The quiet rush of waves lapping softly on a black sand shore filled the balmy air.

Vayne, lost son of the House of Avenor, erstwhile Knight-Captain of the Brighthand Regiment, and once-paladin of the Radiant Order, lounged naked on the beach. He lay atop the sand, savoring the heat of the infernal sun on his skin.

The sky overhead was tinged reddish-orange, a dramatic contrast to the blue Vayne was more used to. And yet, he now found it less unpleasant than he had, at first.

Were it not for his brave and glorious last stand against the infernal horde at the field of Nolor, Vayne would not have found himself in Hell. The battle had been ill-advised, to begin with, and he and a small band of other warriors had stayed back to buy time for the retreat.

Vayne had not seen his compatriots in some moons, now, but he could only hope they were enjoying their stay as he was. He’d resisted the corruptive influence of the demons at first. He’d fought tooth and nail, then, and yet now he could scarcely imagine doing the same.

A low groan bubbled up out of Vayne’s throat. He slid a hand down the front of his body. His skin tingled as his fingers traced lightly over the ridge between his pecs and the carved channels on his stomach. He chewed on his lower lip, whining softly as his fingers grazed the top of the cock ring that held the black filigree chastity cage tight against his body.

Well, it wasn’t like Vayne didn’t know why he’d struggled so bitterly in the beginning. If anything, the explanation was insultingly simple: it was all he’d ever known.

As the scion of the House of Avenor, Vayne practically grew up under the eaves of the Mirellian Church. He’d suckled more on holy scripture than his mother’s breast.

In the hundred years’ history of the Church, the priesthood and the House of Avenor had always been intimately involved. The two were pillars of the Mirellian faith, one holding up the other against the relentless march of time.

For all the stock Vayne had ever given the stories, growing up, he’d come to find they were not just wrong but utter fabrications.

The Hell Vayne had grown up hearing about was nothing at all like what he’d experienced so far. It was hardly a blighted realm for the souls of the damned.

Neither was Hell buried beneath the bedrock of the world, for that matter. It was a realm all its own, comparable in vibrancy and beauty to the mortal world. The nightmare landscape Vayne had always imagined was nowhere to be found.

Sure, Hell had its… less pleasant areas, but that was true of most anywhere else. Just off the top of his head, Vayne could name at least a dozen places in the mortal world that were just as bad as, if not worse than, the more unscrupulous parts of the infernal kingdom.

Come to think of it, it was rather telling. Vayne didn’t even have to go so far as remote backwaters on the lawless frontier. All the places that leaped immediately to mind were towns and cities in the heart of the empire.

Vayne had personal experience. When he was younger—a knight already and yet still green behind the ears—he’d ended up having to serve as a bodyguard for a noble family of middling status. The things he’d seen then revolted him still.

Vayne had worked for that family for a little over a month. In so short a time, he met and was forced to dine with genuine scum.

Those men hadn’t even been ashamed. They gloated and boasted of their misdeeds with perverse glee. In the space of that one moon, Vayne saw more unrepentant evil than in however long he’d been a prisoner of Hell.

It had taken Vayne some time, but now he knew for certain. The demons weren’t the monsters the stories made them out to be.

The real monsters wore the skins of men. They walked and talked and ate and shat like anyone else. One could look at them and see nothing more than a fellow man but their outward appearance belied the deep and profound malice that dwelled in their hearts.

To think that all this time, Vayne had been laboring under the delusion Hell was bent on destroying the world. He gripped the base of his locked cock and groaned as he shook it, straining against the delicate bars of immovable black metal.

Had Hell truly wished to sow chaos and evil from one horizon to the next, it would have done nothing. Without the intervention of Hell, the kingdoms of man would devour one another, sooner or later.

History had shown it time and again. The truth was plain to see for anyone who would look for it. No one was better at inflicting misery on man, than man himself.

Vayne had come to understand one or two things about Hell during his time as its prisoner. For one thing, it wasn’t much different from every other human nation in the world.

Hell wasn’t looking at the mortal realm with any particular malice. It wanted to expand, as nations were wont to do. It wanted access to new territories and more resources. The only difference was that the kingdom of Hell was made up of fiends—the hellborn—not humans.

Vayne moaned. He shook the cage cinched around his cock. Every vein in his body thrummed with arousal and the sensation of the soft, silky sand against his skin filled him with pleasure.

The only unpleasantness Vayne had experienced so far in Hell was when he was resisting. From the moment he threw the gates open to let the corruption in, his every day had been utter bliss.

Vayne rubbed his stomach tenderly. He could feel the molten seed of Hell coursing through his body. It sloshed around inside of him, its taint seeping into his flesh as he moaned.

When first Vayne’s master filled him, he’d found it profoundly revolting. It had felt too hot and too thick inside him.

Not anymore.

Now, Vayne could scarcely get enough. He loved to feel the heat soaking through his guts. It was soothing, especially after his master’s monstrous cock ravaged his insides.

Vayne rubbed the tip of his cock through the gap in the unyielding black filigree. His finger came away with a clear strand of pre-cum.

At the faintest thought of his master’s cock, Vayne was leaking already. It was remarkable how he’d changed, how far he’d fallen from the righteous paladin he’d once been. He moaned, asshole twitching around the slender stem of the jeweled toy his master had pushed into him.

Were it not for the plug, Vayne would have been leaking hellish seed all over the inside of his legs. It would have been an unthinkable waste.

A scant few moons ago, Vayne would have found it unimaginable to feel even the slightest whit of desire for his demonic minder. These days, his body craved Azzagg’s ministrations.

Besides the pressing, physical need Vayne felt to be dominated by his master, there was something else. He felt a deep, instinctive desire to please. To do as his master willed. To be as his master willed.

This profound and fundamental submission was the reason Vayne was on the beach. Besides the fact it was one of the best places to be in this corner of Hell, anyway.

As a knight in the prime of his life, Vayne had spent many a day honing his skills under the warmth of the sun. His arms, when they were not obscured from view by his heavy armor, had a rich, golden tone to them.

The Mirellian Church, however, did not look too kindly on immodesty. Training, even in the sweltering heat of summer, was conducted with at least a linen shirt and breeches.

When first Vayne came to hell, his complexion was uneven. His arms and head had a healthy glow, but the rest of him was rather pasty. His lengthy tenure in the dungeons did nothing to help the matter, either.

And so, Vayne spent his free time on the beach. The infernal sun was much better for tanning than the one in the mortal world. It was hotter, too, but so was the rest of the realm and he’d gotten used to it by now.

Rolling over onto his stomach, Vayne arched his back and lifted his ass into the air. He groaned and moved his knees apart, spreading his ass cheeks as the breeze wafted up over his crack.

Every inch of his body he could, Vayne exposed to the sun. It was what Azzagg wanted. Every nook and cranny of him, dyed in warm bronze.

There were others on the beach. Devils. Demons. Mortal souls bound in eternal servitude to their infernal masters. A handful walked past Vayne with appreciative whistles.

A few, more daring demons, went so far as to tap the jewel at the base of Vayne’s buttplug. Every time, without fail, their touch would send a bolt of pleasure straight through Vayne. Every time, he would leak profusely from the tip of his caged erection, brought so tantalizingly close to release and yet kept so far at the same time.

"I see you’re making good use of your free time, pet," said a deep, gravelly voice that made Vayne’s legs tremble. He didn’t even need to look over his shoulder to know who was speaking. He’d become intimately familiar with that voice over the past few moons.

"Master!" Vayne cried happily. He’d come to love the feeling of the word on his tongue.

Master. It had felt wrong, at first. A reminder of Vayne’s fall—of the corruption he’d let fester inside him.

The Mirellian Church acknowledged the gods apart from the one it worshipped. However, it maintained that Mireillor, the Radiant One, was a God above all gods—the one and only lord and master of all the world.

This was the doctrine Vayne was weaned on. To go directly against it by acknowledging another as his master had felt profoundly wrong.

When first the utterance fell from Vayne’s lips, he felt a pang of guilt. It was as if he’d betrayed everything he ever stood for—the fact he was rubbing himself against a demon’s cock notwithstanding.

Vayne had come to enjoy it, though. He had betrayed everything he once stood for. Though it had been but a few moons, he felt like it had been a lifetime since he abandoned his armor and sacred charge as a paladin of Mireillor.

Master. The word tingled on Vayne’s tongue. It tasted sweet. A symbol of his submission—of his surrender. As powerful a paladin he might have been in his past life, he was but a weak mortal man in the face of Azzagg’s resplendent glory.

Vayne squirmed as he felt Azzagg’s hands on his ass. He hadn’t expected Azzagg to visit him on the beach today. It was a pleasant surprise.

"So pretty," said Azzagg. He chuckled as he pried Vayne’s asscheeks apart. He rubbed his thumb in slow circles over the jewel nestled between them, making Vayne’s legs tremble.

"T-thank you, Master," Vayne moaned. His cheeks flushed. The tips of his ears warmed. A peculiar, tingling heat began to spread from his belly as his whole body came alive with need.

Vayne’s body jolted as Azzagg slipped two fingers underneath the jewel on the base of his plug. He tugged, gently but firmly, until Vayne’s hole willingly released the toy, spreading around the tapered, egg-shaped metal bulb.

"You’re wasted on being a warrior," said Azzagg. He dropped the plug on the sand. It landed with a quiet thump, sinking half an inch into the soft black grains.

His legs trembled as he felt Azzagg’s considerable endowment fall into the cleft between his asscheeks. He moaned at the sensation of its heat, sparks flying in his head as lust and arousal raged through him.

Every muscle in Vayne’s body tensed as the tapered head of Azzagg’s cock pressed against his hole. It was leaking, the tip smearing thick demonic pre-cum all over Vayne’s twitching pucker.

A sharp hiss escaped Vayne as Azzagg smacked his ass. He could feel the print of the incubus’ hand on his skin, tingling in the balmy air. "A pussy like this is better suited on a whore, don’t you think, pet?"

Vayne moaned. Those words resonated inside him. They slid into his ear like oil and dripped into the depths of his being, making him quiver. "Y-yes, Master," he moaned. "I’m a whore!" he said.

"That’s right, pet. That’s right," said Azzagg.

The feeling of the incubus’ weight on Vayne’s back shifted as Azzagg leaned over him. A low, desperate whine bubbled up out of his throat as clawed fingers tangled in his messy black locks.

Vayne gasped at the force with which Azzagg yanked his head back. He was forced onto his knees, back arched at an extreme angle, head tilted back as far as it could go.

"Pray, tell," said Azzagg, murmuring the poisonous words right into the tender lobe of Vayne’s ear, "What is it that a whore does?"

"H-he gets fucked, Master," Vayne moaned.

The words had hardly left Vayne’s lips when he felt Azzagg’s cock pushing into him. The tapered head wedged him open for the rest of its considerable girth. He couldn’t help but groan as it slid inch by inch into him, pulsing and throbbing with infernal heat.

Every time Vayne felt he’d bottomed out, it turned out Azzagg had more cock to give him. The way Azzagg filled him was beyond description.

Vayne knew the incubus’ cock wasn’t that big but he genuinely felt as if his insides were more cock than him. As Azzagg filled him up he felt less and less like a human and more and more like a sentient cock-sleeve.

Just as Vayne felt Azzagg’s hips meet his, a blinding light filled his vision. When it faded, his knees scraped across a cold stone floor with a sigil inscribed atop the slabs.

The magic circle wasn’t glowing anymore, having exhausted the reserves of power that were poured into it. What remained was a dwindling afterglow as the last dregs of magic dissipated into the environment.

It took Vayne’s lust-addled mind a moment to catch up with what had happened. His eyes went wide as a primordial sort of horror wound around his heart and squeezed.

Naked as he was, impaled on the cock of his new Lord and Master, Vayne was on display before the men he’d once called comrades. He averted his gaze but the only things to meet his eyes were the stark stone walls of Fort Radiance that seemed to loom over him in judgment.

After the moment of confusion had passed, Vayne heard the low, menacing growl of Azzagg. The incubus held Vayne tight against his chest as he hissed, "I shan’t let you have him!"

A frisson of warmth wound through Vayne’s chest. He felt strangely glad that Azzagg continued to protect him. Still, it wasn’t enough to dispel the sinking feeling of dread he felt in his heart.

"We shall see, demon," said a nearby figure cloaked in white. "We shall have our Brother back, however much you dare to resist."

---

Someone was screaming. It was hard to tell who. Hours bathed in searing light had blurred the line between Vayne and not-Vayne.

It was uncomfortable. Painful. Torturous. The light was pure and blinding.

Vayne could feel the radiance coursing through him. It was burning away something. He couldn’t remember what it was. His thoughts had since scattered. All he knew was that it was an agony unlike any other.

Time was impossible to tell. There was only light in every direction, scorching every inch of his being. Vayne might have spent mere moments in the purifying light—or he might have been there for an eternity.

The light faded away, at some point, and Vayne landed gently on the cold stone floor of the chamber. He was exhausted.

Worse still, Vayne felt like he’d been hollowed out. There was a void inside of him he couldn’t feel the shape of. It was as if something that had become a part of him had just been scraped out.

Fatigue overcame Vayne. However hard he tried, his eyelids felt like they weighed tons.

Deep down, Vayne had the uneasy feeling that he was forgetting something important. Unfortunately, his mind remained hazy. He couldn’t put a finger on it. It didn’t help that he could feel himself slowly drifting off.

There wasn’t the slightest dreg of resistance in Vayne’s body as someone lifted him off the ground. It was nice to be carried in a set of tough, muscular arms but it did little to allay the unease he felt in his heart.

Someone else came a moment later to drape a warm sheet of thick fabric over Vayne. The blanket—if that was what it was—was soft and luxurious. It helped to ward away the chill that had seeped into Vayne’s bones in the absence of the light.

Even so, the blanket provided scant comfort against the cold loneliness Vayne felt in the core of his being. Something had been stolen from him, something that he’d valued more than his own life, and yet for some reason, he couldn’t seem to remember what it had been.

---

Vayne scratched at the rich silken tabard draped over his shoulders. The fabric was beautiful, white like the driven snow with gold embroidery that shimmered in the sunlight streaming through the windows.

The tabard was exactly the kind of thing Vayne was proud to wear. It not only displayed his hard-won status as one of the grand paladins of the Mirellian Church, but it was also a symbol of his unshakable faith.

For some reason, though, Vayne felt uneasy. Ever since he returned from his last mission, clothes that should have felt perfectly comfortable made his skin itch.

"It is good to see you back, Brother."

Vayne looked up with a start. Someone was waiting for him at the end of the corridor.

"Thank you," said Vayne. It took Vayne a moment but he realized who was speaking as he approached the mouth of the hallway.

Vayne smiled at the handsome young man in front of him. "It’s good to be back, Arthur," he said. They’d been friends for a while, having belonged to the same group of novices that entered the Order some years ago.

Arthur’s eyes twinkled. They were bright blue in the sunlight streaming through a nearby window. Vayne’s gaze lingered a moment too long as he didn’t realize Arthur had held out his hand in greeting.

Swallowing thickly, Vayne grasped Arthur’s forearm and shook it. "How fare you, Vayne?" said Arthur.

Vayne absentmindedly scratched at his tabard. "Well enough, I suppose," he said, gaze roaming up and down Arthur’s body. It was just such a shame the Mirellian Church had such strictures concerning modesty.

As a result of years of combat and training, Vayne liked to think he had a pretty great body. If what he saw of Arthur’s arms was anything to go by, the other likely had a similar physique.

Come to think of it, Vayne was sure most of his Brothers in the Order had great bodies. Not that he’d ever seen them bare, of course; the Church frowned upon nudity around people other than one’s spouse. Regardless, it was unlikely that a man could train for years in the art of combat without developing his body.

Vayne’s mind would have wandered further down the shameful path it was treading were it not for Arthur’s voice interrupting his thoughts. "Are you well, Vayne?" said Arthur.

Warmth blossomed across Vayne’s cheeks. He pushed down the sinful, improper thoughts that had crept into his mind. "I am," he said resolutely.

Vayne had ever struggled with his natural attraction to men. It was the trial Mireillor had set before him and he’d thought his faith strong enough to ward away his tainted desires.

Indeed, Vayne had been able to successfully suppress his inner demons for years. It wasn’t until his return from his most recent mission that it had become a problem again.

Vayne glanced at Arthur, again. "Although, I must confess my mind to be somewhat scattered at the moment."

Had he not seen it with his own eyes, Vayne might have doubted that a strange expression flitted across Arthur’s face. It had come so quickly and had gone in a moment.

"How so?" said Arthur, concern plain in his voice.

Vayne set aside his doubts. He had no reason to suspect his Brothers to be hiding anything from him. "My memory is blurred, Brother," he said. "I can remember nothing of the mission I have supposedly returned from."

There was relief in Arthur’s eyes. This time, Vayne was certain of it. "I see," said Arthur. "I can imagine it must be."

Arthur’s words struck Vayne as somewhat odd. "Pray, why?" he said. "Do you perhaps know something?"

"Do you truly not remember, Vayne?" said Arthur.

Vayne bristled at the question, though he didn’t know why. Nor did he fully comprehend why his response was more venomous than he intended: "Would I have asked if I did?"

"Easy, Brother," said Arthur. He reached across and touched Vayne’s arm.

Vayne shivered. He felt as if a spark had traveled from Arthur’s fingertips up his arm. Arthur’s touch was brief but the skin his fingers had grazed tingled in the wake of it.

For a moment, Vayne stared at the area Arthur had touched. He tore his attention away to look at his sworn Brother. "I should like a straightforward answer, Brother," he said.

"I meant only that you need not worry," said Arthur, gently. "You and your men did not survive your last mission unscathed. All returned with injury, and you most severely."

Vayne listened closely to Arthur’s words with growing unease. Had he truly been on the brink of death as Arthur’s tone suggested, he should have remembered it. "How—how are they?" he said.

"Your men?" said Arthur.

Vayne nodded. He needed to know. There was a yawning chasm in his memory. It was shameful for a commander to not remember the injuries his men suffered under his command.

"They are well," said Arthur. "None suffered injuries so serious as yours. They have all since recovered fully."

Regardless of the sincerity in Arthur’s voice, Vayne felt a profound sense of unease from his descriptions. It was as if a part of Vayne rejected the story, even though he knew his sworn Brother had no reason to deceive him.

Vayne took a deep breath. What happened to me? he wanted to ask, but the words caught in his throat. Perhaps ignorance would be better, but such was a coward’s answer and he was anything but.

"What happened?" Vayne croaked, bracing for whatever might follow.

"You were burned," said Arthur. "Nearly to a crisp."

Nothing Arthur had said so far seemed capable of jogging Vayne’s memory. This, though, did. Vayne remembered it, the feeling of his skin being scorched. Still, Arthur’s account made him feel little comfort.

"You were unrecognizable when your men carried you back. We would not have known it was you if not for their fervent insistence that you be treated first," said Arthur.

There was a solemn, somber note in Arthur’s voice but it did not sit well with Vayne. It felt artificial, even though he had no reason to suspect such a thing.

"I was not present on that day but it’s said that the fire had been so hot the healers needed to pry bits of melted armor off your skin," said Arthur.

Vayne winced. Perhaps it was better he did not remember. He could only imagine the searing agony of what Arthur was describing. If he could not recall the moment, then it was like he’d never lived it at all.

Despite the doubts coiling around his heart, Vayne listened to the story. "How is it that I survived?" he said. He knew stronger men than him who had died to such severe injury. He could not fathom how it was that he was still alive.

"It’s said the Lord Commander opened the gate to Restoration for you," said Arthur.

The niggling misgivings in the back of Vayne’s mind gave way to awe. "Restoration?" he said, almost breathlessly.

No true member of the Radiant Order would be ignorant as to the identity of Restoration. It was a priceless treasure, a natural pool deep in the bowels of Fort Radiance said to be filled with the tears of Mireillor.

The waters of Restoration were said to properties bordering on the miraculous. It was said they could heal any injury, however serious. There were rumors, even, among the laity, that water from the pool could return the dead to life.

The latter was obvious nonsense and just short of blasphemy. It was the law of the heavens. The dead stayed dead and even the corpses raised by practitioners of the dark arts were but hollow facsimiles of life.

No healing magic, however powerful, could restore a corpse to life. Such a thing was the province of the gods alone and they were not forthcoming with such miracles.

"It’s said that Restoration can heal the ailments of the body but not the mind," said Arthur.

Vayne nodded. He knew as much. He had access to the same records Arthur did. It was likely they’d even read the same books. "I know," he said.

Arthur patted Vayne on the shoulder. "I wouldn’t worry so much about it, Brother," he said. "I’m certain you’ll be back to your old self before long. Now, come along. We shouldn’t keep the Lord Commander waiting."

Vayne certainly hoped so. He felt like he was missing something. Something important. It was an unpleasant sensation and he could scarcely wait for it to go away.

As he followed Arthur down the hall, Vayne couldn’t help but feel an odd sense of foreboding. The way Arthur had said it, that he would be back to his old self before long, didn’t sit well with him.

Vayne didn’t know what was wrong. He should have been happy to know that the way he was feeling was probably temporary. He should have been glad to know he’d soon have his head right.

It was as if part of Vayne didn’t want to go back to the old him. Deep down, so deep that he couldn’t even articulate what he felt, he felt as if the Vayne Arthur was talking about was completely different from who he was, now.

It made no sense, whatsoever.

---

"Glory to the Most Holy Radiance," said Vayne.

Though he’d spoken the words with all the conviction in his heart, he felt an odd twinge of discomfort in the depths of his being. It was a sensation he wanted to interrogate but now wasn’t the time.

He dropped to one knee and lowered his gaze. Warm light from the tall stained glass window showered onto the back of his head. This chamber, of all the dozen small chapels scattered throughout Fort Radiance, seemed to emanate the most profound spirituality.

"And may His light guide you on the path to righteousness," said the smooth, velvety voice of the Radiant Order’s Lord Commander: Oleander Dalryn II. "And please, arise, Sir Vayne. If anyone deserves reverence, it is you."

Vayne did as he was told and rose to his feet. Lord Oleander was a beautiful man. Such was true of most of the men of the House of Dalryn. So comely were they that their house was rumored to carry the mortal bloodline of Mireillor himself.

It was at moments like these, when Vayne had the privilege of standing face to face with the otherwise-reclusive Lord Commander, that he saw the merit in the rumors. Oleander looked downright angelic in the light streaming through the tall stained glass window behind him.

Vayne’s gaze hungrily raked over Oleander’s physique. Though he was wearing robes, hints of the underlying musculature could be seen in the way the silk fell across his body.

Warmth bloomed in the pit of Vayne’s stomach. His thoughts, once again, turned to the sinful and depraved.

It felt wrong to think of the Lord Commander as a sexual creature. Oleander was a pure and virtuous man. He followed the teachings of the Mirellian Church and was sworn to chastity as a member of the clergy.

The Lord Commander was someone above base desires. He was human, yes, but he had conquered the temptations of the flesh thanks to the light of Mireillor.

While the Supreme Pontiff was the hand of Mireillor in the world, the Lord Commander was his sword. Only the purest of heart, mind, and body could command the blades of the Order—such was the decree of the Most Radiant One.

This was the first lesson taught to all novices of the Order. Any knight worth his salt knew this truth by heart. And yet, some small fragment of Vayne doubted its veracity.

All men have desires, that part of Vayne reasoned. They can hide them. They can run from them. But they can never be rid of them.

Vayne’s fingers twitched as his heart hammered in his chest. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face. The warmth in his belly spread to his groin, where his manhood stirred in the confines of his breeches.

"Is everything alright, Vayne?" said Oleander.

Vayne nodded. "Yes, Lord Commander," he managed, forcing down the sudden rush of arousal that flooded through him.

The Lord Commander seemed unconvinced but he did not pursue the matter. "Then I shall take your word for it," he said.

It was just as well. Vayne clenched his fists at either side of his body. It was taking all his willpower to resist the urge bubbling up inside him.

His hands itched to tear the silk robes off the Lord Commander’s body.