt, for they all needed the weapons and mercenaries he had at his disposal... for as long as there was war, there were always men such as him who took advantage of conflict to make themselves rich. He had actually formed that gang himself, that gang of fiends who had violated her so long ago... and so long as he lived, she could not end her quest for vengeance. He had to die, if she was ever know peace again! And it was at the end of the eighth year following her ravishment that she finally decided it was time to cut the head off of the snake for good... and go after the man who was most directly responsible for it. He had no supporters left now, for she had seen to that! But he could still find new ones if he lived... and she would find her task without end if that happened. She no longer lived at home anymore, she lived at the temple of the Magna Mater full time and had decided to cut all ties to her father... the old eunuch was her father now and the great goddess Cybele her mother. And, Attis willing, before this night was out she would be at last able to know a semblance of peace in her heart once again. She had not slept well in a very long, long time... and when she did, her dreams were filled with nightmares and blood. She wanted it to be over, the killings she had to do and the torment she felt inside. But the only way to such peace lay on the other side of this evil man's demise... and he was very well guarded indeed. She surveyed the villa where he lived, at the very heart of the wealthy district, set within its' own stretch of parkland and its' own area filled with gardens, fields, and private tracks for the racing of horses. Walls surrounded the whole of it, and every wall was patrolled by hired soldiers who were the equal of the imperial army it was said. If she were to be spotted by a single archer, it could be her end! And so she stuck to the dark shadows and used the night fully to her advantage, making her way to a location where the guards did not patrol, and where no archers were stationed... because a high cliff loomed next to the outer wall there, one that it was clearly believed no one would be insane enough to try to climb. But she was mad enough, and determined enough, to do just that! Clawed gauntlets and spiked boots made the climb an easy enough one for Hermesia, and she had made such climbs before many time over. Once on the top of the cliff, she leapt down unto the top of the wall just below it and spied an open well just below that, right next to a stable. No one was around that stable yard at that hour, so no one noticed her diving into the well from the well and surfacing for air, before sneaking off towards the villa itself, where her target would be waiting for the bloody judgment she brought. She knew it would not be easy, but it would be the last time she had to do this... after this, she could go back to being just a priestess again. That was what sort of promise she made to herself, and she intended to stick to it. All her life, she had longed for peace and happiness... and now, it was within sight, but only at the cost of this one last deadly mission. The crickets and night birds were out, and it was fortunate that Hermesia had such keen hearing, for on many an occasion she would have been discovered by one of the villa guards had she not acted quickly and silenced them with the cold metal of the curved eastern saber she chose to use for this night's work. None of them even saw her face! And in this way she made her path easier as she reached the windows of the villa, where she began to look for the best one to use for a means to get inside. Then, she saw a light in a side window and noticed a kitchen within. That was the one way she would not enter, since it risked her being discovered! So she moved quietly to the other side of the villa and had a look around.
There, she saw a pitch black room that appeared quiet, and she crept up to the window to have a bit of a listen... it was even quieter up close like this, and she peeked over, her eyes adjusting enough to how dark it was so that she could vaguely make out the shapes of furniture but saw that there was no one in that room and by the sound of it no one in any adjoining room either. She could not be certain of that, naturally, but she had to take a chance sometime... so she clambered through the window and was in the villa at last. No one saw or heard her enter, and she cautiously made her way through various rooms... some dark and some dimly lit with small oil lamps and a few torches. Then, she saw a set of stairs and in the same room as the stairs were four guards gathered around a table and playing dice games. That was to her advantage, since the table itself was on the far side of the room from the stairs, near one of the windows looking outside... and the only light came from several candles on the table itself. Those same candles throw shadows all about the room, and the shadows were thickest just before the stairs. If she moved silently, no one would see her... so she ducked into a nearby storage room and removed both her boots and gauntlets so that the metal on them would not make any noise and give her away. Then, she crawled across the floor of the room in which the men were playing their game and crouched at the base of the stairs. No one had noticed her, so dark was this part of the room, and with how noisy those men were with their laughing, chuckling and foolishness... they had not heard anything above their own stupidity. Such were the fury's thoughts as she crawled rather than climbed up the stairs, being mindful of her surroundings at every step. She reasoned that such a powerful man as was her target would not choose a downstairs chamber to sleep in, not with all the enemies she knew he had. And which he very likely would be paranoid over... hence all the guards. And that room had been the only one so far to have had that many guards in one place! Up the stairs, all was silent and the only sounds came from the guards downstairs who were still audible in their rowdiness. The upper floor of the villa was a great deal smaller, and it made searching room by room that much easier. At last, Hermesia came to a room where a rather short and fat man (shorter than her, and she was hardly a tall woman by any standards!) was sleeping on a bed comfortable enough to have belonged to a prince. There was a lit oil lamp, its' light slowly beginning to flicker out, and it provided enough illumination for the assassin to clearly see what she could of the room's interior. The room had racks of weapons on every wall, and a statue of the Roman god Mars stood in a corner... a clothing closet was against the wall opposite of the bed, and the rest of the furnishings of the room were rather spartan in design. Hermesia knew a great deal about her target, knew much of how he thought and upon recognizing him lying there sound asleep... she knew that there was a way to hill him that would not alert the guards and play to his foolishness as well as to her cunning. She removed her mask, took off all of her clothes, and climbed unto the bed... where, she straddled the sleeping man. He slept like a dead man! She tore her leggings into several pieces, and tied the man to his bed with them, ensuring that his wrists and ankles were all secured. Then, she decided it was time to wake him up, since even this thus far he slept through. She said to him, whispering into his ear: “Wake up, my lover! It is I... Lilith, the black succubus, come hither to grant you your heart's very darkest desires.” The man woke up, startled, but smiling wide when he saw the beautiful and muscular woman sitting atop his corpulent form. He muttered: “Lilith, the succubus, you say! The Church says she is a devil, a temptress, and the Devil's whore even... so, why should you, if you truly be she, wish to visit someone like myself, when you could have the emperor if you chose to, instead?” and she began to caress his manhood through his evening robe, arousing him incredibly by doing so. She whispered in a seductive tone of voice, one she had used often in her days as a prostitute: “Are you, not wealthy... and are you not powerful? You could have the emperor himself in your pocket, if you chose to instead of all those petty nobles and silly gang leaders that the Devil tells me all fear you, and rightly. I am here to try and convince you to raise your ambitions higher, and I am going to give you this night of pleasure as a token of our pact... so that if you sell your soul to my Dark Lord, then more shall await you afterward.”
She knew already that he was secretly a satanist, and that he would definitely agree to this... for, she studied all of her targets extensively before striking them down. The man was like putty in her hands, babbling on and on in agreement, making pledges and promises to Satan that would be frightening to anyone from the Church were they here to witness such a thing... were the man not so pathetic looking and ridiculous acting. All the same, she kept stroking his member through his clothing until he was quite hard from it... he was used to bondage play like this, and had hired countless prostitutes in the past who had engaged in this sort of a thing with him. If this woman truly was Lilith, truly was from the depths of Hell itself... then anything she could do to him would surely delight him, he thought. For he knew all about succubi, and how they could suck the soul from a man and carry it off to Hell... and that prospect also excited him, for there he believed he could become a powerful demon and lord it over the souls of the damned, just as he lorded it over people in this world. He was vain, selfish, arrogant and in the end foolish in the extreme. Fatally so! Hermesia used this opportunity to have her way with this vile man, to debase and degrade him, and defile him utterly... she smacked him, as those in his employ had smacked her. She struck him, beat upon him, even as she rode him with his manhood deep inside her. She tore at his evening robe until it was in tatters and shreds, and she scratched at his face and flesh... dominating him utterly as she did so. He felt nothing but excitement at all of this, believing it to be but love play, and soon he was brought to orgasm, squirting inside this magnificent woman's moist cunt, even as she was brought to climax by their shared acts of depravity. Then, and only then, did she say to him in a low whisper: “I am going to take you to Hell now, to meet the Devil!” and he gleefully said in an almost comically delighted tone of voice: “Yes, please mistress Lilith! Take me to Hell right now! Oh, I am yours, I am yours and your dark master's.” to which she replied: “Yes, you foolish and fat little man... you actually are. Time to go now!” And she pulled her body off of him, making sure he was not inside her any longer, before going over to where she saw a dagger on an end table. She walked back to the bed with the dagger in her hand, and in one swift motion she slit the wicked man's throat from ear to ear, and whilst he slowly bled to death from that, she castrated him... being certain to remove not just his testicles, as was the way when a man was made into a eunuch, but she removed his penis too. She then shoved it into his mouth and that was the last thing he ever saw before she cut his eyes out of his head and put each eye in one of his hands, which were clenching in agony. He made gurgling sounds, and rattling noises, with wind passing through his open slit throat in horrific ways. All of it was quiet enough that the guards heard and suspected nothing, having heard what sounded like him lying with yet another prostitute but moments before. Something they were already used to having to block out the sounds of from their minds, hence why they were oft so rowdy at their table. As a final touch, whilst his body was convulsing in death, the mighty fury carved into his chest an inverted pentagram. And into his forehead she carved three number sixes. Thus, would those who found him blame some satanic cult for his death, and given how he ran in such circles all his life... that would be quite believable indeed. That done, Hermesia put her tunic back on and borrowed a pair of the dead man's trousers from his closet... being sure to find a pair with drawstring, so that they would fit her. They were still ridiculously baggy on her due to the man's corpulent girth, and because of how short the man was the fit was not exact by any means, but they would certainly not fall off of her since she tied them tightly to her waist. Dressed fully, and picking up her sword and sheathing it at her belt, she climbed out a nearby window and then jumped to the ground below, her mighty legs making such a feat quite trivial for her. That was not the last time she killed a man, and her crusade for justice in her home city eventually expanded to one that took her to many distant cities, and far away kingdoms and empires as well. Always, she fought for the justice of people who had no one else to fight for them... always, corruption and cruelty were her foes. Alecto the Fury was a very busy woman, because once she started down the path of being an avenging fury, there was no way for her to go back to being just an ordinary priestess ever again. Such was fated!
Her name was Hermesia, and she had for the vast majority of her life been an attendant priestess at the temple of the ancient mother goddess, the great Magna Mater known as Cybele... where the male devotees oft underwent the painful and sometimes dangerous castration procedure to become sacred eunuch priests, in honor of the god named Attis, who it was said had been the consort of the mother goddess herself. Attis had castrated himself, according to all the legends, and oft did young Hermesia wonder why. What zealous fervor, what fiery devotion or longing... or madness... could drive a man to do something so impossible to take back or undo? And it was said in many of those legends that he had done this as a rejection of his own maleness, to become more like the goddess he adored. With that hot desire coming later, and other reasons coming first. Those reasons being the subject of conjecture and debate among the wisest members of the cult of Cybele. That, she did find that she could understand... him rejecting his maleness... for she had always been mistrustful of men in general, after her father had been less than proper with her as a child and done vile things with her that she found that she could not speak of to anyone. She wished in her heart that all such brutish men as her father had been might thus be prevailed upon to mutilate that part of their body that they all to oft used to hurt or harm others. And what her father had done with her, had harmed her mind greatly... though not her spirit, never her spirit. For that belonged even then to the goddess, and was something even his perversity could not touch or defile. The Galli were those eunuch priests mentioned previously... who so lived their lives as women rather than as men. And so it was that, being so oft surrounded by them Hermesia was accustomed to an understanding of diversity and fluidity when it came to gender roles. A rejection of toxic masculinity in all its' forms was something the young priestess could comprehend perfectly, as noted before. But Attis was said by many scholars to have done this out of a kind of uncontrollable love and unspeakable sort of passion for the mother goddess first, with his rejection of his former identity as a man having come only after the deed was done, perhaps as an attempt on his part to rationalize it in a way that he could live with, knowing that his act of castration could never be undone now. And so, she always viewed Attis as having been quite different, therefore, than those Galli whom she was used to and comfortable being around. She knew that she could not have been so comfortable around the god Attis himself... for the difference was, they did all that they did by choice and had no regrets. But Attis seemed to be a man who had regretted his hasty actions, and then had to find a way to live with the consequences of them. Such was the somewhat contradictory doctrine in her particular temple at least... though Hermesia had heard that other temples to Cybele held other variations of the legends that spun a different tale around Attis and why he had done what he did. This was an old faith, a mystery faith to many, and there were secrets within secrets that the clergy of the Magna Mater held fast and secure even from many of its' own acolytes. And it had been long since the Roman Empire had fallen... longer still since the rise of the empire of Byzantium. By Hermesia's time, the ancient cult of Cybele had been forced underground because of the rise to prominence of the Christian faith that had become the dominant religion of those times into which the girl had been born. She had to journey to the underground temple in secret, and on her way home she had to depart it with equal secrecy, lest she betray the location of a cult that intended to keep operating and practicing its' traditions no matter that the Byzantine emperor declared. And his declarations against the old ways were terrible, his fury against them filled with self-righteous cruelty that had made it dangerous to be of the old religions during that era of history. All of this went through the young priestess' mind as she found herself staring at the statue of Attis in the circular chambers that were used as the temple's great hall and holiest of precincts. The kindly old eunuch who had been her teacher and mentor in the cult smiled and asked her: “Hermesia, child, wherever is it that your mind is when it goes to... wherever it ventures... during these long moments of silence that you so oft favor?” to which she answered with all due honestly: “Many places, my old friend, and all of them so complex!”
She was well educated by the cult, less so by her father during the years before her joined. Whilst her father was a follower of the old ways and was pleased with his daughter for joining... he would she had always imagined preferred to keep her as naive and ignorant about things in life as possible. “Likely so he could find me easier to victimize.” she mused to herself silently on the matter before snapping out of her gloomy reverie. The old eunuch smiled kindly once again... whilst also trying to seem as dignified and serious as possible despite the wide smile, and then explained: “Complexity is a part of life, child, and not a bad thing in and of itself... the universe is complex, after all. As are we all who dwell within its' confines.” Unlike many of the eunuchs, this one still identified as a priest rather than as a priestess, and had difficulty with putting aside his maleness entirely. Hermesia oft wondered if he would always have been so kindly towards he had his manhood remained fully intact, but chose not to speculate upon the matter too deeply lest it depress her by causing her to remember her father's wickedness again. And she was trying now to focus on other things! She cleared her throat, for the air was dusty in the temple today, and the old eunuch continued to speak, saying: “Child, I need you to go to town today and fetch for us an old scroll that is said to have come hither from the Greek island of Delos. There is something written within it that cannot fall into the hands of the followers of Christ, something only for the eyes of the most learned of our sacred order. It is a pleasant evening, though it had been a hot enough day for this part of summertime... and I suspect that some time in the night air might be agreeable for you.” and the girl did not mind in the least, because she was after all quite eager to get out of the cavern for a bit... and to go someplace other than back to her home on the outskirts of town. She was already dressed for the trip, wearing the attire of her official public job, that of a dancer and entertainer. She had on a rather delicately embroidered sleeveless dress, which was sky blue in color. And around her waist was a wide red belt that had a white sash tied about it for added decoration. She wore a pair of leather sandals on her feet, and her dark reddish brown hair was tied up in a fanciful coiffure that only dancers wore, the type of hairstyle that was of a sort that had originated in Greece in bygone times, but which had in some way remained popular throughout the old Roman period and on into Hermesia's time. Like many of her fellow dancers, she had her ears pierced and wore in them pearl earrings, along with a pearl necklace around her neck. She was very dark-skinned, for her ancestors came from North Africa originally, but she was sad to said she knew nothing about those ancestors, for her father preferred to be a man solely of his times, and her mother had left him for another when she was still a child. The two had never been wed officially, and so there was no scandal in their parting... though Hermesia had remembered that her mother had been very gentle and kind, though sometimes bitterly sad, and so she missed her. There was a time when she loved her father too, and a part of her still did, despite his treatment of her as if she were his private prostitute. She was luckily barren, else she would have likely born his bastards long since, although she felt it a sad thing that she had to be grateful for something most other women would consider a horrible thing and as far from a blessing as one could imagine. She was a dark beauty, and had a bright spirit to her that brightened the spirits of all who were near her. But she had something of the vixen in her manner at times, especially when performing her dances for crowds. Sometimes other activities less innocent in nature for those private clients who would pay for such services as she had a mind and the skill to offer for coin. She had not been a virgin in a very long time indeed, and despite all that her father had done to her, Hermesia still had a great deal of passion and sensuality to her, and was proud of it. Something that any proper Byzantine woman would have said was sinful in the extreme. But yet, the hypocrites revered their Magdalene saint as holy did they not? All whist claiming that she had been a prostitute once. She despised hypocrites greatly! When she swayed to the rhythm of music, many man and some women too would eye her saucy and ample buttocks... and her generous breasts... and smiled in ways that were far from Christian. “They all see me as an object.” she mused oft, and yet she fueled their desires and fed their objectification of her in order to earn a living that actually did pay.
She had full and luscious lips, oft painted red for her performances, and big dark brown eyes that had a kind of innocence to them that she only wished reflected her soul. In starkest contrast to her, the old eunuch who saw her off on that night was plain and gray, favoring as he did the kind of robes worn by Roman noblewomen in the days before the fall of that great and storied empire. But always were those robes he chose a dull color, for he was not a vibrant sort of person in any way. Even his eyes and short curly hair were gray! And he was very frail in body, wrinkled, and seemed to be far wiser than even his years should have allowed for. And so they were a contrast to behold... one that amused Hermesia just a little to notice on that eve. “Be well, child, and stick to the safe parts of town! The messenger who has the scroll will be waiting for you at the edge of some parkland, near to the inn known as 'The Bacchus Cup'. You will recognize him because he will be wearing a red and white tunic and posing as a soldier. May the goddess keep you well!” and they hugged before she went upon her way, leaving the warmth of the cavern's torch-lit chambers behind her as she beheld the starry skies of the evening and breathed in a lungful of the pleasant summer night air. It was sad how much the old eunuch had become more of a father figure to her, than her own father had ever been! Ironic that so odious a man could bring a child as bright as she into the world, whilst one who could never create life was better at nurturing it and far more worthy of the title of father. She wondered if the old eunuch had ever had any children in the days before joining the cult of Cybele, and if he had then it was never spoken of by either him, or by others.
Here and there did thick dark shadows seem to lurk and cling to the long alleys and sharply turning streets of the city in which Hermesia had lived her entire life thus far. She never found any of this to be oppressive or distressing though... she was a city girl, after all, and knew nothing of country life. This was her environment, and the night was the time in which she always felt most alive. The skirts of her dress rustled with the breeze that was blowing through the streets that night, and it always indicated to her that the next day might likely bring rain. Torches and lamps provided the only illumination, some from the houses and buildings around her... and some set up along the streets to provide some manner of convenience for those who had to be about after dark. She enjoyed walking, her shapely legs being quite used to physical activities be it walking or dancing. Sometimes even running when the mood thus took her, which was rare though... for she disliked how winded running made her. The streets of the city were sometimes quite labyrinth-like, and had she not spent her whole life in such a place it is a certainty that she would have been quite lost. But she knew all the landmarks, all the signs and all the ways of telling one city section from another. She was feeling elated to be out and about and not having to work the streets seeking clients on this night, and just to be safe she always carried in a sheathe at her belt a metal dagger with a red ruby set into the hilt... the only gift her father ever gave her that she truly did find herself grateful for receiving. But never had she actually had to use it... at least until that night. She heard footsteps behind her, loud and heavy, and her breathing quickened out of fear for she knew that something was wrong on this evening even if she could not know what it was. She tried to lose the people who were behind her, rushing down this alleyway and that and looking back over her shoulder every once in a while but not seeing anyone there. Yet, the footsteps returned every so often and it was as if those who made the sounds were trying to encircle her but remain just out of her sight. This felt like a trap, and she did not like it in the least. This was always a safe neighborhood, and she knew the difference! She kept her hand on the hilt of her dagger, as she turned around the corner of a curio shop that was closed and unlit, with there being a wide avenue after that which would eventually lead to the part of town she was trying to get to. All she had to do was reach it as quickly as she could! She found herself walking faster, and the pursuing footsteps matched her pace... then, she ran. And they ran also. Soon, she saw both ahead of her and behind a large number of men wearing all black attire. They had been herding her like cattle into this avenue, and she had no means of escape. She heard them chuckle.
Hermesia froze in her tracks and tried to catch her breath as one of the men walked towards her from behind. She spun around to face him, and saw that he was an average built man wearing a short black tunic and matching leggings, with leather sandals on his feet and a black cloth over the lower part of his face. His head was shaven, and his hazel eyes had a predatory gleam in them. He too had a dagger, a very long and wicked looking weapon with a serrated edge to one side of the blade. All these men were dressed this way, and she suspected them to be thieves or worse. Her heart was thumping, pounding in her breast... she had never run afoul of criminals before, and wondered why these seemed to seek her out in particular. “Oh please, sir! Do not hurt me... tell me what you want. I have money.” To which the man said evilly: “Oh, you do? Good, good... we'll take that too.” and he was breathing hard, staring at her breasts in a way that made the girl feel very uncomfortable. He kept walking towards her, menace in his manner, and she back up more and more until she was against the wall of one of the houses. All of the houses were so close together, that they may as well have been one long wall that was at her back. The man touched his crotch obscenely with his free hand, the one that was not carrying the dagger, and chuckled in a lusty manner, saying: “But we'll just worry about your money later... I, am going to take some time with you girl, and then the lads are going to take their time with you also. Each in turn! And before we're all through, you'll tell us about that scroll you're after... and maybe we won't kill you. Or maybe we will, little heretic slut that you are!” She knew what they intended now, and was not going to let them violate her, nor was she of a mind to give up that scroll to these lowlife scum that were clearly in the Church's employ. She slashed at the man's face with her own dagger, but he dodged her attack easily and grabbed her wrist, forcing her to drop her weapon lest he break her bones. “Not very funny, you little slut!” he shouted, pushing her back even harder against the wall behind her. Two more men rushed over, and held her arms tightly so that she could not move them. She tried to kick, tried to shake the men free, but then the man in front of her pressed his body against hers and she found it impossible to move her legs comfortably enough to kick any further. She could feel the hard bulge between his legs moving up against her crotch, and had he not at the same moment put his dagger against her neck she would have screamed even louder. He hissed: “You've more than coin to give me, and I've no need of coin form you... already been paid well and handsomely enough for tonight's work, and your body will be the best payment of all, for the lot of us.” He moved his free hand up her thick thighs, then further, until his hand slid up under her womanhood and she felt his hand feeling and squeezing it in a way that had it come from anyone who was not hurting her then it would have been a very pleasurable thing to experience. She gasped, not expecting herself to do so. “See, lads? The slut likes this!” the man said, letting his fingers push the fabric of her dress up and in a bit. Her body was betraying her, and that was the cruelest part of all, for the man noticed: “She's getting moist! And he withdrew his fingers and gave them a sniff, seeming to savor the scent of her moistness. One of the other men complained, saying: “Come on, come on, let's just take the bitch and get this over with! We're not at the brothel here, you know.” to which the man who was up against Hermesia, apparently their leader, said angrily: “This will be our brothel for the rest of the night, lad! And this girl here is very own private our whore... one of her, for all of us. And all the city guard paid to be elsewhere for the occasion.” She was a short woman and these brutes seemed like giants to her. She had tears coming into her eyes, and could only resign herself to whatever horrors were to follow. Then, the leader put his dagger aside and began to slap her face cruelly, whilst asking her over and over again all manner of questions about the scroll. She had not even seen it yet, and knew nothing about it herself, but even if she had... what little she knew she would never have told them. Cybele would surely deliver her, for her loyalty and devotion! Tiring of smacking her, the leader tore the front of her dress open, ripping it down to her belt and exposing her breasts. He squeezed her breasts very hard, all of the other men crowded around to watch... there were maybe ten or twenty men in total, an entire gang of foul ruffians. Her nipples were hard, and she hated that they were.
The men acted like wolves, salivating over her exposed body, and the leader told the men to bring her unto the ground, which they did. Her arms were still being held, and she felt hands grasping her legs and pulling them wide open. “Oh goddess, no! Please, goddess, Magna Mater no! Help me! Help me!” the young woman screamed, her screams echoing loudly through the alleyways and streets. But there was no help coming, and the men mocked her for her faith in the goddess and some of them hit her and kicked her, and she could not bear the cruelty they treated her with. She was sobbing, breaking down in tears and grief so profound that any decent men would have stopped what they were doing... but these were not decent men. The leader threw up the skirts of her dress, pulled them up to her waist, and then used his dagger to cut away her undergarments, as he eyes her rounded belly and the hairy cleft of her womanhood. She kept on sobbing, even when her screaming ceased, and could only look on in horror as the man pulled his leggings down and took his member forth from his undergarments, tucking the folds of his tunic into his belt as he did so. Hermesia tried to close her eyes tightly, knowing what was about to happen to her. Through her closed eyes, she could see only darkness, but felt the man's hands moving all over her legs and thighs, and other men's hands touching and squeezing her breasts, playing with her nipples. The leader inserted his finger into her, between her legs, and moved it in and out with a swift rhythm. Then, he forced himself into her, and began to heave up and down on her body, moving in and out of her and grunting like a pig. “Keep on sobbing, girl... it only makes it sweeter!” the leader said, and he took his time having his way with the young priestess, making sure to fill her with his hot seed, which in her would produce nothing. Then, he smacked her face again several more times before letting the other men do as they pleased with her, cautioning them only to not kill her until she could talk and tell them all that they wished to learn about the scroll. At least five or six more men raped her and beat her before the sound of a great commotion filled the street and all the surrounding area. This caused the woman to open her eyes, and she saw to her delight a group of eight armed men carrying swords and other weapons... all of them soldiers, wearing red and white tunics. “Filthy lowlife rapists!” one of the soldiers screamed aloud, and though they were only eight compared to the larger gang they confronted... it was easy for the trained, battle-hardened soldiers to make short work of the entire gang. Soon, the entire group of ruffians lay hacked to pieces except for the leader who was instead crippled so that he could not escape. Then, the captain of the soldiers began to interrogate the gang leader whilst the captain's men helped Hermesia get to her feet. They brought over a blood red cloak for her to put over her body, to cover her torn garments, which by then had been ripped nearly to tattered shreds by her rapists... the cloak did little to help cover her completely, and the woman was hysterically crying and screaming, mad with rage and all manner of grief and pain both physical and otherwise. She had so many bruises and cuts and scrapes, and the worst of all for her... was that her womanhood was so slick with both the fluids of those men, as well as her own wetness. They had forced her unto climax, and because of her own body's forced betrayal of her, she hated herself as much as she hated those who had assaulted her so savagely. The scents of those mixes of fluids, hers and theirs, were strong in the air and it was making the young priestess feel sick to her stomach. She was beyond reason, her mind lost in a thousand places... all of them dark and terrible. Her voice shaking and quaking with words she did not even know she was saying... as she made piteous sounds that were heartbreaking to hear anyone utter. These new men, these soldiers, were kindly and she could hear them say that they were taking her to someplace to see to her healing if possible. Medicine back then was primitive still, yet there were some healers who could at least ease their patients' suffering a little if not do any real good for their overall health. She felt them carrying her, because her legs were hurting terribly and she found that she could not walk on her own power. She saw blood, gore, and viscera all over the alleyway, and was glad that it all belonged to those men who had raped and beat her. As the soldiers bore her off, they passed the spot on the ground where the gang leader was being tortured by the captain. The woman smiled... satisfied.
Five years had passed since that night, and various members of the city clergy began to turn up dead, each and every man castrated before he was killed. Several nobles who had held strong political ties to the emperor, were found likewise murdered. Their bodies were hacked to pieces, their tongues cut out, and their eyes removed. As far as the city guard knew, this was the work of a butcher... a criminal who was surely little more than a beast with a taste for blood and horror. At each murder scene, there was a calling card of sorts left behind... a beaded bracelet dipped in the victims' blood, a bracelet of the sort that professional dancers typically wore. The old eunuch regarded Hermesia with admiration as he said to her one night during the height of these killings: “I am proud of you, my dear girl... ever since those soldiers allied with our order saved your life and helped you to find and bring us that scroll, you seem to have been training yourself remarkably both spiritually and physically. Now, you have muscles that would be the envy of any female gladiator of old, and whatever it is that you are going out and doing each night... it seems to be making you very happy, since I have not seen you feeling sad since the first month or so after you came back to us form your ordeal. Your tears have ceased, and I can see in your something of your old joy and sense of wonderment again! What it is that you are doing, if I might ask, that is keeping your spirit so bright once more?” And in the part of the cavern where the fighters of the cult trained to attain peak physical perfection, Hermesia had somehow beaten all the strongest out of the cult's warriors, out of all those who had presented themselves for training upon that day. She was still the same girl she had been before that night of terror she had experienced... and yet, she was totally different at the same time. She had cut her hair short, wearing it in a style more seen in men or boys... and her strength was on par with any trained soldier's now. She had mastered every weapon in the entire arsenal of the cult's protectors, the soldiers whose tunics were red and white... and they had taken her on as one of their number so that no longer was she simply a priestess, but also a warrior woman who was both ruthless and efficient in her methods. Somehow, the old eunuch suspected that it was she who had been responsible for the killings, she who was still hell-bent upon seeing them through. And he did not ever once say it, but he knew it in his heart and was happy to see justice being done. The leader of the gang had told all he knew, before the soldiers put him to death at last... and the conspiracy of who had hired them, who had sought the scroll, went higher and deeper than anyone knew. The hidden cult of Cybele's soldiers just did not have the authority to act openly against such powerful and influential people without also putting the cult's secrecy in jeopardy, and the city guard were paid off by the ones responsible for what occurred on the night of Hermesia's defilement... so that they would not act even if they knew who was actually lining their pockets and why. But one person acting alone, no one would take notice of or link to the cult... and that person was indeed Hermesia. She was out for vengeance so fierce and ferocious, that she would not stop until literally everyone who was involved in her rape and debasement was slain. She wore a blood red long-sleeved tunic and blood red leggings on those nights when she went out on her grim and zealous crusade... as well as a mask made of dark metal, almost a black metal in color, that was shaped like a demonic gorgon's face. She told her victims that her name was Alecto, and that she was that legendary fury come to punish the wicked and the guilty for all their transgressions. And oh, how she punished them! No target was untouchable by her, no number of hired guards or thugs were too skilled for her to slay to the last. She had read that scroll, learned its' secrets, become something more than human... and she was the only person to understand the scroll's teachings and master them. Yet even so, she had yet to unleash the full power of what she had learned! That, she was saving only for when she needed it the most. She used a wide range of weapons, and sometimes a great deal of creativity went into each of the killings she embarked upon... she started to see herself as an artist of death and dismemberment, painting works of art with human blood, with the whole city as her canvas. Sometimes, she wondered if she was enjoying it a little bit too much, this work she did! But each time she killed a man, she pictured her father's disgusting face and it got easier and easier to do it.
As the killings reached their peak of brutality, they were also becoming less and less frequent, as the woman who styled herself as “Alecto the Fury” cut her bloody path through those depraved and guilty men who had been corrupting her home city and allowing criminal elements to ruin its' peace. But the more she did this, the more she began to realize something... the city had never been peaceful, and she had merely been naive regarding just how corrupt it really was. It had always been corrupt, and that is what made her task all the more necessary. One night, the scarlet fury made her way to the house of the city's most wealthy weapons merchant, the man who had wanted the Delos scroll for himself, the one whose money and power and influence had made it possible for all the others she had slain previously to do as they did with impunity. Even the nobles and politicians were in his debt, for they all needed the weapons and mercenaries he had at his disposal... for as long as there was war, there were always men such as him who took advantage of conflict to make themselves rich. He had actually formed that gang himself, that gang of fiends who had violated her so long ago... and so long as he lived, she could not end her quest for vengeance. He had to die, if she was ever know peace again! And it was at the end of the eighth year following her ravishment that she finally decided it was time to cut the head off of the snake for good... and go after the man who was most directly responsible for it. He had no supporters left now, for she had seen to that! But he could still find new ones if he lived... and she would find her task without end if that happened. She no longer lived at home anymore, she lived at the temple of the Magna Mater full time and had decided to cut all ties to her father... the old eunuch was her father now and the great goddess Cybele her mother. And, Attis willing, before this night was out she would be at last able to know a semblance of peace in her heart once again. She had not slept well in a very long, long time... and when she did, her dreams were filled with nightmares and blood. She wanted it to be over, the killings she had to do and the torment she felt inside. But the only way to such peace lay on the other side of this evil man's demise... and he was very well guarded indeed. She surveyed the villa where he lived, at the very heart of the wealthy district, set within its' own stretch of parkland and its' own area filled with gardens, fields, and private tracks for the racing of horses. Walls surrounded the whole of it, and every wall was patrolled by hired soldiers who were the equal of the imperial army it was said. If she were to be spotted by a single archer, it could be her end! And so she stuck to the dark shadows and used the night fully to her advantage, making her way to a location where the guards did not patrol, and where no archers were stationed... because a high cliff loomed next to the outer wall there, one that it was clearly believed no one would be insane enough to try to climb. But she was mad enough, and determined enough, to do just that! Clawed gauntlets and spiked boots made the climb an easy enough one for Hermesia, and she had made such climbs before many time over. Once on the top of the cliff, she leapt down unto the top of the wall just below it and spied an open well just below that, right next to a stable. No one was around that stable yard at that hour, so no one noticed her diving into the well from the well and surfacing for air, before sneaking off towards the villa itself, where her target would be waiting for the bloody judgment she brought. She knew it would not be easy, but it would be the last time she had to do this... after this, she could go back to being just a priestess again. That was what sort of promise she made to herself, and she intended to stick to it. All her life, she had longed for peace and happiness... and now, it was within sight, but only at the cost of this one last deadly mission. The crickets and night birds were out, and it was fortunate that Hermesia had such keen hearing, for on many an occasion she would have been discovered by one of the villa guards had she not acted quickly and silenced them with the cold metal of the curved eastern saber she chose to use for this night's work. None of them even saw her face! And in this way she made her path easier as she reached the windows of the villa, where she began to look for the best one to use for a means to get inside. Then, she saw a light in a side window and noticed a kitchen within. That was the one way she would not enter, since it risked her being discovered! So she moved quietly to the other side of the villa and had a look around.
There, she saw a pitch black room that appeared quiet, and she crept up to the window to have a bit of a listen... it was even quieter up close like this, and she peeked over, her eyes adjusting enough to how dark it was so that she could vaguely make out the shapes of furniture but saw that there was no one in that room and by the sound of it no one in any adjoining room either. She could not be certain of that, naturally, but she had to take a chance sometime... so she clambered through the window and was in the villa at last. No one saw or heard her enter, and she cautiously made her way through various rooms... some dark and some dimly lit with small oil lamps and a few torches. Then, she saw a set of stairs and in the same room as the stairs were four guards gathered around a table and playing dice games. That was to her advantage, since the table itself was on the far side of the room from the stairs, near one of the windows looking outside... and the only light came from several candles on the table itself. Those same candles throw shadows all about the room, and the shadows were thickest just before the stairs. If she moved silently, no one would see her... so she ducked into a nearby storage room and removed both her boots and gauntlets so that the metal on them would not make any noise and give her away. Then, she crawled across the floor of the room in which the men were playing their game and crouched at the base of the stairs. No one had noticed her, so dark was this part of the room, and with how noisy those men were with their laughing, chuckling and foolishness... they had not heard anything above their own stupidity. Such were the fury's thoughts as she crawled rather than climbed up the stairs, being mindful of her surroundings at every step. She reasoned that such a powerful man as was her target would not choose a downstairs chamber to sleep in, not with all the enemies she knew he had. And which he very likely would be paranoid over... hence all the guards. And that room had been the only one so far to have had that many guards in one place! Up the stairs, all was silent and the only sounds came from the guards downstairs who were still audible in their rowdiness. The upper floor of the villa was a great deal smaller, and it made searching room by room that much easier. At last, Hermesia came to a room where a rather short and fat man (shorter than her, and she was hardly a tall woman by any standards!) was sleeping on a bed comfortable enough to have belonged to a prince. There was a lit oil lamp, its' light slowly beginning to flicker out, and it provided enough illumination for the assassin to clearly see what she could of the room's interior. The room had racks of weapons on every wall, and a statue of the Roman god Mars stood in a corner... a clothing closet was against the wall opposite of the bed, and the rest of the furnishings of the room were rather spartan in design. Hermesia knew a great deal about her target, knew much of how he thought and upon recognizing him lying there sound asleep... she knew that there was a way to hill him that would not alert the guards and play to his foolishness as well as to her cunning. She removed her mask, took off all of her clothes, and climbed unto the bed... where, she straddled the sleeping man. He slept like a dead man! She tore her leggings into several pieces, and tied the man to his bed with them, ensuring that his wrists and ankles were all secured. Then, she decided it was time to wake him up, since even this thus far he slept through. She said to him, whispering into his ear: “Wake up, my lover! It is I... Lilith, the black succubus, come hither to grant you your heart's very darkest desires.” The man woke up, startled, but smiling wide when he saw the beautiful and muscular woman sitting atop his corpulent form. He muttered: “Lilith, the succubus, you say! The Church says she is a devil, a temptress, and the Devil's whore even... so, why should you, if you truly be she, wish to visit someone like myself, when you could have the emperor if you chose to, instead?” and she began to caress his manhood through his evening robe, arousing him incredibly by doing so. She whispered in a seductive tone of voice, one she had used often in her days as a prostitute: “Are you, not wealthy... and are you not powerful? You could have the emperor himself in your pocket, if you chose to instead of all those petty nobles and silly gang leaders that the Devil tells me all fear you, and rightly. I am here to try and convince you to raise your ambitions higher, and I am going to give you this night of pleasure as a token of our pact... so that if you sell your soul to my Dark Lord, then more shall await you afterward.”
She knew already that he was secretly a satanist, and that he would definitely agree to this... for, she studied all of her targets extensively before striking them down. The man was like putty in her hands, babbling on and on in agreement, making pledges and promises to Satan that would be frightening to anyone from the Church were they here to witness such a thing... were the man not so pathetic looking and ridiculous acting. All the same, she kept stroking his member through his clothing until he was quite hard from it... he was used to bondage play like this, and had hired countless prostitutes in the past who had engaged in this sort of a thing with him. If this woman truly was Lilith, truly was from the depths of Hell itself... then anything she could do to him would surely delight him, he thought. For he knew all about succubi, and how they could suck the soul from a man and carry it off to Hell... and that prospect also excited him, for there he believed he could become a powerful demon and lord it over the souls of the damned, just as he lorded it over people in this world. He was vain, selfish, arrogant and in the end foolish in the extreme. Fatally so! Hermesia used this opportunity to have her way with this vile man, to debase and degrade him, and defile him utterly... she smacked him, as those in his employ had smacked her. She struck him, beat upon him, even as she rode him with his manhood deep inside her. She tore at his evening robe until it was in tatters and shreds, and she scratched at his face and flesh... dominating him utterly as she did so. He felt nothing but excitement at all of this, believing it to be but love play, and soon he was brought to orgasm, squirting inside this magnificent woman's moist cunt, even as she was brought to climax by their shared acts of depravity. Then, and only then, did she say to him in a low whisper: “I am going to take you to Hell now, to meet the Devil!” and he gleefully said in an almost comically delighted tone of voice: “Yes, please mistress Lilith! Take me to Hell right now! Oh, I am yours, I am yours and your dark master's.” to which she replied: “Yes, you foolish and fat little man... you actually are. Time to go now!” And she pulled her body off of him, making sure he was not inside her any longer, before going over to where she saw a dagger on an end table. She walked back to the bed with the dagger in her hand, and in one swift motion she slit the wicked man's throat from ear to ear, and whilst he slowly bled to death from that, she castrated him... being certain to remove not just his testicles, as was the way when a man was made into a eunuch, but she removed his penis too. She then shoved it into his mouth and that was the last thing he ever saw before she cut his eyes out of his head and put each eye in one of his hands, which were clenching in agony. He made gurgling sounds, and rattling noises, with wind passing through his open slit throat in horrific ways. All of it was quiet enough that the guards heard and suspected nothing, having heard what sounded like him lying with yet another prostitute but moments before. Something they were already used to having to block out the sounds of from their minds, hence why they were oft so rowdy at their table. As a final touch, whilst his body was convulsing in death, the mighty fury carved into his chest an inverted pentagram. And into his forehead she carved three number sixes. Thus, would those who found him blame some satanic cult for his death, and given how he ran in such circles all his life... that would be quite believable indeed. That done, Hermesia put her tunic back on and borrowed a pair of the dead man's trousers from his closet... being sure to find a pair with drawstring, so that they would fit her. They were still ridiculously baggy on her due to the man's corpulent girth, and because of how short the man was the fit was not exact by any means, but they would certainly not fall off of her since she tied them tightly to her waist. Dressed fully, and picking up her sword and sheathing it at her belt, she climbed out a nearby window and then jumped to the ground below, her mighty legs making such a feat quite trivial for her. That was not the last time she killed a man, and her crusade for justice in her home city eventually expanded to one that took her to many distant cities, and far away kingdoms and empires as well. Always, she fought for the justice of people who had no one else to fight for them... always, corruption and cruelty were her foes. Alecto the Fury was a very busy woman, because once she started down the path of being an avenging fury, there was no way for her to go back to being just an ordinary priestess ever again. Such was fated!
Published 8th Oct 2022
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