The Witchdoctor

An optional recap of events so far (because like many of you, I have the memory of a goldfish too, sometimes):

Two drow brothers, Galen and Fenrow, entered Earth in human glamour. They stalked a woman named Libby for months before accosting and stealing her from a library, her place of employment, late after hours. After a harrowing journey with a cadre of demonic guards, they brought her to the Fourth Circle of Hell, also known as the domain of Greed, with the ultimate goal of performing their blasphemous "Unification Rite."

The Rite, a depraved sex ritual held every five years, is carried out by the Sovereigns of Hell with the ambition of fully corrupting a human already steeped in sin.

Their objective?

To turn the mortal captive into a vessel capable of destroying the barrier between their cursed realm and ours, allowing them to decimate Earth until its rivers run red with blood and sin.

Per their old laws, The Circles take turns hosting the Rite, and this time, Greed is presiding over it within the ancient Pit of Astaroth, also known as “the arena.”

Before the Rite began, Libby was locked in the Underground--a complex network of prison cells far beneath the Palace of Greed--for four excruciating months. Servicing the upper echelon of demons in the dark to keep herself alive, her mind and spirit were ultimately broken. Once Libby was released from her prison cell, a mysterious individual Libby refers to as "the shaman" repaired her psyche, but Libby quickly realized that not everything was put back the way it originally was in the first place.

At the start of the ritual, the sovereigns combined their profane essences into a ceremonial chalice, which seems to be one of the catalysts needed for the corruption to take hold over their mortal sacrifice. The sovereigns sent forth their pre-selected champions based on the number of times the chosen sacrifice has committed a grievous act in their respective deadly sin. As Narcissa, Pride's viperous sister, pointed out, it is quite strange that someone like Libby, who by all accounts looked to lead a plain, boring life, managed to tally so many egregious transgressions.

After thousands of years of failed rituals, Libby suspects she will probably become another discarded human bone thrown on top of the pile... or so we, the audience, initially thought. While Libby was delirious and half-drunk on the potent vitalis in Galen’s blood (a mysterious source of power we do not yet understand), we learned that Galen and Fenrow are bound by a vow that will forfeit their cherished princess' life if they don't cooperate with her mad, **** gambit.

The more we learn, the clearer it becomes that Libby has played a direct hand in her own misery, though for what reason and how she pulled it off have yet to be revealed.

In the most recent chapter, Libby faced the Pride round. At first, she believed the Sovereign of Pride was a spiteful demon named Narcissa. However, it has become evident that Narcissa stole the throne from her older brother, who we only know as “Pride,” though Libby has given him the moniker of “Hades.”

Wrath revealed the Six did not ratify her position as sovereign with their blood, therefore none of them see her as a legitimate successor to the Pride throne. How Narcissa keeps Pride on her leash is still shrouded in obscurity, but what is clear is that Pride is a very powerful **** held only in check by a compulsion of unknown origin.

How did Libby, a human woman working at a library, become the centerpoint of a hellish crucible entrenched in mystery and subterfuge?

Well, as always, that’s for you to find out, dear reader.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Seconds after the intermission was called, Fenrow and Galen disappeared from the terrace. Libby didn't know if she was relieved they were gone or if she mourned the loss of the only familiar faces she knew in this wretched place.

What a twisted thing she'd become, to find herself seeking out the two demons responsible for putting her here in the first place. Craving the familiar weight of their gazes like a salve against the unknown horrors still waiting for a turn with her.

Most of the sovereigns had dissipated into tendrils of mist after the two drow had left, and only Pride's calcified body and Sloth's reclining form remained behind.

Libby stood on shaking legs in the center of the platform, struggling to keep her eyes open. She turned just as a flash of movement flickered at the edge of her vision.

A figure was approaching from across the sands. They wore a gauzy, hooded robe that covered them from head to toe. An arid breeze chose that moment to sweep in and lift the ends of the garment like dozens of waving black arms. If the graceful gait and the flash of a shapely, pale blue leg were any indication, she was fairly certain the advancing figure was a woman.

The hooded individual came to a stop along the outside of the platform. Like most demons, she towered a full head above Libby, which was no small feat considering the platform itself rose almost two feet above the ground. She couldn't make out a face under the dark cowl, but she could feel the prickling weight of her gaze. What looked to be a withered branch peeked out from her shroud like a pair of spiked horns. Or maybe they were horns. She had no way to know, and she wasn’t about to ask.

Libby flinched when a hissing sound suddenly came from under the shadowed opening, only to slowly realize the hooded woman was actually exhaling a long, exasperated sigh.

“Come on, then,” was all she said, her husky, feminine voice measured, yet faintly melodic. She turned halfway and beckoned with a curl of an elegant hand. Her skin was embossed with curling sigils a few shades lighter than her azure pigmentation, as if her body was subtly illuminated from within.

Libby considered refusing. Yet in the end, her pragmatism won out. The idea of being threatened until she complied, or worse, being dragged after her, was motivation enough for her to quietly trail, or rather slowly limp, after the demon. They silently crossed the uneven arena floor, and Libby did her best to ignore the many leering onlookers who'd decided to stay in their seats.

The woman led her to an alcove with an adjoining room just off the arena's main portcullis, the same entrance that'd been used to haul in the platform.

The iron gate was currently closed. All that was visible past the enormous metal grid was a wide, curving strip of cobblestones that disappeared into a dense white fog. A fog that looked thick enough to hide and disappear in, if she could somehow get through the gate.

That pragmatic part of herself reared its bitter head again. Even if such a thing were possible, then what? Wander naked around Hell without food, water, or the faintest idea of where to go? Not to mention every demon she encountered would be a potential captor, and she had no illusions about her ability to fight them off. At least here, she was property with perceived value. Out there, she'd just be prey.

The drone of the crowd faded behind them, and Libby felt something in her chest unclench a fraction. The room inside was smaller than she'd expected. Two torches were mounted on either side, and a rustic stone table with a matching bench was stationed in the center. The robed woman slowly lowered herself onto the bench with a low curse before pulling her hood back to reveal a face far younger than her weary demeanor suggested.

A single spiked branch was mounted upon her brow, curving above her head in antler-like spires. It cast long shadows under her eyes, which only made her gleaming, milky-white irises all the more prominent. Libby had just enough wherewithal to wonder how she'd managed to fit so much of the thorny arc under her hood.

Even with her strange horns and her pearlescent eyes, she was… lovely. There was no other word for it. In fact, those uncanny additions only served to make her all the more mesmerizing. For a brief, absurd moment, Libby wondered if everyone in Hell was this unsettlingly beautiful. But then the grotesque faces of the demons in the stands flashed through her mind, and she promptly dismissed the notion.

"I know it's not glamorous," she said to Libby, gesturing to the weathered stone slab beside her, "but I need you up on this table. The sooner you let me look you over, the sooner I can get you patched up."

The demon took in Libby's half awkward, half defensive stance in the doorway. She audibly exhaled through her nose as she took in what was surely a purpling welt around Libby's neck. Then that assessing gaze dipped to her raw, stinging knees. Midnight blue eyebrows the same color as her hair crept up towards her forehead, and something like understanding flickered across her features. When she spoke again, her tone had lost some of its impatience.

"I'm only here to tend your wounds. I have no interest in adding to what's already been done to you today. The gods below know you've suffered enough as it is."

Libby searched her features, once again in so many minutes, scrutinizing a stranger's face for signs of deceit. Other than an undercurrent of fatigue touching the corners of her eyes, she appeared to be telling the truth.

With a steadying breath, Libby unclenched the fist at her side, letting it relax in increments.

The woman patted the table in front of her once more, and this time, Libby grudgingly approached. She ambled across the room, every muscle screaming, every part of her aching and used. With a wince, she eased herself onto her back and managed to swing both legs onto the table without passing out.

At last, a small win. A silent laugh escaped her, one as raw and bitter as the cum still coating her lips and tongue.

The feminine figure before her—who loomed above her, even while seated—produced a small pouch from the folds of her robes and shook out the contents into a graceful hand. At least a dozen tiny bones piled into her palm, their surfaces inscribed with the same symbols covering the vast majority of her skin. Their size made Libby think they might be avian, or perhaps even belong to a small species of reptile, but she didn't know for sure. She was no paleontologist.

Her other hand closed over the bones, and the woman shook them with a rhythmic rattle, a distant look of concentration in her radiant irises.

Libby hadn’t been sure at first, but she was becoming increasingly certain that this was the same shaman who'd visited her after she’d been released from the Underground. She’d been far too disoriented to focus on much of anything at the time, let alone possessed the capacity to inspect her hooded face, but she remembered the dry, clattering sound of her bones.

With one final shake, the demon opened her hands and threw the rune-etched remains into the air.

And they stayed there.

Libby resisted the urge to rub her eyes and verify that she wasn’t hallucinating. Before she could even begin to process the scene unfolding before her, the bones fanned out, each coming to hover above a specific region of her body. One floated at her forehead, two more were at her throat, five over her midsection, and the rest were evenly spaced out along her lower half.

A network of what could only be described as phosphorescent ley lines appeared between every bone, the thin strands an electric blue so bright they were nearly blinding in the lowlight of the room. She was still gawking when the woman hooked her index and smallest fingers around the glowing lines and then pulled on them.

Libby felt a sharp jerk, as if there were fish hooks embedded under her skin. By some small mercy, there was no pain. The horned demon began to weave the lines together in a pattern Libby had no hope of deciphering. The pliant strands flexed and bent to her commands, humming with an audible array of clear, resonant notes that seemed to vibrate within the hollows of Libby's very bones.

To see the lingering evidence of magic in the arena had been one thing. To see it in action, to experience it herself, was another thing altogether. For the first time in a long time, a tentative sense of wonder began to bloom inside her chest as she watched the woman pluck and manipulate the threads like the strings of a zither.

"Fuck those entitled bastards," she suddenly spat, not looking up from her work. "I've already expended more magic on you in a week than most healers use in a blasted year. Do they think my reserves are infinite or something?" She scoffed, rubbing at her nose with the back of an arm. "As always, the Six only care about their posturing and their pissing contests rather than keeping their precious vessel alive."

Libby could feel, rather than see, her body knitting itself back together. The bruising at her throat, the lacerations on her knees and calves, the pulsing soreness between her legs, all of it gradually diminished until no traces of discomfort remained.

She barely had a moment to savor the relief when the demon brought her fist down onto the table with a scathing curse. Libby nearly leapt out of her skin and almost pitched over the side, but the woman caught her upper arm just before she rolled off the edge.

“This can't be right," the shaman said through clenched teeth, letting her go. "It should already be taking effect by now.” She scanned the arc of a thread that ran from Libby's forehead to her midsection, her face darkening by the second. “This much vitalis should be more than enough... It doesn't make any sense. Why isn't the Fourth Signet responding? Why in the seven hells isn’t it working?” The slitted pupils in the center of her radiant eyes blew wide as she tracked the glowing symbols on each bone.

“Tell me,” the demon said, meeting her gaze. “Do you feel any different? Some tingling in your extremities? A sense of… expansion, perhaps? As if something inside you is trying to break free of its shell?”

Libby’s eyebrows drew together. What strange things to ask someone. None of those questions sounded like they had anything to do with healing her wounds.

Less than a heartbeat later, a cold feeling followed on the heels of her confusion and settled in the pit of her stomach.

Maybe the woman was inquiring because she wanted to determine if Libby was well on her way to becoming their hopeful vessel.

That seemed most likely.

But then the woman asked her another question, and Libby wasn’t so sure anymore.

“Or perhaps you've noticed things have started to respond to your will without conscious thought?"

Were vessels capable of wielding such power? That didn’t seem to fit the mold of her limited understanding of what a vessel's purpose entailed. Like Narcissa had said and the others had insinuated, vessels were just a means to an end, after all. Then again… if they'd never successfully created a vessel before, did they really know what a vessel could or couldn't do?

Much like everything else she'd encountered in this world, there was clearly far more to the greater picture than she could see. The memory of the nameless brown man flashed through her mind, reminding her of what likely waited for her at the end of this nightmare.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have let the shaman heal her. It might have been better to have gone into the next round injured and simply allowed Wrath’s champions to finish her off. At least then she wouldn’t have to wonder if she was on her way to becoming a freeuse **** for the masses, or a corrupted pawn that would deliver untold suffering to her home world.

Spite flared hot in her chest, burning the treasonous thoughts away. She refused to die before she made Galen and Fenrow pay for what they'd done.

Maybe it was the woman's candid personality, or perhaps it was how her warm voice sounded like flowing water rippling over stones. Something about her seemed almost… trustworthy, though Libby knew better than to rely on such fragile intuitions.

The powder blue demon was still staring at her, still waiting for an answer. After several more beats, Libby met her opalescent gaze and responded with a curt shake of her head.

The shaman slammed her fist against the table again. This time, Libby only jumped a little. “Damn it. Damn it all to hells. Something must have gone wrong. Fuck. Did one of the Six withhold their vitalis from the chalice? Who? And just as concerning, why?” She threw her head back and let out a long groan.

“Someone fucking knows. Fates, one of them figured it out.” She leaned her elbows on the table, and both of her hands sank into her curling mane before sliding up to grip her horns. “I need to determine which of those fuckers is onto us before the end of the next round," she muttered to herself. "If Gluttony gets his chance with her... No, I won’t let it come to that. I have to secure the missing vitalis before then."

Libby's pulse quickened. The shaman had just revealed more in thirty seconds of panicked muttering than anyone had told her in months. Vitalis. A Fourth Signet. Someone figuring what out? Her head was spinning, and the only thing she understood with any certainty was that something had gone terribly wrong with whatever they'd had planned for her.

The woman glanced down and took in Libby’s guarded, lost expression, then she exhaled with a low, mirthless chuckle. “Yes, yes. I know. You have no idea what I’m talking about.” She pinched the bridge of her slightly upturned nose and sighed for what had to have been the dozenth time. “Of course you don't. How could you? I swear, sometimes I'm too good at my own damn job."

Without looking up, the demon half-heartedly waved a light blue hand. The glowing lines between the remains disappeared one by one. The bones quickly followed suit, orderly depositing themselves back into her little leather pouch with a series of delicate clicks.

Libby took that as her cue to roll upright into a sitting position. She crossed her arms over her chest and tucked her knees to the side, trying to ignore the fact that there was still cum steadily leaking from her ass and onto the table.

Out there, she'd had to compartmentalize her nudity. In here, with only one person's gaze on her instead of thousands, the exposure somehow felt far more personal.

Were Galen and Fenrow involved in this somehow? She squeezed her eyes shut and chewed the inside of her cheek, trying to organize the tattered remains of her memories. The two drow had mentioned Eldra Vorn by name before. Just once, when she'd been with them on the terrace. God, had that only been a matter of hours ago?

What was becoming increasingly clear was that this individual had ultimately played a role in Libby's torment. To what extent and why still remained to be seen. If Libby lived long enough to discover her motives, then this woman's fate hinged entirely on what came out of her mouth next.

Which meant she needed to make this woman keep talking.

And to do that, Libby would need to speak.

Her throat was tight, scratchy. She'd kept silent for so long that speaking felt like breaking something inside herself. A seal, a promise, a last defense. But this was different. This was a choice. Besides, if this woman had answers, if she could potentially help her, then maybe it was a sacrifice worth making.

She wet her lips, drew a breath, and physically **** her jaw to move, her vocal cords to vibrate.

“Who… are you, exactly?” Her voice—small and strained and wavering—sounded foreign, even to her own ears.

If the woman was aware that Libby had taken a vow of silence and had just willingly broken it in the privacy of this room, she gave no indication of it.

“My name is Eldra Vorn,” she replied evenly, “but everyone who knows me well calls me Eldra Vorn. Try to give me a nickname, and I'll place a hex on you that makes every liquid you drink taste like swamp water." At that, she gave Libby a playful wink, but the swamp water hex sounded far too specific to be an idle threat. "I'm a witchdoctor by day, and an occasional advisor by night. My bones tell me things people would rather I didn't know, and then I tell people things they'd rather not hear." She shrugged, as if it were all terribly boring and not worth discussing further.

Libby tried not to look too impressed, but she suspected she wasn't managing to hide her interest very well. She couldn’t stop the weak flame of hope that stirred inside her chest. It was sounding more and more likely that Eldra Vorn had both the knowledge, and, just as importantly, the means to help her escape this cursed place.

It was a longshot to try and turn someone who'd been a willing participant in her **** into an ally, but maybe, just maybe, she could bring this weary demon with a penchant for colorful expletives onto her side. Libby had next to nothing to offer her, but that also meant she had very little to lose.

Before she could prompt her with another question, Eldra Vorn cut in with a somber expression on her face.

"However, who I am is the least of your concerns." She rubbed her hands down her face and stared down at Libby through her fingers with a baleful look. “The main priority right now is figuring out what went awry. If we're lucky, I'll find a solution before we get to the Gluttony round. If we aren't so lucky, then before the Rite ends. Otherwise, this will all have been for fucking naught.”

Libby opened her mouth to demand that she explain herself, her priorities be damned, but Eldra Vorn held up a hand.

“Look. It frustrates me to no end that I can’t say more than this. All I can tell you is that I need more time." She gently placed both hands on Libby's shoulders and squeezed. "You mus* survive the Wrath round at all costs. It won't be like the others. Those glory-drunk savages will try to fuck you to **** just for the sport of it. Much like their insufferable sovereign, Wrath's champions break, conquer, and revel in bloodshed just as much as they do the fucking. I know it's callous of me to tell you this, especially considering the circumstances, and I am truly sorry for it."

She gave Libby a slight shake to punctuate her next words. "But no matter what they do, you have to stay alive, do you understand me? As long as you don't die, I can bring you back from almost anything. Well, anything save for complete decapitation. Even if there are just a few strands of viscera still attached, I can work with that."

Eldra Vorn had clearly meant the last bit to be encouraging, but it only served to make the room tilt sideways. Libby's vision narrowed to a pinpoint. Decapitation. The word repeated itself over and over, accompanied by flashes of teeth and claws and blood-soaked sand.

Her breath came too fast, too shallow. She was going to die here. She was going to be ripped apart by a mob of—

No. No. She dug her nails into her thigh until the sharp bite cut through the spiraling panic. She was still here. Still whole. And she'd be damned if she gave up and let despair take her before she made Galen and Fenrow bleed for every humiliation, violation, and moment of **** they'd subjected her to.

And, if Eldra Vorn, a demon no less, proved to have a soul just as black as the drow, then she would find a way to kill her too.

Her promises were maddeningly vague, and yet disturbingly specific. Even as some **** part of her clung to Eldra Vorn's words, the rest of her recoiled. She didn't want to be caught up in whatever this was. Not surviving some fucking scheme, not to see mysterious plans come to fruition. She just wanted to go home. With her too-soft couch, her mismatched mugs, and the stack of unread books that perpetually teetered on her nightstand.

A place where she could be completely alone.

Her coworkers had probably already forgotten her name, by now. After months of unpaid rent, her apartment was likely gone, too, her things either hauled to the curb or claimed by someone else. Everything she'd built, however small, had been erased.

But it didn't matter. She'd start over. She'd done it before, and she could do it again.

Libby just needed to survive long enough to get back.

She'd been considering some persuasive speech that might appeal to someone like Eldra Vorn. Except after learning what she had to look forward to in the upcoming round, and the pang of loss at the realization that everything she'd worked so hard to build was surely gone, she no longer had the presence of mind to woo the witchdoctor with honeyed words.

“Please," she whispered instead. She had to **** the words past the growing lump in her throat. "Isn't there anything you can do to help me? To set me free?”

The woman's expression softened, and a mist of tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. A moment later, she blew out a long breath and gave Libby a sorrowful half smile. “I know it might not seem like it right now, but trust me, I am helping you. Just not in the way you're presently hoping for. There are… things in motion that you can't see yet, and all I need you to do is to stay alive long enough for them to matter. So please," she said, taking Libby's hand in hers, "hold on a little longer, Lilibeth. Once I sort out this disaster, it'll have been worth every second of hell you've been put through. And that's a fucking promise."

Notes:

An important note to all readers:

The first exclusive NSFW scene will be available tomorrow on 1/7 to all Tsundere ($10) and Yandere ($15) members on my Kofi and Patreon. The scene takes place at the end of Chapter 13, and I'll be pulling out all the stops in this 3k word beast (the equivalent of one full chapter). This scene will not have any plot critical information, but you will definitely be missing out on peak, scandalous content. As a special, one-time promo, anyone who is a member of ANY tier before Ch. 13 is released on 1/7 will earn not only the scene, but also 50% off a single custom commission written by yours truly. Imagine my immersive writing combined with your most sordid fantasy. (And trust me, I don't have any right, nor will I ever kink shame).

You've only seen about 10% of what I've outlined in this series so far. There is still so much more of Libby's story to tell, and I'd love to bring you on this rollercoaster with me.

https://www.patreon.com/palescript

I'm an itty bitty indie author who spends about 50 hours writing and reviewing every chapter I create because I'm obsessed with delivering my best. My hope is that by pouring myself into my work, others will see the value in what I'm doing and want me to keep doing it.

My Patreon memberships have a range of exclusives, such as:

-Access to chapters up to 7 days before the public (all tiers)

-An exclusive, members-only 'The Fourth Circle of Hell' NSFW scene every single month (only $10/mo).

Join my Discord to see over 100 inspo images (some tasteful, and some definitely not), listen to the playlist, and be part of polls that decide future content).

https://discord.gg/8qRQ3D8Bb8

Note: The Ascension/Fourth Circle Discord is a safe environment for 18+ adults who treat everyone with mutual respect. This is an age-restricted server, so if you are on iOS, you'll get a popup saying you have to view it on desktop. There is an easy workaround to disable this if you launch Discord in your browser and turn off that feature for the app. Here's a 1ish min video on how to do that: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O2ukG_-HS8k