The darkness had envelloped him.<br/><br/>His head ached just so terribly, as if he had been landed a maul on the nape. His eyes ached when opened given the terrible scents on the room - so infiltrating that there was little he could do but not cough them out. His shagged body, however, meant that soon all his frame would be impregnated with the sweet, nauseous scents of this Layer. And for that, he cursed her. He cursed her addictive scent. He cursed her damned, perfect shapes. He cursed her curves that had called to him, he cursed her words that had enthralled him. And above all, he cursed himself for being such a fool.<br/><br/>A fool. How had he not seen it coming? How could another blasted succubus manage to turn around the other Layers of Hell without a mission sent upon her? Hell was, otherwise, pretty dangerous for the demonesses. Few bore love for them. Fewer still respected them. Into the clearly mysogenistic layers of Hell, the females that held power were always debauched creatures. In the Lower Layers, there was outright speak on the Demonic Courts about how the Archfiends all pretended to play their part and try to lay with the fabled Whore Queen.  Memnon, in particular, liked to claim as such - for at least he had worked for him.<br/><br/>His head felt heavy. He looked down the floor as if in an act of penance, his massive, bovine head tingling every time he tried to look up or blink away his doubts. It was not particularly pleasant. But then, he heard her footsteps. He had felt her scent, but his muzzle was not yet used to the so many different sorts of fragrance in this place. There she was. Talking to herself, most likely. The demoness' slut had a way to it. Slowly he tested the restrains woven around his mighty arms and chest. The ones on his legs were less tightly woven, but his hooven feet had not way to break them down on sheer stomping. He leaned off the wall, letting gravity pull him down to the floor - but it never happened.<br/><br/>The hellfire chains held him close and upstraight. The fatigue on his thighs make it quite... refreshing, not having to stand on the heavy chains alone for too longer was a welcomed respite despite all. She would come soon. She would play the cat-and-mouse. There was something on his massive strenght that she liked to tease. Something that, he dared not speak aloud, even... turned her on? What was her name again? He had never learned.<strong> "....Hmm."</strong>He grunted to nod through the room his comprehension that she had come back. There was always few... freedoms in Hell. Little mercy. He, as a taskmaster and overseer, should know. It was ironic to be fettered in chains when he had locked so many damned souls with them.<br/><br/>A grin came to his blocky teeth. Amusing.