The Hellfire Club.
Thursday June 8, 2006; 12:45 am.
Two figures sat atop plushly upholstered onyx thrones on the second floor of a massive nightclub, overlooking the empty dance floor, the freshly polished brass fixtures, the mirrors lining the walls, and an empty mahogany bar that was currently being stocked for when the club opened later in the evening.
A skeleton bar crew rushed to clean glasses, change kegs, replace empty bottles, and mop the floors. Above them, the owner of the club, a massive beast of a man over two meters tall with a freshly shaven head and bushy red mutton chops, stared intently at the ivory counterpart to his own seat across the open balcony.
The man wore a three-piece suit cut from a midnight-blue wool-silk blend that absorbed light rather than reflecting it. The jacket had an aggressively sharp, high-gorge lapel and a slightly longer tail, subtly mimicking the frock coats of a bygone era. His waistcoat was a deep, muted charcoal, featuring a watch chain that disappeared into a custom pocket… a quiet, mechanical nod to an earlier time. He sat in a 'thinker’s' pose, nearly motionless, with only the slow and gradual shift in the position of his chest to indicate that he was alive rather than an incredibly detailed statue.
A woman sat on another throne beside him. She was a gorgeous woman with distinctly Mediterranean features and an impossibly full figure that was more reminiscent of the Venus de Milo than that of any modern starvation-built fashion model. The woman twirled her thick, jet-black waist-length hair with a perfectly manicured fingernail while sporting a flat, emotionless stare.
Her attire provided a stark contrast to her counterpart’s conservative dress. A nearly pitch black silk-and-lace whalebone corset hugged her curves, accentuating her generous figure rather than concealing it, while a Barguzin sable-fur shawl draped over her shoulders. Below her bare and soft midriff, a form-fitting black silk thong clung to every curve of her body, perfectly hiding what needed to be hidden, while leaving little else to the imagination.
A third figure stood to the side of the seated man, a woman with distinctive Pashtun features, sporting olive skin and a thick mane of dark, wavy hair piled into a loose-textured coil atop her head. Her clothing was similar to that of the seated woman, though less luxurious and slightly less revealing, with a ruffled miniskirt that only just covered her lace panties. The younger woman's demeanor was much more reserved and serious, though a slight twitch of her left eyebrow betrayed her tension.
She took a small sip from a rocks glass filled to the halfway mark with dark brown liquor, and then deferentially handed it to the man, who accepted it without further comment.
“Your little exotic dancer is becoming a nuisance Shaw,” the seated Selene Gallo informed her ‘King’ with a facial expression that communicated very little besides extreme boredom, “If you don’t reel her in soon, I may have to take action myself.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Shaw grumbled as he took the first sip of his drink, a resentful growl leaking into the heavy bass that echoed through the air of his nearly empty nightclub, “I have plans for this white queen. She may be reluctant for now, but she’ll come around. We have… leverage… after all.”
“Well then, use it you useless prat,” the woman’s voice raised slightly, frustration leaking into a tone that before had held nothing but measured disdain, “If she refuses to accept her place, relieve her of one of the ‘burdens’ she has voluntarily given herself. She seems unnaturally attached to those 'daughters' of hers. You could also take a few of them as your own… she doesn’t need five daughters, after all, just one would allow her to pass on her legacy.”
“Careful, Selene,” Shaw growled at his companion’s statement, and his eyes shifted slightly to the Pashtun girl at his left, “Emma is a useful dog, yes, but even a dog bites its owner if driven too hard. We need to take care in grooming this one, I’ve invested far too many resources into her to drive her into a corner now.”
“Don’t think your pet telepath will protect you from me if I truly wish reap your soul, Shaw,” Selene scoffs as the faintest hint of a smirk touches her full darkened lips, “If the dog bites, you punish it, and you continue to punish it until the dog becomes docile. If the beast never learns its lesson, you put it down and prepare another dog. I was content to allow you to play at being my master as long as you served your purpose, but I have no use for a weak ‘King’. You would do well to remember that, boy.”
“Now hush,” the woman’s admonition was perfectly timed, leaving no chance for Shaw to retort, as the front doors of the club opened, and three figures strode confidently into the empty ballroom, “It appears that our dog has brought us something interesting to play with. Be a good boy and say hello.”
“I like the decor,” Greg said as he and Jean glided to a halt in the center of the dance floor. Greg was adorned with an understated but comfortable lounge suit, and Jean wore an emerald green ‘flapper skirt’ that stopped at her upper thigh, “The brass and mahogany are a neat touch, but the mirrors are going to have to go. It feels more ‘Sioux City strip joint’ than ‘high class gentleman’s club’. I thought these ‘secret society’ types were supposed to be classy.”
The couple pointedly looked everywhere in the room except in the direction of the pair surveying the room below them. Greg and Jean’s demeanors were similar. They walked with the calm detachment of shoppers in a grocery store, rather than heroes confronting a pair of powerful mutant supervillains.
The third member of the party showed no such ease of motion. The tension and caution in Emma’s posture as she followed the pair was unmistakable, as she could barely keep her eyes from darting around the room as she walked. She let slip a subtle wince as her eyes briefly met those of the woman on the second floor, and Selene’s eyes grew only slightly wider as she soaked in the fear of the woman in white ‘clothing’ that mirrored her own.
Selene’s eyes only rested on Emma for a moment as she quickly turned her gaze to the true center of the room below. To the white queen’s surprise, Selene’s expression changed very slightly as her eyes locked on to the boy, the corners of her mouth turned up by barely noticeable millimeters, and the lines of her perfectly ivory teeth could be seen for the first time.
“You’re late, Frost,” Shaw’s low bass was felt, rather than heard, and carried through the empty club as the noise from the bar disappeared into the back room with the human employees, “And you’ve brought… guests. I suppose you’re looking to fill a few of your vacant pieces? I would have appreciated advanced notice instead of this… theater.”
“Ah, no, actually,” Gregory answered with a genial smile as he deliberately turned his back on the brooding giant above him, and his gaze fell on the ivory counterpart of the man’s own seat, “I’ve come for my chair. It’s quite droll that you have a place called the Hellfire Club, and there isn’t a single Devil in sight.”
“Sometimes your lack of fear astounds me, love,” Jean said as her eyes rested on the boy beside her, a subtle flush creeping up her neck, “I can never be sure if it’s genuine courage, or if you’re just really bad at reading the room.”
“I spent more than 13 billion seconds in a formless, timeless, featureless void, love,” the boy said with a quietly indulgent tone, “What are they going to do, torture me? Please, that might as well be a vacation as far as I’m concerned.”
“Frost,” the tone of Shaw’s bass gained an edge to it as his eye twitched slightly at the antics below him, “Your… guests… are interesting, but I believe they need a lesson in humility. I believe you may be due for a similar lesson as well.”
The man rose slowly from his seat, and Emma’s mind flashed back to a similar time six months prior, to the night her own king’s seat was vacated. The sight of Shaw dismantling the cyborg businessman with an almost distracted ease replayed in her mind, and her breath caught in her throat as the man grabbed onto the second floor balcony, preparing to leap over to land on the floor below.
Selene, however, was anything but nervous. As the black king moved into action, deliberately advancing with a sense of inevitability rather than haste, Emma could see… tension… in her posture, like the ancient witch was actually anticipating something.
What came next, however, frightened her more than anything she’d seen from the woman before.
Shaw’s leap never reached its destination, as the boy flipped his left wrist without taking his eyes off of his girlfriend and red runic circles about a half-meter in diameter appeared in the air. Identical circles appeared around Shaw, and the man appeared to be… levitating… about a foot off of the ground.
To Emma’s consternation, Selene’s eyes shot open at the sight, wide and expressive, and a manic grin spread across her face as the woman’s chest began heaving with full and excited breaths. Her frantic grip tightened on the armrests as her body rose several inches from her seated position.
“Tessa!” Shaw’s voice lost its controlled even tone, and his face twisted in frustration, “What in the blazes are you doing? Have you fallen asleep up there?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the woman’s panicked response rang out through the silence, “It’s not telekinesis, I don’t know what he’s doing.”
“Ah ah ah,” a quiet, young but motherly voice cut through the air as Shaw’s subordinate’s eyes suddenly shot to the left. Jean started to rise slowly into the air, red sparks turning into flames as they swirled around her body, causing her skirt and her untamed mane of red hair to flutter around her, “I believe you will be dealing with me, Tessa.”
“Enough,” an excited voice rang out above all activity as Selene gracefully stood from her throne, her eyes never leaving their place, locked on the dark haired young man below her.
“I WILL NOT BE…” Shaw yelled as Selene reached the railing of the upper floor, but a mass of shadow shot out from below the balcony, curling around the massive man’s mouth, completely ending the man’s contribution to the conversation.
“It’s been so long since I’ve played with a young sorcerer, boy,” she said seductively as she moved through the balcony railing to step onto the open air. The shadows in the club shifted to accommodate her bare feet, forming stairs that she slowly descended, her hips swaying seductively as she moved, “Would you grace this old lady with a dance or two?”
“It would be my honor, madam,” Gregory said as all traces of flippancy drained from his face, his eyes briefly shifting to the shadows swirling below Selene. A moment later Gregory’s gaze returned to the woman above, and he dipped into a low and respectful bow without breaking eye contact, his right hand resting above his heart as he moved, “I only hope that this humble magician's skills are sufficient to provide the lady with the entertainment she deserves.”
“How wonderfully polite. You’re such a sweet boy,” the woman’s words did not match the manic look on her face, as her eyes grew even more frantic and crazed, “I should hope you are able to amuse me, child… After all, your life does depend on it.”
Another Universe.
A smidge over 400 years ago.
A small arena sat near a massive palatial gothic manor, the walls of the manor the only signs of civilization in a primordial forest that stretched as far as the eye could see. The gloom of the sky above was not twilight, though it resembled it, as the purple sky above had a radiance that shone very unlike our own sun. The sounds of explosions drowned out the normal sounds of the forest, centered on a boy in the middle of the arena, frantically gesturing with his hands as icy projectiles deflected off red shields of force appearing all around him.
The boy, a dark haired lad in the awkward years before puberty, shifted to the left without moving his feet as a razor-sharp icicle flashed past his face, drawing a line of blood on his cheek. The boy’s eyes widened as he once again began frantically conjuring runic circles in the air around him. The tempo of the Icy barrage increased as the boy’s countenance grew grim, and sweat began running freely on his brow.
The boy dove to the right, abandoning a circle drawn on the ground in pink as a massive meteor of ice crashed where he had just been standing. The boy barely turned back to his assailant, before a blur of white and pink crashed into the child’s frame, driving him back with bone breaking force into the walls of the arena and pinning him helplessly against the newly cracked structure.
The boy’s face fell in surrender, finally accepting his defeat as a barrage of loud and wet kisses began peppering his face and neck.
The boy’s assailant was a young woman barely an inch taller than the small boy, with jet black hair tied into twin tails by two oversized hot pink ribbons. Her upper body was adorned with an unbuttoned red trimmed white vest with a pink halter below, a pink miniskirt, and thigh-high black-and-pink horizontally striped socks.
“Stop wiggling Greggy-poo,” the young woman shrieked as a look of disgust crawled its way onto the boy’s face, “The bet was that if you moved from that spot, you’re mine to do with as I please for five minutes of smooches! That’s the deal, now let me collect my prize!”
“Auntie Sera, you cheated!” The boy’s squealing whine cut through the air of the arena, though he reluctantly ceased his struggles, allowing his aunt to shower him with frantic kisses as his face began glistening with saliva, “There was no way I was going to be able to block that last hit!”
“Get stronger, Greggy,” the older woman teased as she continued her assault, “You’re already a mid-class devil at eleven years old, you should reach ultimate class by the time you’re old enough for your mommy to finally let me marry you, but not if you Keep! Being! LAZY!”
“Gross auntie! I’m never getting married to a stupid icky girl like you! I’m going to marry mommy! She promised I could!”
The conversation devolved at that point, as Serafall continued to torment her godson with slowly escalating, but innocent affection. Two women stood back at the edge of the arena, observing the antics of the two combatants, both sharing a deep resemblance to each other.
The first, in a dignified colonial style dress, bore just enough signs of aging to signify her elder status, with faint crows feet and smile lines on her delicate, doll-like facial features, and a single streak of dignified grey in her dark brown, almost black hair that hung in waves down to her waist. The woman shifted the wire framed spectacles on her face with delicately manicured fingers that showed only a little roughness of age, and gave a sidelong glance at the woman standing at a relaxed parade rest at her side.
“I don’t know why you insist on pushing him so hard, my dear,” the woman finally said after an appropriate period of silence, just long enough to communicate her disapproval, “Your… ‘friend’... is unbelievable. Only twenty years old and she's just on the cusp of breaking through to Satan class. If it weren’t for the young Gremory boy, I’d say she was the greatest genius of your generation. It’s a shame she had to grow up in his shadow.
“Still, having a near-satan class monster spar with a boy barely old enough to use a teleportation spell seems a bit excessive, doesn’t it?”
The younger woman, wearing a well fitted pair of men’s trousers and a ruffled white tunic, was similar in nearly every feature except for the signs of age and the shock of light brown, almost red hair shorn close into a wild pixie cut atop her head. The woman’s wide and unguarded smile and intense stare as she gazed at the boy at the far side of the arena showed signs of pride that refused to be hidden.
“We’re at war, Mother,” the young woman answered, “I won’t always be around to protect him.”
“Fine,” the older woman huffed as she rolled her eyes, “But did you really tell him you would marry him? He’s your own son!”
“So indignant mother, sometimes I wonder if our people are angels, not devils, with how guarded we are about sex,” the young woman continued without breaking her gaze from her son, “If it gives my son some motivation to excel, why shouldn’t I? Besides, it’s not like Sera and I can have children. My other sperm donor is dead, wouldn’t my son make a fine replacement?”
The woman’s tone rose to an almost reverent pitch, and her eyes grew crazed every time the words ‘my son’ were uttered by her lips. Never once did her eyes leave the source of that near fanatical pride as well.
“I can’t tell if you’re joking, dear,” the older woman admonishes, “But I sincerely hope you are. I put up with your… dalliances with the Sitri girl, as long as it doesn’t create a scandal, but I won’t allow such debauchery in my household.”
“I am joking, mother,” but the young woman adds ‘mostly’ under her breath before she continues, “I will be pairing him with Serafall, though. I’ve already spoken with Lord Sitri, and the deal is basically finalized. Can you imagine it? A young girl that's about to hit satan class before she hits thirty, paired with a genius like my son? Their children would define a generation.”
“High praise for the boy, dear, are you sure you’re not just seeing him through the lens of a mother’s love?”
“No mother, my son uses our family’s gift better than even I can. The ability to see and break down the components of a spell while it’s being cast have worked wonders for my research, but my child can do what we do in real time. We just need to improve his reaction time a little bit, and the boy will be unstoppable.
“Can you imagine what my child would do to our enemies?” The young woman’s voice trembled as she spoke, her barely contained excitement spilling into her speech as she imagined the things her son would accomplish in the future, “Let’s forget about all the spells he'll develop and refine for a moment. Imagine runes breaking down before the circle is cast, perfect counters for every spell launching the second they are needed? I can already see it in my mind. My son will be a force of nature when he’s older.”
“I’ll take your word for it my dear,” the older woman skeptically answered as she looked over at her daughter, “Sometimes I think you worship my grandson more than he worships you.”
“Oh, mother, that fact was never in doubt.”