[b][u][center]The Contesting Powers of Desire
Part 1
By Draconicon[/center][/u][/b]








The summoning spell opened at his feet, and Shadolm fell through with a bored sigh. The familiar feeling of his High Mare’s magic surrounded the demonic stallion, and he suppressed a bored sigh as he let the light of mortal power twist through the contract between them. 

There were few reasons for him to be summoned, and all but one of them were often tedious. What would it be today, he wondered? A call to bring another cult member into the herd? Another chance for him to seed one of the mares and give them the chance at a half-demon child? The possibility of aiding them in growing the crops that their little commune sold to the city around them?

They were not unpleasant tasks, not at all, but as the rainbow of light swirled about him, calling him through the barriers between Desiderium and the mortal plane, he felt that he had better uses of his time elsewhere. He might have to have a chat with Alicja about the proper times to summon him, and find a way to communicate that involved greater warning about his trips from one world to another. 

The light shifted, going from rainbow to black and red with sparkles of gold through it. Shadolm rolled his head from side to side, putting on his usual benevolent smile that he favored his herd with, and allowed the incorporation to continue. 

As the light faded, replaced with the great indoor greenhouses that formed the majority of the cult territory in the mortal plane, he lowered his head to the mare that he knew would be there to greet him. He looked for the gray silhouette, the older roundness, the softness of face that was Alicja’s stock in trade and found it. His body continued to shimmer into existence, becoming more than shadow, more than flame, but flesh and fur and muscle. He loomed over the dozens of shapes before him, nearly nine feet tall, and his High Mare was barely six-foot-seven, the tallest of them. The rest were shorter, and cricked their neck to look up at him. 

And yet, as he took shape and form, he knew something was wrong. 

As was custom, the cult was unclothed. They wore nothing within the walls of the commune and the greenhouses, embracing themselves as they wished and taking joy in the form that he had granted them. They had no shame, only a gentle joy that occasionally lifted itself into something greater. But now, there was none. There was no smile, no chuckle, no sudden ribbing of one eager horse to another. There was none of the joy that was part of being a member of the herd. It was gone. 

No. 

It was stolen. 

He turned back to Alicja. She bore no smile, but rather tears, glistening at the corners of her eyes as she struggled to keep herself together. The shivers in her shoulders were not the trembles of tiredness after a long run, but the barely-contained rage and pain of something that had gone horrendously wrong. 

Shadolm reached out and pulled her to his chest. He embraced her, and she embraced him in turn, arms wrapped tight around his middle. 

“What happened?” he asked, and his voice echoed like thunder through the house, like the roar of hooves on the plains as a herd readied its charge. 

“Hunters,” the older mare hiccuped against his chest. “Another demon…sent a hunter after us.”

“When?”

“An hour ago. Maybe two.”

Not that long, then. Yet, the thought of a hunter daring to come after [i]his[/i] herd…

And another demon, at that. The very idea smacked of stupidity. There were few that would dare to threaten his mortals, his herd. They could not help but know that Alicja and the others belonged to him, and yet, they chose to strike anyway? Smelling his scent upon them, knowing that they were marked by his power – 

He squeezed the mare tighter, all but crushing her against him. In that embrace, he took from her what he could. The pain, the tears, the fear: he held her, and as if she were his daughter, his spawn, he crushed them from her and took them into his own being. 

When he released her, she was no longer shaking, but the tiredness was writ large cross her face. She shook her head, tottering back and forth on her hooves, and he looked at the rest of his herd. 

Most had assembled, perhaps forty-five of them. Some were missing, but he could feel them, their souls glittering across the city of the 12 Powers. They were at home, resting. They were at work, doing their second job. They were – 

One was missing. Another two were injured. Shadolm’s eyes narrowed as he felt for the missing one again, only to find the light of that soul hidden from him. 

“Take me to the ones who were hurt,” Shadolm said. 

Alicja nodded, and the mare fell in step beside him as they walked down one of the paths of the greenhouse. The rest of the herd slipped away, and he could feel the tension in the air as they struggled to find a distraction from what had happened to them. It felt as if he had gone back in time, to the days when there were only feral stallions and mares walking the plains and forests, for the stench of lingering terror in the air was no different. As if a great predator had come in and taken one of their own and broken the myth of the herd’s invincibility, ruining the innocence of their prance and prey. 

It did not please him. 

Alicja was silent, at first, but as they walked, she found her voice. She kept her head down, shaking it from side to side, and her tail hung limp behind her. 

“I should have listened to him.”

“One of them knew it was coming?” Shadolm asked. 

“Jowan –”

“My little explorer?”

Alicja nodded. He remembered the Arabian stallion. The young male had once been a mouse, but an adventurous mouse he had most surely been. Even before his transformation as part of the herd, Jowan had been in and out of many messes, always looking for something interesting, something intriguing, something that would keep his attention for more than a few seconds at a time. 

He was happy. 

He was silly.

He was the embodiment of what a colt should be, even as an adult. 

“What did he tell you?” Shadolm asked. 

“Not much. He was…excited, Master. You know…”

“…”

“I am sorry. I…I dismissed what he had to say. I thought that he was…just telling stories, like colts do.”

“He is grown, Alicja. You must listen, if you wish to be High Mare.”

“I know.”

“This time, you must learn.”

“I know, Master. I know…I know…”

She would punish herself sufficiently, he knew. The very fact that she refused to call him ‘father’ said it all, as far as he was concerned. She did not feel herself his daughter, did not feel herself family in the herd. She likely felt that she had betrayed it, for her soul flickered and dimmed and hid itself from him, inasmuch as it was able to. 

It was a sad state of affairs. He hoped that they would never find themselves here again. 

They left the greenhouse and crossed the small commune. Eight greenhouses had been built over the time that the herd-cult had been present in the city, and he had been there for each, aiding in the blessing of the ground and the seeds each time. They formed a row on the east side of the low-walled commune, with the dwelling stables of the various herd members on the west side. A great grassy yard filled the center, giving space for all those within the cult to play and take joy in each other. 

And on the north side lay the sick yard. He turned toward it, the gold plate hanging from his shoulders rising and falling against his chest. Alicja sped up to keep pace with him, and the other members of the cult watched. 

He could feel the judgment in their eyes, and it was not limited for the mare at his side. The herd had been injured, and they blamed both their leader for not preventing it, and they blamed him for ‘allowing’ it. 

Shadolm did not blame them. He blamed himself. 

The sick yard was an open space covered by a pavilion tent, allowing what fresh air they could get to spread through the beds and give those that were recovering a breeze. Thankfully, there were but two injured: a mare of golden hue and black mane that was completely unconscious, and Jowan, an Arabian stallion with a trimmed mane that was most awake, indeed. 

“Father!”

His voice, at least, was happy, despite the clear injury to his arm and shoulder. Long strips of cloth had been wrapped around the injuries, but up close, Shadolm could feel them, too. Long stripes of red bloomed beneath them, marks of claw and tooth that had sunk deep and left their imprint.

[i]Wolves,[/i] he thought, sitting down by the propped-up cot-bed that Jowan had been given. [i]There are wolves about.[/i]

“Father, you came to see me? I’m honored!”

“You’re my colt; how could I not?”

He could feel the little shimmer of Alicja’s soul turning away again. The guilt and shame had her in a deathly grip, and he shook his head as he got comfortable by the stallion. The shine of happiness from him, at least, hadn’t been completely taken away, and Shadolm could feel no ill will toward the High Mare. Here, at least, there was no blame but what she gave herself. 

“It seems you poked your nose where it didn’t belong,” Shadolm teased. “A colt that gets too curious can’t entirely blame others, hmm?”

“Oh, I [i]really[/i] made them work for it, though,” Jowan said, struggling to sit up a bit higher, flopping about as he did. “I – mmmph!”

“Easy,” Shadolm said, a little of the demonic voice slipping through in his tones and stilling the stallion in his tracks. “You are injured; let’s not make that worse before I fix it.”

“We tried,” Alicja said. “It’s…stronger than we’re used to.”

“I can see that…”

He could see much more than that, as a matter of fact. Another demon had blessed Jowan’s attacker with great strength and strong teeth. His herd had been blessed with his protection long ago as part of their induction and transformation, giving them stronger skin and harder muscles. The fact that Jowan had been hurt at all told him that they weren’t dealing with a simple Dealer or Keeper. This one was more powerful than that. 

Looking over his shoulder, he gave the High Mare a small nod. She bowed her head and walked away, her hips swaying ever so slightly in the process. It wasn’t a tease, but merely a mark of what she was. Shadolm nevertheless stared for a moment before looking away, chuckling to himself. 

“I am what I am,” he muttered, then turned to Jowan once more. “And you are entirely too curious.”

“I can’t help it. I have to [i]see[/i] things.”

“And then run from them, half the time.”

“Well, sometimes.”

“What did you see, Jowan?”

“I saw…wolves.”

“More than one, then?”

“Mmm-hmm,” the Arabian stallion said, folding his healthy arm over the injured one as he got comfortable once more. “At least a dozen.”

“A pack, then?”

“Yes, father. A pack. A very hungry pack.”

“And did they all come here, when you were hurt?”

Jowan shook his head. 

“Hmm…”

“Me and Samantha weren’t the only ones hurt, though.”

“There is another, yes. Athol.” 

That was the name of the missing soul. He had been running through the list, thinking of the contracts and comparing who he had to those that were still visible to him. All the names but that one were accounted for. 

“Was he killed?”

“No, just…taken,” Jowan said, shaking his head. “I…I tried to stop them when they came creeping in, but –”

“Hush.”

Shadolm rested his hand over Jowan’s face, covering his eyes. He could feel the hint of tears just under them, tears born of a pain in the soul rather than one of the body. Shaking his head, he gently pulled his hand up, drying the tears from the boy’s eyes before they could spill free. 

“You are not to blame for this. And you will not be blamed, by anyone. Not even yourself.”

“…I just…”

“Do you know where they came from?”

“I wish. Alicja already asked me. After the attack.”

“How long before the attack did you tell her about them?”

“Two days.”

Two days. Two days in which they could have done something. Two days in which she could have called him and mentioned something [i]interesting[/i] instead of just leaving it be. Knowing his High Mare, he knew what she’d done; she seen it as the excitement of a young man, of a little colt, rather than the words of a ‘sensible mare.’ 

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. It wasn’t the first time that this had happened, though it was the most egregious. Alicja had always been more inclined to believe the mares of the herd than the stallions, seeing them as too excitable, too eager to run off and have fun rather than take things seriously. In many ways, it was common to mares; they were the opposite of the ‘flighty’ female image that the other species seemed to have of their women. They were steady, staid, less inclined to do anything but listen to the logic of the heart. 

Alicja was one of the worst for that. He kept her as High Mare for her protectiveness and her sense of stability, but if this continued, they would have to have a long, heavy talk about the whole thing. She had to learn, or she had to be replaced. 

“Father?”

“Yes?” Shadolm said, cocking his head to the side. 

“Can I…”

“Of course.”

He leaned down and embraced his colt, pulling him tight. So close to the young man, he could feel the pains in his shoulder, his arms, and the fires of agony that still burned in his muscles. And as a good father should, he took it from him. 

Demonic fire rushed down his arms and into Jowan’s body. It seared as it went, more than warmth and heat, but a fire of need, of want, of requirement. The need to heal, the need to be strong, the need to rise above it all and keep running. It was the power of equine-kind, to never stop, to always push, to always play, and to have the strength to do it. 

And in the power of his fire, in the heat of that desire, the healing could take place. He held his colt to his chest, letting the fire pass from him to the young man, and he could feel the hunter’s flame be overcome in his. One became fuel for the other, and it sped the healing through Jowan’s body. His colt huffed, shivering against him, and he held the young man that much tighter. 

He smiled as he felt the ease in his colt’s soul, slowly letting him go and lie down once more. The bandages were no longer required, but he didn’t feel the need to remove them. Shadolm turned to one of the other herd-members keeping an eye on Samantha. 

“Keep this one in bed for another day.”

“But –”

“Hush,” he said again, tapping Jowan’s lips. “You may be stronger, but you aren’t ready to run again. Not yet.”

“…But what about Athol?”

“I will see to that. And I will see to it that nothing hurts you, or the rest of my family, ever again.”

He leaned down, kissing the boy’s forehead, and let the flames of Desiderium take him away. 

#

He emerged in the center of the herd of demons that were in service to him. There was no great manor, no spire that housed him in Desiderium. He needed none, for his lands were the Great Yellow-Stalk Plains, and to build upon it was to invite the ruin of whatever one constructed. The Plains were alive and constantly moving, and only those who could fly or run with them could keep up with the ebb and flow of that great sea of plants. 

Shadolm took a deep breath and held it in his chest. It surged, burning with the fires of Desiderium, melding with the desire that had formed him – as all demons were formed of desire – before letting it loose. It came free in a rush of red and yellow, spiraling, twisting, sparkling before his eyes before fading away again. He tasted what made him: Fatherhood, Protection, the Ever-Running Excitement of Exploration. 

It was time to be a father, first. He would give the other demon one chance. 

“To me,” Shadolm called. 

One of the Doli – little imps of green and silver, made of half-formed daydreams and whims rather than the intense desires of true demons – appeared as if turning sideways from a shadow. It fluttered up, no more than a third of Shadolm’s height, and bowed as it jerked about on tiny wings sticking out of its back. 

“Yes, master? How may we serve?”

“There is a new demon somewhere nearby. A wolf, perhaps, but most certainly a hunter. Find him, and tell me where he makes his lair.”

“How strong, Master?”

“A Hoarder, probably. At least a Keeper.”

The Doli paled, its silver markings pulsing faster as if its nonexistent heart was racing. Shadolm looked it in the eye before it could flee. 

“You will take three swarms, and find him.”

“Y-yes, Master.”

“And you will survive, and tell me where he is.”

“Yes, Master! Yes, yes, Master!”

To tell a Doli to survive was to give it a desire that it could not have naturally. They swarmed, not out of social need, but because they collected and collated around ever-shifting dreams, never lasting long, always fading and becoming and fading again. Dolis were meager things, powerful in their numbers and little else, but to be given the order to survive would grant one – not a swarm, but one – a chance to become something more. 

If it lived, if it returned, perhaps it could become a Driver, or perhaps one day, a Dealer. He chuckled; it felt doubtful to him.

And yet, as the Doli took to the skies with the swarms of Brunch-Time Snack, A Good Nap, and KILL THE SPIDER NOW, he believed that they would find the intruder. There were only a few places that such a creature could hide, particularly if it was hunting his people deliberately. 

In the center of a cluster of small tents that stretched over the sleepers and did not touch the ground, surrounded by the waving stalks of yellow topped with the red dream-flame of the endless daydreams of mortals, Shadolm closed his eyes and let himself drift. He let himself forget, for a moment, that he was one of the Collectors of Desiderium, that he had the souls of dozens of mortals in his care, and that he had a new enemy that promised to make life worse for him if he did not find them. He forgot that, and let himself remember the pleasure, the warmth, and the endless thudding joy of running wild. 

He opened his eyes again, casting them about the great Plains. He saw in the distance the great borders of his realm: the Soul-Torn Mountains to the north and east, the Forest of the Poisoned Dream to the west, and far to the south, the great city of Desiderius, whose spires reached up like endless, monstrous fingers toward the skies. 

His plains were just one piece of Desiderium, sweeping up along the curved world in their endless reach for the mortal plane. He stared at the great places in the distance, and in that moment, felt almost content with his place. The Great Yellow-Stalk Plains were endlessly shifting, always changing their borders, moving to and fro and driving him and his herd to explore it. Soon, they would have to run again, and he would run at their head, calling them to follow with whinny and neighs, and they would chase at his tail. 

Soon. 

Soon. 

#

It was a sleep before the Dolis returned, shredded and pained. Of the three swarms that had gone searching, only A Good Nap returned, and of them, only the Doli that he had told to survive. 

A Hoarder, indeed. A Keeper would have been too weak to stand up to more than two hoards of Dolis, and if that was the case, the survivor would have brought him the demon’s body. Shadolm did not slow his walk, but he did turn to the fluttering creature as it slowed at his side. 

“We found him, Master. We…I…I can tell you…where he is.”

“Then do so.”

“He is…he makes his lair in the Soul-Torn Mountains.”

“Which peak?”

“Not at any peak, but at the base. The great wolf climbs the slopes every day, seeking what he may find, and roams the plains where he can. We saw him leaving and returning, riding the magic of mortals, and then returning to seek more…”

“Where?” Shadolm repeated. 

“At the base of Mount Cubicle, Master, he makes his lair. In the bones of fallen memos and dreams sacrificed, he lives.”

“Good…Now go. Rest.”

Shadolm blessed the Doli with a touch to its head, and turned his eyes to the great mountains. The Soul-Torn Mountains stretched nearly half as high as the spires of Desiderius, but that was high enough to rend the souls of those that came too near to their jagged tips. He gazed upon them, and took a single step. 

He emerged at the base of Mount Cubicle, the mountain blocky and limp, as if it might fall in itself at any moment. The soft, endless ticking that meant nothing filled the ears as soon as one set foot on the mountain slope, as if time was ever moving and never progressing. The slopes themselves looked as if they would fold at the slightest touch, as if even a Doli could crush the mountain with a single step, but he knew better. This was a prison-mountain, sapping will and desire from all that set foot on it, and only those with powerful dreams and ambitions could escape it. 

Shadolm stood with one foot on a rock and the other on the dirt path leading to a cave in the side of the mountain. Red eyes stared out at him, and he tilted his head back. 

“You have fed on my son. You know me.”

“Yes, I know you,” the wolf of the cave said. “Shadolm, the great Collector. The stallion that charges across the world. The herd-father. The great patriarch.”

“And yet, you challenge that power.”

“I must challenge everything,” the wolf growled. 

“Must you? Name yourself; you know me, but I know only what you have done. Speak your name.”

“Do you compel me?”

“If I must.”

The standoff continued between them. Shadolm kept one hand low, his power coiled tight in his arm for any attack, and the mountain trembled as his magic and the wolf’s wove and warped the air between them. The rocks and gravel rolled about until the wolf chuffed and the pressure eased. 

“I need no compulsion. I am proud of my name. I am Segun, the Hoarder of Hunts and Challenges. My pack stands with me, and I with them.”

“Segun. I will remember that name.” 

He took a step forward. His fires ran down his arm, the beginning of a spear taking shape in his hand. Shadolm stopped at the mouth of the cave as the opening grew, spreading wider before him, like a mouth waiting to swallow him up. As he held out his hand, the spear took its full form, tipping itself with a great black point of shimmering obsidian, and he held it sideways, as if to spite the cave itself. 

“I will give you one warning, as herd-master to pack-leader. End your challenge. Leave my people. If you do not, I promise I will show your followers all the suffering they have shown mine.”

“You know my name, Shadolm. You know who I am, of what I am born. I cannot stop, no more than you can.”

The black stallion stared down at the red eyes staring out at him, wishing he could hear a lie in those words. No demon, no matter how powerful, could resist the desire that birthed them for long. They were made of it, enslaved to it. Everything they did, everything they wanted, was tied to that hunger, that urgency, and they could no sooner ignore it than they could throw themselves off the cliff of existence. 

He held his spear forth regardless. 

“Seek another challenge,” he said. “Seek something more suitable for you.”

“I cannot.”

“You would have your pack die?”

“I would not.”

“And yet –”

“If I were to say ‘find another family,’ could you? Would you?”

“…”

“I am born to challenge anything stronger than me. I am the fight that cannot stop. I cannot be something that I am not, Shadolm.”

“…Then neither can I.”

“Will we fight then? Here and now, in my den?”

“No; my fight is with your people, not with you. I will not see you dead and your pack without a father.”

“Heh, no blood of mine, but our bond is stronger for it.”

“Then think of them. Think hard. Because if I must defend my people, you will find something terrible waiting. It will be no maiden’s shield, no mother’s rage. It will be all the love of their father, all the strength of their protector focused down to the finest point. There is no fang so sharp, nor claws so fierce, as what you will face in me.”

Segun did not answer. Shadolm slowly lowered his weapon, letting it fade into him once more, and stepped away. The mountain tried to hold him, but it had tried many times before; he knew how to escape its grasp, and he left it in silence. 

#

“…He will not learn,” Shadolm said that night, leaning back on the bed of one of his followers as the stallion nuzzled under his arm and stroked his chest. “He will not learn, nor can he.”

“You will destroy him, father. As you destroy anything that threatens us,” his lover of the night whispered in his ear. “As you destroyed me, just a few minutes ago, heh.”

“Hush, you silly thing.”

Yet, he still stared at the sky, his height too great to be hidden easily under the tents of his followers. He sighed, one hand behind his head as he stretched, pointing his toes and rolling his head from side to side. 

He knew Segun, now. The wolf was not wrong; as demons, they were as enslaved to their desires as those with pacts were enslaved to them. Worse, for the mortals could, at least, do as they wished until they were called upon to follow the orders of the demon they served. A demon felt their desire constantly. It was there, in their bones, in their hearts, as present as the blood in their veins and the air in their lungs, and as loud as their need to survive. They could no more ignore it than they could stop existing, and both would be nearly as final. 

[i]He will be unable to resist,[/i] he thought, stroking down the spine of the slight, white-furred stallion in his arms. [i]He will come again, testing me, and his followers will think it an easy hunt. And then they will face me.[/i]

And when he came, they would find the world a Hell to match what the churches imagined Desiderium to be. That would call Segun up to fight for them, and at that point…

Shadolm did not know what would happen. He would win – he had no doubt of that – but he had no wish to obliterate the other demon. He wished only to see the fighting stop, to protect his colts and fillies, but there was no way to do that without a war. 

And that war would soon come. 

“Father?” 

“Hmm?”

“You are quiet.”

“I have a lot to think about.”

“Will you be gone again tomorrow?” 

“…I don’t know. Certainly within the week.”

“We miss you when you’re gone. We can’t run as fast without you to lead us.”

“But run you will, and I will catch up when I can,” Shadolm said with a small smile, turning to face the other horse. “Because you will never run so far that I cannot find you again, nor race so fast that I cannot catch up with you again.”

“Mmmm…”

“For you are precious to me,” he said, leaning down and kissing the other male on the neck. “You have always been precious to me, since the day you were spawned.”

“Mmmph, you say that to all the herd.”

“Because it is true for all of you,” he said, slowly rolling over, gently lifting the white-furred stallion’s legs up and out of the way and settling himself between them. “All of you, every single horse – here and in the other worlds – are part of my beautiful herd. Every one of you makes me smile. And I will keep you, protect you, and care for you, for so long as I breathe.”

“Mmm…Father…”

“For I am herdmaster…and you are my herd.”

He leaned down, kissing his lover, and the stallion leaned up to kiss him in turn. He slid forward, the ease of their previous session making it simplicity itself to enter the smaller male, and their kisses turned to moans and grunts in short order. Shadolm’s heart eased; for now, at least, he could enjoy the other duties of a stallion, and remind his herd just how wonderful they were. 








[b][u][center]The End[/center][/u][/b]

Summary: The beginning of a squabble between a pair of demons and their cults. 

Tags: M/M, Shadolm, Horse, Female Nudity, Male Nudity, Cult, Docetri, Demon, Demon Summoning, Magic, Cuddling, Lore, Threats, Horse, Wolf, Series,