Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions

'...OH YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!' Rafel blanched.

Cora rose with no smile whatsoever. "You the bitch troubling my man?"

She didn't wait for a reply.

CRACCKKK!!!

That empty wine bottle descended—butt-first, on the women's splashy orange head.

"—TAKE THAT, UPPITY BITCH!"

"Ow!" The ensuing yowl made the other girls erupt to their feet. Boobs danced—white melons flashing in her leap, very typical of Aya Naamah. But no one was looking at jumping breasts.

This new girl who had just materialized stole everyone's breath away, as much as she annoyed them. Rafel heard the bottle descend for the split second Cora's hand dropped. But his eyes still hurt and it seemed like he'd gotten a cement brick for a brain. "Ow! What in the devil—" said the new girl again, clutching to her head. She stared up at Cora. "You fucking cunt!"

Cora looked unbothered, her spine straighter than a Ballroom primadonna. "You fucking bitch."

Splinters of broken glass—once the expensive Carribean Red—sparkled like chunks of fairy dust at her feet. She stood in the epicenter of the commotion, sapphire fire for eyes.

"Why does she looked like a Gyaru took the piss on her?" Ravenna—rattled, by the cowering of Rafel under the intense pain in his eyes, eyed the girl unsubtly like a lynx. Her words couldn't be truer. This girl's clothes held no adhesion to the fashion of their era. She'd worn what the coal-haired Empress thought must belong on the bodies of the half-mad gypsy Clairvoyants that usually stalked the hills of Apophis, muttering like absolute nutters and waiting for some sorry individual about to throw themselves off to preach to.

Her pants were hot papaya-red bell-bottoms—splits at both hips. Hips that didn't lie.

Despite Ravenna's own shock at the girl's almost millennia-gap in attire culture, Cora stood fuming. Bright sparks fizzed at her fingertips: Mana infusing her being. She began to go translucent, dropping in and out of the animate plane. She would've forgiven the girl, have her say something to defend herself at least, but then she heard her whisper in the most sugar accent, "dumb fecking ghost."

And Cora went nuts. No one... no one insulted her nature.

HIYAAAH!!!

She raised both arms. Her provocation of small breasts tipped higher on her chest and her gazelle body was engulfed in [Irradiant Spell]. "Leviticus Morees!" She whistled. All the imbued glass objects in the room rose in the air. Her aura became as a sundress on her and she began to drop her upraised hands in the Gyaru bitch's direction. The girl saw her snarl—the tightening in her lips, the salty-sweet promise of retribution at the roast—and she sweeped her eyes to the one man in the arrayed chamber.

Rafel was in the midst of pillows on the bed, forcing the fire in his blood to burn out the throbbing in his temples.

"Oh no you don't! Lord Ho—"

The girl's errant wail was swallowed in the sound of the glassware rushing to her vibrant form.

It was mostly wine bottles.

And even Ravenna shut her eyes as the collision hit. It was a curdling shattering that sprayed fine fragments and crimson liquor everywhere. Cora kept one hand up and the other kept pace with the direction of the girl's mangy head.

Her spelling was a fine tune to her Revenant core—something that overqualified her beyond all the witches of the Titans Landing. It was perhaps the one thing she least hated of her whore Matriarch. Lilith, in resurrecting Corazón had defied all earthly Caster laws and shot the silverly lass into the [Rank S]. She could almost hear the Dark Dowager in her head, "Don't say I did nothing for you, young Caster. Yes I killed you but I gave you life the Immortals can only dream of. A boundless Mana space for you to orbit in. I made you, dear. Twice."

Thinking of another past cunt wrecked Cora's headspace for this one. She poured all her wrath into the telekinesis and Rafel struggling on the enormous sofa was pretty sure he caught the glimpse of a power baton—a stationary of Fort Sandringham hurtling in there with the tornado of vintage ale.

Aya caught her Queen's green eyes. Ravenna shook her head. "Let 'em be."

Her words were not for Cora to beat the shit out of lil' Gyaru—maybe. But as a small reckoning to the intruder who had given their Lord a migraine, no matter how interesting she found the girl's dynamic and hairdo. Like she had an orange Afro?

Like whaaat?!

Cora kept the girl in her vortex of pandemonium, saying as the fury of her onslaught crashed into her swamped frame—Aya thought the wonderful wine cellar of the Imperium must be a thirds empty by now, "it's always the fancy bitches who think they're hotshit. What makes you, y-you Third World fucking ginger think you can just happen upon us. I am the [S Rank] strongest this side of the Continent. You dumb bitch..." Cora spat. "You just walked into both benevolence and enmity. I shan't tolerate vainglorious, braggart megalomaniacs no more. You women just overdo it. I guess from your tale this noon shall the streets learn."

A sudden hand pushed out of the clamor.

The arm—silky smooth and fair—dripped with wasted wine. It stopped Cora's monologue.

"Hardly, Lady Mortimer," said the clipped voice. "I am HARDLY braggart."

Cora dropped her hands. And the bulleting items flying everywhere abruptly dropped with full thinks to the fine Gregorian rug.

Clunk! Clunk! Clunk!

Cora grabbed a huge portion of the girl's Afro. "How the SHIT do you know my name?" Her eyes were more riverine as they viewed the ginger's wet form. Soaked to a puddle, she was pretty sure she saw waves crash up in those blues. Her Host's consorts were divine, she thought. Her neck ached where Cora grabbed her head and turned her face to loom upon her. "Are you a spy?" She felt the stinging as her massive hairdo was pulled. More questions were barked at her: "are you also a groupie of that Undercity whore? Are you a part of her cult? The Blood Mother? ANSWER ME?!"

But this wine-drowned baddie wasn't looking at Corazón entirely. Her eyes strolled to the ruffian on the bed, amidst the sheets—clouds of her savior. She called him her Freedom. He was too her Messiah—not the Blood Mother or what-the-fuck-ever.

Above all, she called him [Host].

She had lived inside of him for what? Ten thousand years? Three?

Cora followed her eyes—unfortunately. She fisted the girl's mighty hair so hard her vision actually blurred in tears. "What are you looking at, fancy pants, huh? Miss 'I'm so cool I have a dyed Afro, walk out of light doors, and talk like a fucking sugar mama. Oh, don't you look over there. Look at me! Are you fuckin' Loco! He's in pain because of you. That is our Dominus right there, our One-above-all, and you..." Cora eyed her up and down—wet and shivering as she was, "...are not worthy."

'I truly am not—' the ginger was going to say but right as she opened her mouth and decided to let that choir voice pour, Cora misjudged.

PAH!

The slap was sound and sharp. Faster than a cracked whip—lightning whip.

Cora droned coldly, "Bitch... be humble. A'ight?

"Don't you talk when I'm talking to you. How 'bout that, sugar mama." Cora's other hand had snaked to her throat and closed hard. Her hands in the girl's hair and collar she dragged her in. "Come here, you. I need you quiet when I talk, okay? You think you can do that? Huh?"

Spluttering—halfway in the air, she was trying not to stare down blatantly at the starkness of Cora's uncovered body. Yes, they were still undressed even in the ensuing fight. Only Ravenna, watching interestedly at the periphery had a loose bedspread for a robe.

She wanted to be ...humble. She really did. But Cora's nips were really pink.

The girl nodded frantically.

"Good. Good girl," Cora said, "I'd hate to break more bottles on your pretty little head."

Still choking her high up, she asked again. "Now how do you know my Lord, His Eminence?"

"I-I know you all, Lady M-Mortimer," she squeezed out. "Probably better than the whole Empire out there."

Cora turned her head this way and that, accessing for the truth in her words. It was pretty hard for someone to take this girl seriously with her voice like a masseuse. As Cora pinned her with the ocular intensity of a beating sea, Aya and Ravenna sidled in closer – the succubus folded her arms gently over her melons, content in her showing horns, tail, and glowing gold tats.

"She's right," came the sudden baritone.

Awareness flooded all the females. And they turned as one to the sofa. Ravenna had thought he'd fallen to rest after the last headache and wanted him to sleep it out whilst they pummeled the emo chick for information. But it seemed even a total system upheaval couldn't put out their amazing Lord. Ravenna saw the strength in his stoic form as he lifted off the splayed bedding. "Rafel," she breathed. His head was on literal fire as he stepped for them. The [Helflame] was his cure, scorching, plutonic, radioactive, literally vaporizing the foreign elements in his skull.

Aya just wanted to sink her fingers into his softly flaming Mohawk as he moved closer.

He was such a man—especially buck naked.

Guys who got headaches put ice to it. Her boyfriend put flames.

And, oh she wanted to jump his bones again—jump on his boner rather. But Dominus was busy. His leopard eyes were full of intrigue as he walked over to his hotheaded tomboy. "At ease, mi corazón. That's what I've been trying to tell you girls; it's the reason I was shocked earlier. . . to see her, i-in real life."

"In real life?" Ravenna crossed her arms also.

"Yes, love," Rafel did nod. "But I had to burnout the migraine first."

Cora scowled. "You know this orange-haired bitch?"

Rafel's smile was addictive. "Aye, Corazón. This Orange-haired bitch is PEITHO: my Subservient Infernal System."

Cora freed her choking hands immediately. "This is the bitch inside your head?"