Velthara strode through the molten caverns of the Infernal Rift, her gleaming white-and-gold armor doing a laughable job at covering her most… pronounced assets. With every confident step, the lava bubbled beneath her feet, either in respect or because the demonic realm itself was struggling to focus.
She had come for the fabled Emberheart Gem, a powerful relic said to be guarded by the Demon Lord Xarkath. But let’s be honest, she mostly came because she liked the idea of dominating a so-called “Lord of the Underworld” and turning him into a whimpering plaything.
As she entered the throne chamber, Xarkath sat upon his obsidian seat, his flaming eyes widening slightly at the sight of her. “Mortal, do you dare…” he began, but his voice cracked when she leaned forward, pressing her assets together with an innocent smirk.
“Dare? Oh, honey, I insist.”
The demon gulped. He had battled countless heroes, but none had ever stood before him with such… distractions. His infernal minions whispered among themselves, some openly drooling before one slapped another and muttered, “Snap out of it, idiot. She’s a warrior.”
“Let’s get this over with,” Velthara purred, running a gold-ringed finger down her own collar. “Shall we fight, or do you want to submit now and save us both the trouble?”
Xarkath sputtered, gripping his staff like a virgin on prom night. “Y-you think you can defeat me with just…”
She was on him in an instant, pinning him to his own throne with strength that belied her delicate frame. His minions gasped, unsure if they should help or just take notes.
“You’ll hand over the Emberheart, or…” She leaned in, lips just inches from his trembling ear. “I’ll make you beg for mercy in ways you’ve never imagined.”
By the time Velthara left the cavern, the Emberheart was in her possession, and Xarkath was left slumped on his throne, babbling something about “holy thighs of destruction.”
Another day, another conquest.
And Velthara? Well, she had plenty of other dark lords to conquer next.