The Rariad
By Tundara
Interlude 2: Amaymon
Asmodeus sat quietly on his throne, toying with a long, white feather. Gently he twisted it this way and that, light reflecting off its surface in a splash of rainbow hues. When he brought it to his ear he could hear a gentle singing, like a hymn echoing in the rafters of a cathedral. His cold, corrupt heart swelled and took a single, faltering beat, as if unsure of the process.
Before him his court shared uncertain looks. Some no doubt sensed weakness in their king. They were fools who’d be purged once they showed themselves. Most knew by now to never even entertain the idea that he had erred in any capacity.
A grin played at the corners of his lips.
Everything was going exactly as planned.
Well, almost.
Rarity had begun to take far too long in making her escape. It’d almost become worrisome, as if she intended to stay in Amaymon as his Queen in more than just name. Her ability to play the games of Hell’s politics was, admittedly, staggering. If he hadn’t known better, Asmodeus would have assumed she’d been born a demon. Her cunning, bravery, and trickery; it was bewitching.
There was a slight twist of pain in his chest, and for the briefest flicker of an instant he pondered whether he’d let his guard down. His conclusion was instantaneous, and he set the feather aside on its velvet pillow set on a pedestal next to his throne.
Asmodeus, the King of Lust, missed Rarity.
Or, to be more specific, he missed the fun of tormenting her, of the intricate dance of half-truths and games required to manipulate her. And yes, the taste of her lips when he stole a kiss. The tingle of an alicorn’s essence on the tongue was unique in its infinite variety of flavours.
He leaned back on his throne and allowed his eyes to slide shut while the rest of his senses flowed outward.
Rarity was on Gaea, and had taken his gift with her.
Beyond the boundaries of his throne room came a heavy crash followed by a beastial roar. Thunder rolled through the palace. The room shook, chandeliers swaying ever so slightly so that a multitude of shadows danced over the walls.
Asmodeus clicked his tongue in disapproval.
“So noisy,” he chided, gesturing for a dretch, one of those foolish souls who’d sold themselves into eternal servitude for temporary mortal gain, to bring him a fresh glass of rosé while he waited.
The tumult drew nearer, the walls shaking with the ferocious cries of dying demons amid shattering battle. His court looked up at him, careful to keep suspicious or doubts from their expectant faces. They all knew this was part of his multifaceted plans.
With a boom the throne room doors were cast open, and the roiling heat of an enraged sun swept into the chamber.
Golden armour covered in demonic gore and ichor, chest heaving from the efforts to breach Asmodeus’ palace, stood Celestia. Next to hovered Coronal Edge, the greatsword glowing with a searing intensity as the sliver of a sun channeled the boiling heart of its distant greater body, serving as a conduit between alicorn and domain. Even she’d known better than to bring Sol into Amaymon. Without that conduit, Celestia would have been but a pale shadow of her normal power.
Fierce eyes darted over the loathsome court and then settled on Asmodeus just as he raised a hoof.
“Come in, my dear Celestia,” he purred, indicating a place to his right at the great table set before him. “Don’t just stand there dripping blood on the new carpets. Sit by me, and tell me what brings you to my demesne with so much fire and passion. Would you prefer the rosé? It is a fine vintage from the vineyards of southern Prance, and utterly irreplaceable since your mother accidentally incinerated the chateau and surrounding orchards. Or, perhaps you would prefer the pinot noir? It brings out the flavours of the chicken piccata wonderfully.”
To her credit, Celestia hesitated only a moment before she marched past the counts, earls, barons, and dukes who sat at the table, and all staring at her with open hostility, hunger, and desire. She sank Coronal Edge’s tip into the floor next to her as she took the indicated seat.
“The rosé will do just fine. I’m not here for dinner, afterall,” Celestia cooly said as she thudded her messy helm down next to her plate.
Asmodeus smiled politely as the servants served the Crown Princess of Equestria. He smiled wider at the exceptionally subtle spells she cast over wine and food, checking them for poisons or any other deceptions. When she found none, Celestia’s wonderfully sculpted brow raised in surprise almost imperceptibly before she took a polite drink.
“You were telling the truth,” she said, giving the wine a more critical look. “An ‘82, if I’m not mistaken. However did you get it?”
“Servants I have in many lands, and through their eyes I see much, grasp what I will, and drag to this hell those pathetic little morsels. Your Canterlot is as beautiful as you, but there is a rot at its core.”
Asmodeus grinned pleasantly, and there were low chuckles along the length of the table. Just enough to show they were raptly listening to his every word, but not enough to steal a sliver of Celestia’s attention.
Her anger was white-hot where it leaked around the edges of her political mask. Such a juvenile attempt to control her flaring emotions could only make him laugh and prod further.
“How is your mother and Aunt? It’s been millenia since I last saw them, bobbing on the choppy waters as Marelantis slid beneath the waves. Leviathan hasn’t been too much of a nuisance, I hope.”
“They are well and maintaining the disc in my temporary absence.”
Celestia’s gaze dropped to the feather.
“Yes, yes, you’re here to wrestle Rarity from my oh-so vile clutches,” Asmodeus sigh, and rolled a dismissive hoof.
“But, she isn’t here anymore,” Celestia concluded.
Asmodeus frowned with irritation.
“No, my dear, skipping ahead in the script just won’t do,” he chidded, laying down knife and fork as he dabbed at his lips with a serviette. “This game of words was to dance for a while longer, with banter and wordplay that we didn’t even begin. A visit from an alicorn is rare indeed, and is something to be savoured. One way or another I will have my pleasures from you, Celestia. This is something Rarity learned quickly.”
This time there was silence along the table, every fiend along its length anxious for the command of their king. Talons gripped the ancient wood, and tongues slid across jagged fangs.
“Your arrogance is astounding,” he continued. “To believe you can march into my home uninvited, make demands of me, greatest of all demonkind, and take one of my treasures. All unscathed. I am aware of Zeus and Hades, of Luna and Twilight, and even of Artemis and Fleur skulking at the outskirts of my palace, ready to swoop in and pluck you to safety.”
Half lidding his eyes as he chidded Celestia, Asmodeus reordered Amaymon.
Mountains shifted, lakes were swallowed, and the palace sank into the ground to re-emerged a thousand leagues away, wrapped around a black peak so as to appear like a glittering, titanic screw. Tall windows replaced the banners that covered one of the long walls of the hall, showing a new lake taking shape surrounded by a forest of twisted trees in the valley below that had not existed moments ago. Those hills on which his other, less desired guests hid themselves were clustered around the gate to Tartarus. There they shared worried oaths and debated on what to do.
If she were perturbed at all by the changes, Celestia hid it well.
She sipped her drink, and said, “I was already well aware that you could change this realm at a whim, your Highness. Though,” and she cast a faintly impressed glance out the window, “that doesn’t make it any less… daunting. I suppose you have me at the disadvantage.”
Asmodeus inclined his head at the praise and returned to his meal.
“What would you do had you this power over Ioka?” He asked, opening a conversation that would have seemed to have been between old acquaintances reminiscing over old times were it between mortals.
It flowed back and forth, Celestia more than willing to play his word games. She was actually more proficient than she’d at first let on, which led to some pleasing moments of witty repartee and a subtle tense atmosphere. Celestia’s wits were honed against mortals, however, and no matter the genius’ she’d encountered over the millenia, none could compare to Him. With infinite joy he teased and tested her defenses, paced along the limits of her famed patience, and parried her attempts at rejoinders. For an hour it went, both talking about nothing of importance, but with the fate of a world in the balance.
“Have you been sated this evening?” She asked eventually after they’d retired to one of many billiard rooms.
Celestia, it turned out, was a ruthless player, and if it hadn’t factored as a detriment to his plans, Asmodeus would have kept her then and there. Alas, keeping an unruly sun, while it’d be amusing, would have drawn too much attention.
Especially from that annoying blow-hard; Zeus.
Now was not the time for vengeance on him. Oh no, his fait accompli wasn’t ready, and he’d rather not tip his hoof. Not yet, at least.
Asmodeus moved around the table, enjoying the curves of Celestia’s flanks as she leaned over the table to make an impressive shot.
“No,” he admitted as he took a complex shot that gained him three points, “I think it would take a century or more to fully enjoy all you could provide.”
Celestia didn’t respond, looking over the table as it lay and the points both had accumulated. Her ear twitched, and at the same moment Asmodeus detected an unsubtle burst of energy as Sol communicated with Celestia.
“This game is yours,” she said, laying down her cue. “Sol grows anxious, and I’m beginning to worry she may start flaring and cause a drought if I stay any longer.”
“Very well, and since you have shown me a kindness by playing along, I will show one to you. You have played my games fairly, and let it not be said that the King of Demons is an ungracious host. Such fools would enjoy ten thousand years being slowly flayed. Rarity Belle is no longer here. She has gone on a little walk-about.”
“Telling me where would be too much, I suppose,” Celestia sighed.
Asmodeus grinned his wicked grin.
As he shifted Amaymon again so that Celestia stood before the massive, barred gates, with their many layers of chains, wards, and guards, Asmodeus said, “Till we meet again, my dear. I shall have to visit your home next time, since you so graciously visited mine.”
He then vanished, returning to his throne while Celestia was surrounded by family and friends, and together they hurried back towards Tartarus.
“Yes,” Asmodeus purred, twisting Rarity’s feather before his eyes. “I do so look forward to seeing Ioka again.”