<div class="floatright">(https://i.imgur.com/xWvVE62.jpg)</div><div align="center"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;">Hectavia Koth (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=1743167)</span></strong><br/>________________________</div><br/>At first, there was nothing. Just the beating of her heart and the crashing of the waves against the cliff below. Then she felt the presence enter her mind. It was incomprehensibly powerful, dark and terrifying to her. Her knees almost gave way, hot and cold flashes of fear shuddering through her body. The tiefling's mind was afire with dreadful fragments of memory, half seared away by anguish and ecstasy alike. Dark wings beat above her. Inhuman, impossible strength tore her clothes from her. Huge, curling horns menaced her naked frame. Most of all, her own shrieks that echoed through her cell as the devil impaled her with sickening impact upon his might, until her body felt like it should burst, until his scalding, tar-like seed filled her beyond full, over and over...<br/><br/>Hectavia's red eyes snapped open when the voice spoke to her, boring into her mind with its vile intensity. It made her wince, her nostrils flaring and her nose wrinkling. She opened her mouth to speak, but what came forth was a scream like a banshee. Long and keening, shrill and desperate, with her red eyes widening in pure shock. She's been split open, her sex invaded by a phallus that she dared not imagine, something unholy, tearing her asunder, wearing her weak, mortal body like a toy. Images flashed in her head, freeze frames of obscenity and horror. Here, her body lifted from the ground by the brutality of the penetration. There, her sex split open as if in a depraved facsimile of childbirth.<br/><br/>Only sheer force of will allowed Hectavia to look downward at herself, fangs gritted against the pain. There's no cock. No blood-red monster spearing her with his enormous endowment. Her belly was flat, not warped, her body intact. There might have been relief, but for the blinding pain within her still.<br/><br/>She forced herself to listen to the dark thing's words as they pulsed powerfully within her mind. Beg. Serve. Debase.<em>I will not!</em>But her pride was drowned by pain. Barely able to move through the pain clawing at her lower body, Hectavia ascended the altar as she was bid, tears streaming down her cursed cheeks. "Please," she gasped, supplicating on the altar. She was on all-fours, scarcely even aware of it, her legs spread apart, her face down, kissing the rough stone until her lips were scuffed and bloodied. Her fingers clutched at the altar as if she could hug it. "Please, Prince of Darkness, please. Please, don't hurt me... Don't... Don't... Give me my book, please. Prince of Darkness. Lord of Damnation. Grant me it. I'll do anything–anything–anything..." Her haughty, aristocratic voice cracks and breaks, barely more than babble as she finished.<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">That was a 20 on her Wisdom save, but not enough! Hence why I played it as fighting until the last moment of breaking.</div></div>