"No," Zal said, and clicked his fangs in annoyance, "It is from the 8th  Field of the Undreamt that Hade took his familiars,  Salazar of Kaneth was the one who took them from my court.”

The student nodded but did not look up from the book she had spread across her legs, nor from the notes she was scribbling on its margins. She sat just a few feet away from the summoning circle, cross legged on a velvet cushion, chin on her chest as she wrote.  He couldn't see her face past her hood, but he could see the glint of spectacles wherever the light of the hearth hit her face just right. 

“And which members of your court did he take?” She asked, still not looking at him, her voice a monotone.  

They all did this, something about showing no fear and maintaining control. It wasn't enough to be using him as some sort of infernal reference text, no, they had to try and dominate him in some petty fashion. He sighed, a chittering rush of hot air, and was about to speak when he noticed something. At his feet was the summoning circle, a complex mesh of sigils, circles and lines, separated into several clusters which branched from a central glyph. These clusters had meaning to them beyond the simple act of a summoning; they specified who to summon, from where, and a large number of conditional actions, most related to keeping him contained. It was a fairly complex design, but a well known one that the apprentice no doubt copied out of one of her books. But she made a mistake. 

There, in the cluster creating the barrier at the edge of the circle, she had connected two sigils incorrectly. Normally, if he tried to break the barrier, the entire circle would shut down and banish him back to his plane, but this circle was such that if he struggled, only the barrier would be shut down. It was as simple as one line out of place. 

Zal smiled, his yellowed fangs gleamed and the fire in his emerald eyes burned painfully bright. 

“Which members of your court did he take?” The girl asked again, more forceful this time. 

“You've made a mistake here.” Zal said, speaking not in his tongue, but in the tongue of man.

The apprentice's head jerked up, her hood slipping off, and she stared at Zal, green eyes filled with confusion. Short red hair glowed almost golden in the firelight and pale freckled skin stood out in sharp contrast to the dark purple of her robe. Her mouth was open but she didn't speak. 

“Yes.” Zal said, his tone as friendly as the insect chirp and steam hiss of his voice would allow, “Right there, on the 4th cluster. You connected that section incorrectly.”

And as he said this, he raised one talon and pressed it against the iridescent barrier of the circle. And the barrier burst like a soap bubble. 

“See?” he growled, teeth bared. 

For a moment they simply stood and stared at one another, eyes locked. The apprentice moved, trying to stand, the book falling from her lap as she did. Zal pounced forward, six arms unfurling, and snatched her up. He caught her by the wrists and pushed through piled papers and upended a table before pinning her to the wall.  Another hand clamped itself over her mouth and muffled her screams as he tore open her cloak. Beneath it was a white button up shirt. He tore it open, buttons bursting off, and exposed the pale flesh of her chest. Her breasts, framed by torn  fabric, heaved and swayed as she struggled. Zal slipped his hand from her  mouth and caught her throat, squeezing and lifting her off her feet.  She gasped, feet kicking, her voice a panicked, breathless squeal. 
“Stay still.” Zal hissed, his face level with hers, “Or I'll squeeze your head from your neck.”

Her face reddened and her eyes screwed shut, tears running from them. Her body went limp in his hands and her strangled cries stopped.  He lowered her feet back to the ground but kept her pinned as he reached down to her chest and placed a talon on her sternum. With practiced ease he cut into the flesh, carving a shallow, thin gash into the pale skin. The apprentice whimpered and shook, he could feel tears running onto the hand holding her throat. It took him only a few seconds to finish the sigil, and then he placed his palm against the wound and infused it with his power. The cuts cauterized and scarred almost instantly. 

He released her and she fell to her knees, gasping and wrapping her arms around her chest to cover herself. 

“I've branded you with my sigil. You are bound to me and any fate I should endure will be shared by you as well. Banish me and you shall find yourself banished as well. And my court is far less hospitable then this world, I can assure you of that.”

Her reply was a series of gasping coughs. 

Zal tired of looking down at the pitiful creature he had claimed and instead looked about the room, waiting for her to regain some level of composure. It was typical of this kind of human; a cramped cell, a single room of stone with a thin window and low bed. The walls were lined with shelves of books, leather bound slabs of yellowed velum and parchment far too large for comfortable use. Paper, formally stacked but scattered during the struggle, coated the ground like fallen leaves and a bottle of ink was busily emptying itself onto the floor near the overturned desk. The hearth, a tiny square of flame set into the corner of the outer wall, near the window and the bed, filled the room with a smell of smoke that mingled with the odors of mildew, old parchment, and dust. It reminded Zal of the smell of burning libraries, of mage towers set alight. He remembered those days fondly; green blue flame pouring from the shattered windows of ivory spires, tongues of fire licking greedily at the night sky and the smoke wreathed moon. 

Zal dragged himself back from his memories and looked down at the apprentice. She was still on her knees, one hand holding her robe shut and the other steadying herself. She was looking at him, and he couldn't decipher the emotion. He knew fear, he knew hate, but this is something in between and yet something different entirely. He kept his eyes on her, points of emerald fire within dark eye sockets, and stared back. 

“What do you want?” She asked, finally, the question bursting forth like an accusation. 

“Your kind has long made vassals of my kind, bound us to labor as you saw fit. I think it is time I made vassals of your kind instead.” 

The apprentice smiled, bitterly, “You think you can best my masters? My fellows? You may take me  but you will not have them. Soon you will be back in the pit from which I summoned you.”

“And you with me.” Zal finished, “If all else fails, I will settle for that. You will just have to shoulder their share of suffering instead.”

The apprentice's defiant face held true, but he could see the fear and the hopelessness begin to swell behind her eyes. He had missed that look. He stepped over a spilled pile of paper and over to the apprentice, catching her by the collar with one hand and dragging her up onto her feet. 

“What is your name?” He asked, his voice taking on an odd, multi-tonal resonance as he did. 

“Rosalind” the apprentice replied, mechanically, her face momentarily blank. She seemed to shutter back into consciousness a moment later, horrified.

“You see, I can force compliance from my vassals if I desire.” he said, staring into her eyes as he did. She shrunk back, trying to turn away from him, and held her chest. “Or I may visit pain upon them. Either is within my power.” 

He released his hold on her and she backed away and into the nearest corner of the room. 

“You will do as I say, Rosalind. Do it promptly and who can say, I may even take a liking to you. Refuse and I will still get my way, but it will be much worse for you in the end. Do we have an understanding?”

Rosalind hid her face against the wall, turning away. 

“Speak when you are spoken to, girl.”

She did not face him, but he heard a muffled, “Yes” squeeze through tightly clenched teeth. 

“Good. Now, face me Rosalind.” 

She did, clutching her robe around her like a shield, eyes firmly on the ground. 

“What do you know of me? If you called me here, surely you must know who I am.”

There was a long silence before she spoke. 

“You are Zal-eleth Kalmoeral Dal, King of the Golden Court and  familiar of Salazar of Kaneth, The World Burner.” 

“Ah, you got that right this time. But your kind gave me many names in honor of my deeds. Tell me, what are the ones you know?”

“Hound of Salazar”

Zal grunted, amused. “He made a name for himself I see. Go on.”

“Zal of Burnt Ivory. The Eater of Ink. The-”

“You know which one I am looking for, Rosalind. Do not try my patience.”

“...The Defiler” She said, unable to hide the quavering in her voice. 

“Indeed. That began as a request from Salazar you know. The act itself is rather banal, but I must admit, I grew to enjoy the effects.” He chuckled to himself, “Some even began to give themselves to me, to enjoy the act themselves. What mutable things humans are.” He shook his head, bringing his mind back to the present. “Now, if you know enough to know my name, you must know enough to guess what happens next. The only question is to what degree you cooperate. I consider myself quite good at handling you fragile creatures but in the heat of a struggle I might forget to hold back. And that might end quite poorly for you.”
Rosalind was still, her head bowed, her arms hugging her chest. She shivered, slightly, and he could hear what might be stiffed sobs. Zal stepped forward and grabbed her arms. He pulled them to the side and she didn't struggle. He pulled the cloak away and tore the rest of her shirt away before grabbing her by the wrists and lifting her into the air with one pair of hands, while another yanked her trousers off. He placed her back on the stone floor, naked and shivering, arms and hands weakly trying to cover herself. 

Her skin was pale from long hours without sun, and freckled across the shoulders, chest and cheeks.  She was somewhat plump, full breasts and hips, but still narrow waisted and petite. Her face was round, with soft features and large eyes, though they were tightly shut right now. Her hair was short, maybe shoulder length, messy and pulled back in a rough ponytail. Her glasses, large round things, sat crooked on her nose. He could not guess her age -he was unaccustomed to the nature of humans- but her crotch was hairless, something he remembered was a hallmark of youth. 

He pulled back the leathery wings which he kept wrapped around his body like a cloak and exposed himself.  He had grown this organ at Salazar's behest, and had expanded it till the very site of it had caused glints of fear or lust in the eyes of every woman he had shown it to. It swung, heavy and limp, between his vulture like legs. He waited for Rosalind to open her eyes and see it, waited to see her reaction. When it finally came, it was just as satisfying as he had hoped.  Her eyes went wide and she had sucked in a surprised breath, backing up involuntarily. He grinned widely, fangs bared, and let the organ swell to its full size. Before she could back up any more he caught her by the the shoulders and pulled her back to him, his many arms clamping down on wrists, hips, throat and ankles, pulling her into the air. He forced her limbs out straight, and then brought her legs up until her knees touched her chest. He lowered her pussy down onto the head of his cock and  let the swollen tip rub up and down the length of her crotch. 

She was looking back at him, wide eyes locked on his, a barely audible “Please no, please no, please no” escaping from her mouth. 

He pushed her down onto his dick, forcing it inside her. She screamed as best she could with a hand on her throat, and she struggled, kicking and trying to yank her hands free. He held her fast and pulled down on her arms. He savored the feeling of his organ sliding into the warm flesh of the girl, the tight hole twitching as it was forced to accept him into it. Her belly swelled and distended as he pulled her down to the root of his member, and she could do little at this point but scream, whimper and grab ragged breaths between her cries. The magic of that mark of his was subtle; her body would survive his trespass, but she would still feel the pain of it. 

He let her sit there for a moment, his full cock inside her. Her body shivered and twitched and he felt her pussy tighten and loosen, throbbing with her heartbeat. He gripped her hips and began to bounce her up and down on his member, yanking it halfway out and then slamming it back in. She tried to close her legs but he forced them open and fucked her harder. She went limp in his grasp, her head lulling back and her eyes losing focus. Her breath was nothing but gasps now, shallow breathes in the same rhythm as his thrusting. Suddenly she seemed to jerk back into life, struggling hard for a few moments before crying out and arching her back, her limbs going stiff, her toes curling. She came  with a spasm and then went limp again, sucking in deep breaths. Zal kept thrusting. He had forgotten how enjoyable this could be. Rosalind cried out raggedly as she came again, and he laughed.

“And now the proper order has been restored; the tool used by the master, and not the other way around.”

She didn't seem to hear him, and he didn't really care.

He finished with her a while later, pumping semen into her belly before tossing her limp body onto the bed. She did not move from where she landed, unconscious or somewhere near it. He looked down on her naked form and grinned. It had been far too long. Conquering the realms of demons could never compare to subjugating the wills of men. For now though, he would let her rest. He had important work to do. He wrapped his wings back around himself and moved to the nearest bookshelf. He had a great deal of history to catch up on; no doubt much had happened since the days of Salazar. There was a whole new world out there beyond these walls. A whole new world for him to burn.