The Claws of a God by Birdlovely

Svieta Nowak’s talons clicked against the floor, her black dress hovering just above the sandstone tiles. The vulture's thin face scanned the room, her mouth was expressionless— only her eyes betrayed any anxiety. That and her neck feathers, which were more ruffled than usual, something it was hard for non-vultures to notice.

The room was large, the distance from floor to ceiling almost 50 feet. The walls were ornate sandstone carved and painted with arabesque patterns that the eyes could follow for hours. Gas Lamps flickered across the walls illuminating tapestries hung high upon the ceiling. A large red carpet was rolled from the entrance to an elevated platform atop a staircase, making the entire room appear almost like a grand chapel. Windows flanked the sides of the room, outside of them and far below the chamber were the walls of the castle in which the room sat. Further beyond those walls sat small structures dotted across a wasteland of sand illuminated only by starlight. The castle was dedicated to the demoness who sat upon the throne of colorful pillows piled in the alcove at the end of the gigantic room, atop the unholy pulpit.

Her form dominated the chapel. She was a giant dragoness who walked on all fours, easily 20 feet tall and 70 long. Orange fur like that of weathered papyrus adorned her gigantic frame. Her stomach consisted of black scales, as did the pads of her feet. Her body was muscular, and she carried a significant portion of her weight on her hips. In place of her head was a long skull with sharp jagged teeth. The demon’s supple tail swung behind her, betraying her interest in the avian approaching her throne. Two white pinpricks in her dark eye sockets were locked on Svieta. Her gaze sent a chill through the vulture’s body.

Svieta fell to her knees in front of the demoness, kneeling before the steps to her plush throne. The fire of the gas lamps flickered across her face like reptilian tongues of flame. The demoness leaned forward ever so slightly. Svieta could feel the beast’s cool breath on her body. The chill permeated her being, mocking her mortality.

“Queen Matehalasan of the Lostal, hear my pleas,” Svieta said. Her voice was authoritative, but her tone was forced, she was uncomfortable and desperate and bad at hiding both.

“Speak your plea,” Matehalasan said. Her voice boomed throughout the room. It was deep, but had a feminine edge. She sounded pleased.

“Queen Matehalasan. I am Svieta Nowak. I came to the Lostal to plead for a deal. I am in the northern territories and have been captured. My conscious soul lies within a cell, starving and freezing to death. I beg of thee, assist me.” 

“And what are you to do for me?” Matehalasan asked.

“I come to you as I hear you are merciful. I wish to preserve my life. In return I grant you anything you desire, save my conscious soul,” Svieta said, lowering her head. She tightened her beak.

The dragon shifted in her seat, repositioning her chest to improve her posture. She squeezed a pillow with a hindclaw and tapped her fingers on another. She knew what she wanted, but making a show of thinking the deal over would improve her chances of getting it.

“What say you on forfeiting your unconscious soul?” Matehalasan said.
Svieta looked up. For a moment the formalities of conversing with a demon lordess left her mind and she raised a worried eyebrow. She craned her head up to see Matehalasan disappear in a cloud of orange dust, then appear in front of her throne in a shorter, upright plantigrade form. Her body was curvy and muscular, her gait tight and regal. Her hips swayed side to side as she walked closer to Svieta. Her stomach was toned, abs appearing as though they were chiseled from stone with biceps to match. She wore nothing, a sight which elicited a blush from Svieta.

“You will be well cared for,” Matehalasan continued, her voice softer after assuming her smaller size.

Svieta swallowed hard. It was almost audible. She was eye level with Matehalasan’s thick, muscular thighs. Black scales transitioned to fluffy yellow-orange fur between inner and outer thigh as they tapered to her powerful calves.

“Ah-Ah-And what are your intentions with my unconscious soul?” Svieta said.

“Personal service,” Matehalasan said so fast she almost interrupted the vulture.

A vague response. One that wouldn’t be much use for binding via a contract. Matehalasan was supposed to be a merciful demon when it came to those who were desperate. It didn’t seem that way to Svieta. Or perhaps the lady of Lostal simply had a different plan for her? Either way, she either had to accept the terms of the contract or die in that cell.

“These terms are acceptable. I ask of you to ensure I do not starve in that cell, and allow me to withstand the chill until I may return to safety.”

“I shall grant you these terms,” Matehalasan said. The demoness placed a chill hand onto Svieta’s cheek and stroked her short feathers. Svieta leaned into the affectionate rubs. 

“A-and I accept.”

Matehalasan’s pads were cold, but the affectionate contact sent a warm feeling through Svieta’s body. It was like drinking hot tea after a day working in the snow. Svieta relaxed her muscles and her shivering stopped.

Matehalasan coaxed Svieta into leaning against her chest. The vulture relented, her cheek pressing against Matehalasan’s chiseled abdomen. The demon’s breasts sat atop Svieta’s head, surrounding her in soft scales. Svieta could feel the definition of the demon’s abs through her cheek. Matehalasan’s scales were covered in a light layer of moisture, a mix of sweat and scented oil. Svieta took a deep breath through her nose and the spicy, fresh scent of cypress flooded her sinuses. Her lungs filled with the demon’s powerful scent, the vulture could feel her strength returning. Svieta let loose a whimper, and breathed out.

“Your highness I—” Svieta choked, “This is—”

“Shh,” Matehalasan shushed. Her tone was sharp. She relented her grip on Svieta, allowing the bird to lean backwards.

Svieta gazed up at Matehalasan, the woman’s skeletal visage reminded the vulture she was hugging an arch-demoness of death. Matehalasan tightened her jaw, appearing to almost smile at the fear behind Svieta’s eyes. She motioned for Svieta to rise, and the bird obliged. She now came neck-height to the dragoness.

“With your permission I shall generate the contract,” Svieta said.

“Permission granted.”

Svieta extended her talons in an ‘L’ shape and placed one above the other, then closed her eyes and traced them through the air. She was running incantations through her head at hundreds of words per second while generating a perfect mental facsimile of the contract, her handwriting, and the necessary inscriptions. As she did so, she brought her uppermost hand downwards, inching it towards the lower of the pair. Fire sprouted from her fingers, and a thin piece of paper appeared from the flames, like it was burning in reverse.

Matehalasan had her eyes closed, hands behind her back. She was also casting a spell, one to read and edit Svieta’s work. Appending missing inscriptions and fixing sloppy sigilwork was part of making deals with mortals; they were nowhere close to being as good at magic as demons. Phistolan bargaining was a delicate art. Even one mistake and the deal would fail to execute.

“You need more detail in your sigils,” Mathehalasan said. Svieta grunted, trying to focus. Her face scrunched.

“These are passable,” The demon continued, circling Svieta while continuing to scrutinize her work. “You are, for example, using Garnosan style sigils here.” Matehalasan wrapped her talons around Svieta’s head, tilting it toward an elliptical rune, WALJA, which generates the contract as all things inclusionary from Svieta’s perspective, meaning it would be written in terms of what Matehalasan couldn’t do to Svieta. “Your corner-strokes need to be more defined when using Garnosan style, like so.” Matehalasan finished, correcting Svieta’s mistake.

Svieta signaled an apology to Matehalasan mentally, which she accepted.

The contract was finished, a lightly growing scroll unfurled before Matehalasan. Sigils and script were burned into its surface. Despite the cluttered appearance, every inch of the scroll was composed with intention.

Matehalasan pinched the bottom of the scroll and pulled it closer to herself. It floated towards her as though it was suspended underwater. The dragoness had already read it, but was making a show for Svieta, who was watching her with baited breath. Matehalasan nodded, and a large sigil made of fire exploded from the scroll, then faded as fast as it emerged, leaving a dark burn across the center of the paper. She flipped the paper around.

Matehalasan’s sigil was sharp and detailed, it looked like a lopsided skull. Svieta took a deep breath. A gentle warble left her throat. Matehelasan smirked. Svieta’s throat tensed. She closed her eyes. Flame once again erupted from the scroll, but this time Svieta had burned her full name onto the unoccupied space in the bottom. A few seconds later, the scroll caught fire. This time it burned to a crisp, dropping to the floor and shriveling up in the heat.

Svieta flinched, then recoiled. A burning pain erupted from her gut and spread to her chest in tandem with a sibilant hiss. She smelled burning feathers, and craned her head downwards. She winced again, pulling her dress straps off and removing it to reveal her skinny stomach as Matehalasan’s sigil was being burned into her midsection. Damnnit. She forgot to specify where she wanted the brand. Whenever one performed a phistolan bargain, the demon would place their brand somewhere upon your body. In the contract you were supposed to specify you wanted a brand sans soma, or not on your body. While every deal brands the soul, this would require the demon to only brand your soul, not your body.

“Ah—! Fuck,” Svieta choked.

The bird winced as the pain faded. In its place were ruffled feathers that struggled to cover a burn wound that stretched across her stomach. The vulture ran her fingers along the wound, then recoiled, finding it still tender. Matehalasan knelt down, inspecting the wound. She reached out her claws and held Svieta steady. Her grip was strong, and her hands were large enough to go all the way around Svieta’s arms.

“Oh my, that looks beautiful on you!” Matehalasan said. She turned Svieta to the side to inspect the brand from an angle. The bird was still wincing, and the pain of being gyrated didn’t help. “Gods. Look at that.” The dragon cooed.

“W-why did you—?” Svieta choked. Every thought of formality and reverence escaped her brain.

“Because you’re mine,” Matehalasan responded with venom in her tone, “I thought you’d look prettier with my brand scarred into your stomach, so I put a scar on your stomach.”

Matehalasan pushed Svieta to the ground, then lifted a muscular leg and stamped her powerful footpad onto Svieta’s stomach, pinning her to the floor. The footfall landed directly on Svieta’s fresh wound, causing the vulture to cry out in pain. The pressure felt like sandpaper being rubbed across her gut. It sent a burning pain coursing through the bird’s body. Svieta shivered, her muscles involuntarily tensing. The strike had forced air out of the bird’s lungs, squeezing a sharp wheeze from her beak. Svieta’s legs kicked as one of her arms reached up to grab Matehalasan’s muscular leg.

But that was all it could do, grab meekly at the demoness’s leg as Matehalasan doled out all the punishment she wanted. Svieta tried to push but the leg wouldn’t move a millimeter, it was like a pillar of cement.

“S—stop—” Svieta whined. Her eyes gazed up at her demon overlord. Matehalasan’s oily body almost glowed from the light of the torches. Every inch of her perfectly chiseled body glistened like an angelic painting. Even her smile was perfect. She was dominant, authoritative, she was a goddess. Svieta blushed, and croaked out a whimper.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” Matehalasan spat. She leaned forwards, crushing Svieta’s stomach into the ground. The bird doubled over, grabbing Matehalasan’s leg with her other arm.

The burning got worse. It felt like Svieta’s entire stomach was going to pop. But at the same time, it was lovely. Matehalasan was just so strong and her demonic strength was on full display here. She was smarter, more powerful, and sexier than Svieta, and she wasn’t afraid to demonstrate her superiority. Matehalasan’s foot dug into Svieta’s stomach. The bird could feel her guts being squished out of the way to make room for the gigantic pad of her new owner. The pain from her burn radiated into a horrid, burning ache that was crawling across her entire torso. It was like a foul corruption in her body threatening to take over her very being, and Svieta wanted to succumb.

“M-Mm— Fuck.” Svieta squeaked. The bird began to weep, eyes streaming with tears.

“As much as I’d like to pop you under my foot, I have more plans for you.” Matehalasan said.

The dragon removed her pad from the vulture’s chest, prompting a pained gasp from Svieta. She sat up, body shaking as her dress fell around her waist. Tears leaked into her lap, staining her dress.

“Stand up.” Matehalasan demanded.

Svieta stumbled to her feet, allowing her dress to fall around her feet. She crossed her arms around her stomach-brand.

“Stop crossing your arms like that,” Matehalasan boomed. 

“Sorry.”

Svieta relented, peeling her arms away from her stomach and placing them at her sides. When she did, Matehalasan swung a fist at her navel. Svieta’s arms moved to defend, but they were too late. The demon’s fist drove deep into Svieta’s stomach, compressing her midsection like a foam pillow. The bird was briefly airborne, then fell back to her feet, stumbled, and flopped onto the ground. Svieta closed her eyes and whimpered. Her tears pooled at her talons.

“Stand up,” Matehalasan repeated.

“Y-yes, sorry,” Svieta obeyed, though her rise was slower this time. Blood leaked from her beak, and her dress was now completely discarded.

“Gods, that is so sexy,” Matehalasan huffed.

“W-what is?” Svieta asked.

“You are,” Matehalasan said, wrapping an arm around Svieta’s back and pulling her in close. The dragon’s smooth scales felt nice against Svieta’s feathers, and the oils coating her body soothed the pain caused by Matehalasan’s abuse of her burn, as did the dragon’s naturally cool body. It was the closest thing to an ice pack Svieta would be getting. Svieta’s feathers also felt nice against Matehalasan’s body. The demon ran her hands through the vulture’s neck fluff unconsciously, feeling the texture of Svieta’s feathers between her fingers.

Matehalasan threw another hard punch into Svieta’s stomach, sending her reeling, doubled over onto the floor. Svieta knelt, holding herself up with an outstretched wing. She wasn’t sure if she could stand up straight anymore. Pain blasted through her body, aching each time her heart pumped. The vulture looked up, but before she could speak she felt a scaled foot slam into her cheek, knocking her prone. Matehalasan laughed, spit flying onto her new slave’s face.

“Damn, Surprised you’re not out cold.”

Svieta coughed, spattering blood across the floor. The corners of her vision were gray, and her breaths were shallow and labored, more of a pained wheeze. Her arms shook, muscles weak as her brain hyper-focused on the pain erupting throughout her body. Matehalasan put a hand under the vulture’s chin, inspecting her new bruise before meeting Svieta’s gaze.

“Open your mouth.”

Svieta obeyed, shakily craning her beak open as tears rolled down her face. Matehalasan’s hollow eyes bore holes through her skull. She fiddled with her panties, pulling them below her knees to reveal a cock that had to be at least 7 inches long. Its thick, sweet scent filled the air, burning Svieta’s lungs. Matehalasan slapped the side of Svieta’s face with her member, eliciting a whimper from the vulture.

“Your queen has to piss.”

“Please, no—”

“Silence, or I’ll give you something to beg about. This is nothing compared to how I could ravage your soul. You have made a deal with a demoness of death and as such you shall reap the consequences. Keep your mouth open.”

“Y— yes, your highness,” Svieta croaked, forcing her eyelids closed.

A stream of pungent urine arced its way from the head of Matehalasan’s cock to her new toy’s open mouth, landing in the center of her beak. Svieta’s tongue recoiled from the taste, her throat shutting in an attempt to reject the disgusting liquid. The taste was sour and salty, like a rotten fruit that had been left in the kitchen far too long. The acrid liquid filled the base of Svieta’s beak, prompting her to tilt her head backwards, allowing some of the piss into her quivering throat. The stream pittered out, and Matehalasan clasped a fist around Svieta’s beak, forcing it closed.

“Swallow,” Matehalasan said.

Svieta groaned and obeyed, forcing the urine down her throat with a pained gulp which squeezed more tears from her puffy eyes.

“Good girl.”

Svieta nodded, suppressing a gag. “Th-hngh— thank you, your highness.”
Matehalasan released her grip on Svieta. The vulture fell to the ground, not realizing how much of her weight was leaning on Matehalasan. Svieta stared at the floor. Her head was spinning, it was hard to even hold herself off the ground, she doubted she’d be able to stand at this point. It wasn’t like she felt the urge to— the pain in her head was coaxing her to simply curl up on the floor and die. A shadow fell on Svieta’s body as she panted, blood dripping from her beak. Small bits of dirt and liquid fell around her like rain.

Svieta craned her neck up to see a massive footpad looming over her, the underside of a scaly talon that could only belong to Matehalasan. Now in her dragon form, the demoness’s foot was mere feet above Svieta, who fell backwards and held her hands in the air in a vain attempt to keep the foot from crushing her to death.

Matehalasan lowered her foot, pinning the vulture to the floor beneath her weight. The surface of the dragon’s pad was coated with a thick layer of grime and sweat, creating a musky scent that pervaded the space around it. Svieta recoiled from the scent as it stung her nose. The sour stink was only making her headache worse, and so was the pressure now crushing her body against the floor. Svieta gave a few pained grunts as her chest buckled under Matehalasan’s weight. The vulture flailed her arms and legs, her breathing picking up pace.

“S-stop! Kill— You’re killing me—” Svieta choked, her beak barely able to move from being pinned to the floor.

“This is my domain, you shall not die while I have your immortal soul,” Matehalasan boomed. Her bassy voice shook the very floor, “You shall return to me when you sleep tomorrow evening. For now, you will satisfy your new goddess.”

Svieta coughed in response. The vulture could not speak on account of the immense pressure now weighing on her already bruised ribs. Cracks and pops resonated from her chest cavity as Svieta’s ribs gave way, prompting a river of blood to begin pouring from every orifice in her beak. Svieta’s flailing stopped and her breathing slowed as more pressure was piled on. A horrid wheeze snaked its way out of her throat despite her punctured, flattened lungs.

When Matehalasan had her fill of teasing, the dragon leaned the rest of her weight onto her plaything. Svieta crumpled as a cacophony of squelches and cracks echoed through Matehalasan’s chambers. Every bone in Svieta’s body cracked as her skin and muscles exploded from the sheer weight of the dragoness. Blood leaking from under the demoness’s paws was the only sign of the vulture once Matehalasan was through.

The dragoness lifted her paw to reveal a gruesome scene. Part of Svieta’s body stuck to the floor while the other had adhered to Matehalasan’s paw, thin strands of blood connecting the two halves of the vulture. Her corpse was unrecognizable, a heap of blood and viscera with sharp bone fragments protruding from the morbid mass. Her beak was completely shattered, almost indistinguishable from the broken bones that littered the floor. Feathers were scattered about, not one of them clean of blood. The only two organs spared the massacre were her eyes, which had shot out of her head the moment her skull collapsed.

Matehalasan inspected her foot to see a similar scene. Gore, organs, and feathers in the vague shape of a woman. The dragoness smirked and trampled back to her bed of pillows, leaving bloody prints as she walked. Cloaked figures emerged from the shadows to clean up the newest mess the demoness had made.

Svieta awoke in her cell to find everything the same. The cold steel bars were still closed, she was still half-naked, and the room was a dirty stone chamber barely big enough for Svieta to stretch out in. The vulture sighed. She rubbed a hand against her skinny stomach, above which her ribs protruded from her chest. There was Matehalasan’s brand, scarred into her stomach.

Svieta raised an eyebrow, realizing she wasn’t hungry anymore. Hell, she wasn’t cold anymore either. The vulture checked her feet and hands to make sure she wasn’t missing any digits from hypothermia, and indeed she was not. Matehalasan held up her end of the bargain. In the conscious world, Svieta was neither starving nor freezing to death. She would survive another day.

But now Svieta was worried about what tomorrow night would bring. Demons were fickle, and she had just sold her soul to a particularly volatile demon.

The vulture leaned back in her empty cell, watching the snow fall through the window bars. She should have become a necromancer. Necromancy was easy. The dead were far more dependable than demons.