The Proposition.

"Perhaps you'd like tae know a little more about us? What work we do for our father out in His world?" Bezoriana says, her Beathan brogue becoming evident once more.

“That... would be good.” you say. Though if you were being honest with yourself, as your eyes roamed over these ancient and demonic womens' bodies, drinking in their naked fuckflesh, only one thing was on your mind.

“The Allsire named me The Bee.” Bezoriana begins. “And I pollinate the bloodlines of Motania's humans with our demonic superiority. There are so many hybrids like yourself across the continent, completely unaware of what they are. A few have learned the truth, and work to further our aims. Of all my... children, of course, only Roland knows the full extent of our plans, has actually met me.”

“W-why him?” you slur.

“Because,” the thick-bodied demon begins with a lascivious grin. “His mercenaries are useful, he's obedient, and he has a foot long cock.”

“Hang on, if you're a demon, why do you speak like you're from Beatha?” you ask.

“I've done some of my best work up there.” Bezoriana smiles. “Those frostbitten barbarians are so trusting, they couldn't even conceive of what passes amongst them.”

“And conceiving is most of what you do, dear sister.” Arvha needles her younger sister.

“Better to birth a potential army of our blood than a gaggle of zombies and one sulky noblewoman, dear sister.” Bezoriana counters. Turning to you once again, Bezoriana bursts forth with a flash of light. When your vision clears, she looks very different.

“Up in Beatha, they know me as “The Merry Widow”.” The now human-glamoured Bezoriana begins. She resembles a pale-skinned, plump woman with brown hair and eyes. “Always ready to care for local orphans, heal the sick, deal out gifts and alms to the poor, that sort of thing.”

“As disguises go, a useful one.” Arvha concedes.

“Gives me access all across that kingdom, aye.” Bezoriana continues. “There have been several Widows at various points in the past century. A proud Beathan tradition, or so they think.”

“Really it just gets me close to the populace, lets me single out which ones I want to knock me up.” Bezoriana says frankly.

“A-and what about you, Arvha?” you say, turning to your other aunt.

“Like our father, I refuse to sully myself with a human disguise.” Arvha says haughtily.

“No offense taken.” you respond sarcastically. The taller, more slender demoness simply ignores your little jab.

“I myself have had only a handful of productive dalliances with the humans over the centuries.” Arvha admits. “I enjoy fucking as much as any of our kind, but even more-so when it's put to a purpose, such as creating a useful tool.”

“Is that what Corinne is? A tool?”

“Yes. And a most useful one, at that.” Arvha answers bluntly. “Creating that girl, ensuring she had the proper instruction, motivation and guidance to become the weapon she is today, that is my true master-work.”

“W-what do you mean, creating?” you ask, struggling to follow.

“Thirty years ago, it occurred to me that one of our own, with a little human blood, might make the ideal assassin. Able to pass without notice from all but the most... invasive of magical detections, but with the power our blood affords. When the Baron de Glace, already half-demon himself, sought me out, I felt the opportunity had fallen into my lap.”

“Which brings us to what we're here for, right now.” Bezoriana says, her voice a tender whisper, rich with anticipation.

“Oh?” You ask.

“Why be coy about it?” Arvha smirks. “Our father has decided the time has come for you to do your part to grow our bloodline, our dynasty. The Allsire wants you to impregnate us, Edward. Both of us.”