Chapter 21—First Branch

Prior spent a restless night, hating what he had brought on Tantamount. He was the reason she had been abducted and made a Tower Maiden; he was the reason she was now being tortured. It really, truly, was all his fault. But he loved her. He would do what he had to do. He had no trouble finding his way to Castle Demon. It was not far off,

and everyone knew where it was, and avoided it. The castle itself was like a giant tree: a cherry tree, with five massive branches. That was the code name of the demons who had been assigned to guard the Spire; he had defeated them and taken the Spire, and thus earned their enmity. Could he beat them again? What choice did he have? He couldn’t let Tantamount remain in their vile hands. He had no doubt they were forcing her into sex already; any threat to her baby—his baby—would be enough. Just as any threat to her was enough to force him to challenge. They had planned this trap most cunningly.

“Okay, I’m here,” he called. “First Branch, I challenge you to a farting off.”

The demon appeared. “To the death,” said. “You have to say that, or I can’t kill you.” “There’s a choice?” “Of course. Most contests are merely to unconsciousness.” “And that won’t do?” “Put it this way: your girlfriend needs impaling. She will get it in an hour,

if you don’t arrange to prevent it.” “You’re raping Tantamount,” Prior said flatly. He knew the demon was

trying to rattle him. “That, too. She has a most conducive hole, and I expect to be reaming it

for some time, as I did this morning. But this is more specific.” Prior didn’t want to ask, but had to. “How so?” “I’m so glad you asked. Are you a student of history?” “Not much.” “I’m thinking of the Assyrians. They won many battles, and liked to impale their enemies on tall stakes. The point of the stake was set into the victim’s asshole; then the stake was erected and set in the ground with the man on top. His own weight slowly drove the stake deeper into his rectum and his guts, until at last he expired. Admirable folk, the Assyrians; I can’t think why others didn’t like them.”

Prior did not like the direction this was taking. “What has this to do with Tantamount?” “Behold.” The demon gestured. A stout wood stake appeared, sharpened to a point above. Suspended over it was Tantamount, holding the baby in a sling. Her arms were extended up over her head, her wrists tied by a thick loop of rope. The rope passed over a pulley and descended to a big old fashioned clock that had the current time: noon. The loop was wound around a wheel that was evidently on the same axle as the minute hand of the clock; in an hour it would rotate a full turn, releasing about a foot of rope. She hung there unmoving, though her eyes showed she was conscious.

“Now let’s complete the setting,” the demon said. He went to the stake, reached up, caught the woman’s legs, and pulled them down around the stake. The rope gave, allowing this. “Now let’s see your pretty little pucker, sweetie.” He parted her legs and guided her hanging body so that the point of the stake just touched her cleft. He drew her body down a little more, so that the point nudged into her vagina. “I see you know better than to kick or struggle, dearie,” he said. “Because that will merely cause the rope to slip faster, dropping you onto the stake. Absolute stillness is best; then only the passage of time brings your descent. Nevertheless, it could become uncomfortable after half an hour, and worse after an hour, as the penetration moves from half a foot to a full foot. At some point your lovely wet cunt will run out; then the prick will deepen it in its own pointed fashion.” He turned to Prior. “Have I made the situation clear, smegma brains? Within the hour one of us is bound to win, and that person will rescue the woman, with luck before she suffers significant harm. If the contest should extend beyond an hour, that can not be guaranteed. But you are welcome to take your time if you want to.”

“It won’t take an hour,” Prior said grimly. “Let’s get on with it.” He had no certainty of defeating the demon, but obviously had to try. Win or lose, it had to be fast.

“Done.” The demon gestured, and a pentagram appeared: a five pointed star. “The combat will take place within the figure; if you wish to take a break, merely step out.” He stepped in.

Prior doffed his pantaloons and stepped in, naked. Instantly the demon was on him, wrestling him to the ground. “First I owe you for that candle fuck.” He got Prior on his belly, lay on top of him, and angled his ramrod penis into the crack of his posterior. “An ass fuck doesn’t count for this, but bear with me; it’s for personal satisfaction. It wouldn’t be the same after you’re dead.”

Prior struggled, but was helpless. He couldn’t get his hands or feet under him; the demon’s weight kept him flat. Meanwhile that phallus was driving at his rectum, trying to force the aperture.

He looked up, and saw Tantamount, already lower on the pole. The de mon was happy to take his time, but Prior wasn’t. He had to finish this soon. Time, Spire, he thought urgently.
I THOUGHT YOU’D NEVER ASK, the Spire gouted. Then it issued a small

thin little squeaker of a fart. “What a pipsqueak!” the demon said. “You call that a fart? That hardly shook my pecker hair.” He sniffed. “This wouldn’t stun a butterfly! It’s laughable.” “I’m going to beat you,” Prior gasped. “Not with that puny little effort. The very idea is hilarious.” The demon laughed again, harder. “I thought we’d have at least the semblance of a contest. What a joke!” “I’m winning,” Prior said. “You’re finished, branch.” “Ho ho ho! What a ludicrous threat. I haven’t heard anything that rich in

centuries!” Overcome by humor, the demon laughed so hard that he rolled off Prior and curled up on his back on the floor, hardly able to get a breath between guffaws. Prior got up, dusted himself off, then squatted over the demon’s face and let out another small fart.

The demon inhaled. A look of shock crossed his ugly features. “Oh, I’m done for! How could this happen?” Then he popped out of existence.

Prior ran across to Tantamount. Only about fifteen minutes had passed, but that was enough to set a good three inches of the stake into her.

“Don’t touch me!” she gasped. “Any jog will drop me on it. Pull from the other end.”

He ran to the clock. He was about to take hold of the rope between it and the pulley, but she stopped him again. “Wind the clock hand backwards. That’s safest.”

He did so, and slowly the rope rewound and drew her up off the stake. Once she was clear, she pushed herself to the side with one leg. “Now lower me, slowly.”

He did so, and soon she stood on the ground, bringing her hands down. He rushed to embrace her.