Charming Figure
The sound of the metal door rattled open and he was thrown inside there.
Quinn rushed towards the door and banged heavily on the metal door, while the mages who had thrown him in left the place.
"Damn! He cursed, barely containing his anger as he threw his fist into the air.
There was no going back. He had been accused of something he never did, while the real perpetrators felt unapologetic about it.
Was this how the world is?
Quinn never believed that injustice, greed, iniquity, and other vices thrive in places he never knew they would.
In the end, the poor and the weak always bear the consequences of their actions.
There was nothing like justice in this world. It was just a weapon used by the rich to keep the poor in perpetual slavery… It was an illusion.
Quinn sat on the cold floor of the prison, his cloth torn, and his skin battered due to the beatings he received.
He knew the only possible outcome of his situation, and it was death.
They were going to kill him the following day.
It was a grave offense for one to be accused of being a heretic or at worst a necromancer. For they were often seen as the children of darkness, who were programmed to do the bidding of the dark one.
An offense punishable by death.
Those who were marked with the curse of the heretics or necromancy always lived in fear or lived the rest of their lives hiding. The worst part of it was the way mages were mandated to kill anyone who was found to be one at the instant.
So it was very rare to find one in their town.
Quinn was burdened with the internal conflict of what to do with the inescapable fate that awaited him. He doesn't want to die.
Not after he avenges his parents' death.
The only idea that struck his brain was to ask the gods for help. At least, they'll listen to him knowing he's in trouble.
Quinn sat alone in the dimly lit prison cell, his body hunched over, his spirit burdened with despair. The cold, stone walls seemed to close in on him, suffocating him in a web of hopelessness.
Outside, the world carried on, oblivious to his existence, while he silently prayed to the gods, desperate for salvation.
His voice, barely a whisper, echoed through the desolate chamber, calling out to the divine entities that he spent his entire life serving. He invoked their hallowed names, his pleas raising as supplication, seeking an escape from the fate that awaited him.
But with each passing moment, nothing happened.
His prayers were not answered.
It seemed as if the said gods never even existed.
They had abandoned him. Or so he thought.
Amidst the cloud of hopelessness that seemed to hold sway over his situation,
Quinn thought snapped.
He'd remembered something.
Quinn recalled reading a book from the Temple's library that spoke of sigils and incantations—a way to summon the gods themselves.
It described an ancient ritual of incarnation, a practice that allowed mortals to bring forth ethereal beings into the physical realm.
It was a desperate thought, a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness that consumed him. With a mixture of hope and excitement, he resolved to try his hand at this forbidden art.
His trembling hands clasped a piece of parchment, and with a steady hand, he began to sketch the intricate sigil on the floor with the charcoal he found on the prison floor.
The lines and circles were neatly drawn on the floor, forming a pattern that seemed to pulsate with unseen energy. The very act of creation stirred something deep within him, a flicker of power that he had never experienced before.
Quinn's heart pounded with anticipation as he completed the sigil, its intricate design etched into the fabric of his mortal reality.
He took a deep breath, his voice shaking as he recited the incantation, the words resonating in the air around him. With each syllable, the energy in the room grew, swirling and coalescing into a dark and ominous presence.
As the final word escaped his lips, the atmosphere shifted. The air crackled with an unsettling energy, and a gust of wind swept through the cell, extinguishing the feeble candle that had provided him with meager light.
In the darkness, a voice—a sultry, seductive voice—pierced the silence.
"Ah, Quinn," the voice whispered, dripping with honeyed sweetness.
"What have I summoned?" Quinn thought.
Quinn's heart raced as he realized his mistake. The incantation he had recited had not summoned the gods, but something far more sinister.
A soft, eerie glow emanated from the corner of the room, revealing the figure of a woman. Her beauty was beyond compare, her features ethereal and enticing. Long, flowing hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her eyes held an otherworldly allure—a mix of danger and allure that ensnared Quinn's senses.
The female figure approached him with her jingling ass, her every step a dance of temptation.
Her voice dripped with a seductive charm, luring Quinn closer to the edge of damnation. She reached out, her touch electrifying as her hand gently caressed his cheek.
"Quinn, dear Quinn," she purred, her voice like velvet. "You summoned me? I have never seen any mortal capable of such feat."
Quinn couldn't comprehend the beauty before him. He was….
The female figure took a step backward, carefully examining the prison she was in.
Her form was a symphony of sinuous curves, each contour carefully sculpted to accentuate her seductive power. With every step, her hips swayed in a hypnotic rhythm, drawing the eyes of mortals like moths to a flame.
Her silhouette exuded an air of confidence, her presence oozing sensuality from every pore. Her voluptuous figure, with its enticing curves and feminine grace, was a work of art crafted to bewitch and enthrall.
Her ass, full and inviting, defied gravity.
The way her ass bounced and jingled like Christmas bells was seemingly defying the constraints of mortal reality.
It held an enchanting allure, emphasized by the low-cut gowns she wore, revealing just enough to tantalize the senses without fully exposing her forbidden secrets.
Her breasts seemed to beckon, promising pleasure beyond imagination. They were held in place by garments that accentuated her shape, unveiling just enough to stir desire within the hearts of onlookers. With each breath, her chest rose and fell, a subtle movement that teased and tempted, leaving those in her presence longing for more.
Her skin, smooth as silk, boasted a radiant complexion that seemed to glow with a subtle ethereal light. It was as if the very essence of temptation itself had been infused into her being, manifesting in the form of flawless beauty.
Her lips painted a deep shade of crimson, curled into a knowing smile that held both danger and temptation, inviting those who dared to tread the path of darkness.
She was a temptress, a vision of desire wrapped in an intoxicating guise of sophistication.
Gathering enough courage and pulling himself out of her charm, Quinn asked.
"Who are you?"