A devil's black throne, with a hellish prince to match.

He was in what appeared to be a...throne room? A massive hall so long Aaralon couldn't see the far door, built entirely out of solid black stone, seeming to trap in all light that struck it. Silver chandeliers hung from a ceiling several stories above, but their light was visible even from the ground level. Rather than candles, they carried brilliant braziers of hellfire, spilling firelight throughout the hall.

About ten feet in front of Aaralon was a series of steps, rising high up to a platform. On it was a throne, but one unlike anything that could be built by men. It seemed to be a continuation of the black stone that made up the hall's construction. Its backbone was seemingly made out of stalagmites piercing out of the floor. The throne's seat and armrests were both slabs of obsidian, perfectly cut and trimmed despite the chair's generally jagged nature.

On the throne sits a man. Well, perhaps more of a boy. He appeared to be no older than eighteen or nineteen- a stark difference from most depictions of demons and devils Aaralon was familiar with. He shared several similarities with the satyrs at the college, from his cloven hooves to his black-furred legs to the abundant body hair on the rest of him, from his lower stomach, over his chest, under his arms, and across his chin. A pair of horns jutted from his forehead, as well, but they're far longer than a satyr's, and curve around his head. From there, however, the similarities ended. His skin carried a red pallor, and his eyes were pure black: iris, scleroses and all. His facial features were noticeably sharp and jagged, and fang-like canines jutted from his mouth onto his lips. Each of his hands ended in short, shining claws rather than fingernails. The youthful demon sat casually reclined in the throne, with one leg crossed over the other.

In one hand, he's holding a cloudy crystal orb. As the Nightmare takes a few steps closer to the throne and carries Aaralon with him, the demon uncrosses his legs and plants both hooves firmly on the stone floor. Between his thighs and emerging from his pubic fur was a horrifying and wholly magnificent cock. His uncut manhood was easily large enough to put Aaralon's own to shame, and it was covered in dark purple veins. As the young mage approached, a few white droplets emerged from the tip, running down the underside to his balls. His balls, as well, were bulbous and heavy, swaying slightly left and right as the demon exhaled and his cock twitched.

"I've been watching you." The demon's voice is a deep, husky purr, but even from this distance you can easily hear his every syllable. "You may call me Master Rahad." With his free hand, he flicked his fingers back, gesturing the pair forth. The Nightmare followed his command instantly, leaping up in an easy bound to stand alongside the throne. Abruptly, the demonic horse clapped his hoof down onto the floor with ungodly strength, causing his entire form to ripple and shudder. Aaralon, unable to cling to the stallion's mane any longer, finally fell from his back and landed with a heavy thump at Rahad's hooves.

The satyr-demon smirked, and stood up. His black eyes never left Aaralon's.