Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions

The clapping was instant. The audience followed in a standing ovation, jamming their hands and rocking the drama house in thunder. They cheered as the lights on stage and the theater brightened, shining beautifully in everyone's faces. The gallery was luminous in sparkling sconces and people stood everywhere, applauding the most wonderful performance.

It was certainly the créme of the night. The cast had wowed the audience to near unbelief. They stood even now, all of them on the stage, in a fine line with their hands joined.

Each and every character that had being portrayed, now in normal clothes, smiling, holding hands, sharing laughter with their amicable audience. The play's director, [Fourth Year Scribe] Erryn Wingfield lifted her long arms with her eclectic group of fine stage men and women. Cast. Crew. Navigators. All of them.

And they, everyone of them in that long line on stage went down in a bow to the waist.

Their joined hands swung back together as they rocked forward to the cheering of the clapping audience. When they rose back up, even more in the theater's crowd had tears in their eyes. Standing over in the gallery, Rafel spied in the adjacent booth the Headmistress lift a single, red-nailed finger and swipe the tear drifting down her left cheek. And promptly went back to clapping.

Erryn Wingfield stepped forward while her cast behind hugged and traded cheek kisses.

"Thank you! Thank all so much." She said to the audience. "You have made this show mean much more to all of us. Thank you for the support you've given my humble cast and crew. We are so excited to have put this up for you. Also, we'd like to thank our benevolent Headmistress, Dr.

Nicara Shetty. . ."

"WHOO!" Raziah Fairfield—the one who had played the Seer witch in the opening Act—yelled for the woman. Now without her long hat and made-up face, she was even more fetching.

Director Erryn Wingfield smiled and went on.

". . .Our benevolent Headmistress for making this possible, giving us the venues for auditions and practices. Also our tutors for not writing us up for being late to class on the nights we had gone too hard. A special thanks to Professor Ivoria for keeping the magic and mystique of drama club alive here at the academy, and Bolta Olympian for being the most humble consultant on set.

Finally," Erryn Wingfield turned back to the line of grinning faces, "I'd like to thank my Cast, for giving more than I asked, putting their souls into the acting to make this show a success, forgiving my outbursts and ranting, and making me tonight, a very, very proud Director. HERE'S TO YOU!"

"Yes!!!" The actors and actresses hobbled together as Dr. Blood appeared and offered the Golden Academy Award. It was a weighted gold crow on an exquisite pedestal.

The play, Of Sons and Mothers: Oedipus's Tale, had won the Talent Hunt night.

"Aww!" The audience crooned when Erryn lifted up the golden laurel. The award caught the lights, shining like the gold in her eyes. The clapping never seemed to fully stop in the theatre. Director Erryn Wingfield was proud. Headmistress Nicara Shetty of the Corynthian college was prouder. In his private expensive booth, Israfel was proudest.

He was beyond words for Aya Naamah and Percival Van Imperia, the lead characters of the winning play who had magnificently performed the roles of Jocasta of Thebes and Oedipus respectively. If acting had gods, Aya and Percival would be it. They had won the audience over with the astonishingly good showmanship. Together, they brought flame and ice. Fire and rain.

Rafel had practically seen the crowd offering their hearts out in the ending scene.

His roommate's mail might just be full by morning. Over a thousand fans! And half of them fan girls?

'Goodluck man.' Rafel smiled. He'd need it to wade through the flood of shrieking groupies that would threaten to block the theater's exits tonight.

And as for Aya. . . she'd be getting whatever present her heart desired before dawn.

But first; Rafel kept clapping as her pure, violet eyes—she had taken off the contacts—moved up from the flowing audience to the gallery. Her iris met his from the stage. Under the spotlight, she was amazing. A popstar miracle. Rafel knew she was made for it. He couldn't believe it.

Yet he could. His award-winning Succubus.

The director, Erryn pulled her in for a hug and Rafel pulled his eyes for her to engage her fame.

His [Bond] was a star.

She seduced the night. The crowd. And the motherfucking stage. She owned the night.

It made him all kinds of happy to know he would have her all to himself later tonight, as soon as he could spirit her away from this place. As a moving Opera started in the brightened hall, Rafel ordered his system to purchase gifts from the Institute's domiciled [Arcane Shop] for the two actors that had made his night.

"Peitho?"

[Ding!]

[Yes, my Lord Host. You summoned me.]

"Yes," replied Rafel, "I did. Purchase two of the newest carriages from the forge at Endersails. And I want the best pairs of drawing horses too. These rides are to be delivered at the rooster's crow tomorrow to both Percival and Naamah. No more walking to classes for them.

Oh, and while you're at it, get them gifts of a million each to their dorms. Make it something personal."

[Does Host Apollyon have any suggestions?]

Rafel closed his eyes. "Sadly, no. I'm not too versed on the proffering of presents. But I want it to matter. Make it matter, please. Thank you."

[Host does not need to offer gratitude. System is here to serve.]

Rafel still said, "thank you, Peitho."

He didn't see her smile. But he felt it.

"Are you done?" Rafel felt a warm hand brush his arm and opened his closed eyes. Cora stood above him on his booth couch. He was surrounded on all sides by the other girls too. He met their pretty eyes, all of them, each varied and special. Cora didn't take off her hand as she went on, telling him of their reluctance to disturb his solemnity. "We saw you sit down and go quiet.

Ravenna told us you had to be talking to your system. We didn't want to disturb you. Are you finished, Your Eminence?"

Ravenna added. "We can wait if you need more time. Aya hasn't come yet so..."

"No. It's alright." Rafel told the girls. "I'm fine. I'll just be a minute. I would like to listen till the end of this singing opera. You girls on to the carriage, order yourselves some late snack.

Corazón has the lock on my gold. Order anything you want. Wait in the driveway. I'll be there shortly. Let me try to wrangle my fair succubus from the hands of this circling scry."

He nodded an adamant head to the boys filing backstage. The fan boys.

The girls laughed.

"Okay." Ravenna blushed.

"Don't be long." Cora gleaned him suggestively.

"We'll be waiting," Rosa finished.

Brunhilda passed him a shy nod.

"I'm sorry, are you girls flirting with me?" Rafel feigned ignorance.

"Oh come now, Apollyon! You know we are. See you in a bit." Ravenna offered at him for all of them. He smiled and watched the four hottest women he'd ever seen push back the drapes of the booth and vanish down the gallery stairs with the cool seduction of long legs under swishing skirts.

Rafel closed his amber eyes again and resumed his listening to the Opera.

It would be a wonderful addition to the growing collection in his [Gladorium].

However, on the way out of the theater, Ravenna stopped the other girls by a corner kiosk setup under a vibrant colonnade. "Sorry guys. I need to pee. Hold my bag?" She offered Cora her purse. "I'll be quick. I promise."

"No worries, love." Corazón eased her. "We need to get biscuits anyway."

"Oh thank fuck. I'm fucking hungry." Rosa rubbed her belly.

Ravenna ran off, leaving them in the passage of the crowd who had come to watch the Play filtering out of the theater's door. Cora, Rosa, and Bruna stepped aside to let the people wade by. The three of them moved to the mounted kiosk, and under the fluorescent neon lamplights, they ordered cream chops, a bottle of mermaid blood for when Rafel came, and vegan fries for Brunhilda.

On second thought Cora ordered the spiced grilled steak for Aya. Succubi could be quite ravenous, she heard.

Meanwhile, Ravenna had just stepped into a stall in the empty females restroom of the theater block. She hiked up her skirts and dropped her panties. For no reason, an image of Israfel shirtless and ripped as fuck entered her head. She rather focused on the trickling of her own micturition. She was cleaning herself up when she heard a noise just outside her door.

Thinking it was another girl in urgent need of a toilet bowl, she ignored it.

She heard it again.

KRR! KRR!

It sounded like scratching.

Now Ravenna had seen a lot. She was not easily scared. Then again, seeing as her life had turned out—with a murdering god of a father and herself head over heels in love with a demon, you'd be crazy not to be scared in her world. A little bit of fear was never too far away. Calmly, not to draw sound to the blade, Ravenna fetched from the strap on her thigh a cold dagger.

A gift from her demon love.

She gripped the hilt tight, held it high and pulled the stall's plastic door.

Her hold on the dagger instantly weakened as a brilliant shine dazzled her. The light was in her face. Bright. Too bright. But she made out a figure in it.

After about two seconds, her pupils thinned to accept the rays and her sight focused. She saw through the luminant beams to the figure. It was a he. And he was a [Brass Saint].

The twin wings of white gold on his back flapped as he floated in the air.

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KRR! KRR! FLAP! KRR!

Oh! She looked up. It was the sound of his fluffy opal feathers scraping the bathroom's ceiling that had made the cracking noise. This bright man was shirtless; he wore only a. . .loincloth?

She guessed. But he was well built. Like a Labrador. Muscular. Broad. Not the sleek panther build of Israfel.

Not her type.

He was a gorgeous male. All Angels were.

By the flapping wings, anyone could guess this visitor's divine species. But not anyone could know he was of the lowest tier in Angelology. Ravenna did. This man was a Virtue. She knew by the two stars floating in his [Halo Ring].

Ravenna dropped her eyes. And her dagger hand.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Hello, beautiful." He offered her the most asshole smile ever invented. A real smug one. There was a fine line between confidence in one's own looks and plain narcissism. He said, "I am Aariel. Your mother sent me."

'Ugh! Definitely not my type.' Ravenna concluded.

But. . . Her mother?

She was suddenly interested. Far across the main corridor of the bathrooms floor, in the distant high booth of the theater, Rafel's wicked yellow eyes sparked open. Flames engulfed his pupils. Fangs exploded into his mouth. The soulful opera fell into the background. Shadows swarmed his dark self.

He growled in the umbras. "Hmm. I smell Angel."