Handbook of Erotic Fantasy: Horrors of the Abyss (Patreon)

The body did not matter. Possession of the Demonweb Throne did. Carved of a thing like obsidian, but not obsidian. Bound by strands like webs, but which no spider ever spun. To sit the throne was to occupy the center of a shard of the Abyss. A perverse model of cosmology made to feed the one at the heart of its funnel. Every damned soul trapped and writhing; every lesser courtier wriggling upon their own petty tangle; each errant wanderer arrived unlucky in the wrong corner of the multiverse: all struggled within the capture spiral of the Demonweb Pits. All offered tribute to the one upon the Throne, who grew fat with stolen power.

It is the way of all demons. The form reflects the soul. Petty imps for petty evils. Towering beasts for great butchers of the battlefield. Long claws and grasping fingers for those who cozened or stole. Yet these are common things. Such fiends have scarlet skins: a dull-banked heat for their infernal fires. That which burns hottest does not burn red. It burns blue.

“OK, great,” said the demonette. “Cool lore, bro. Why does it look like that?”

“Would you prefer more ye olde lore, or standard Common?”

“Common, please.” The demonette’s eyes were very wide. Her legs were very crossed.

“Very well,” said the dark lord. “If you’re on the chair then you’ve got the power. Your wish is its command. But unlike the wish spell in your edition of choice—”

“I was always a 4e kind of girl,” said the demonette.

“There’s a reason you’re down here,” said BBEG. “As I was saying, unlike the wish spell, you are not required to voice your preferences. It knows your will. Remember your interim ruler’s tail and ears? We’ve all got our self-image to contend with. For example, I spent the past several centuries as a creepy skele-man. I expect the previous Demon Queen was as red as Succubus before her stabby-go-lucky self-promotion.”

“I totally was,” said the horned skull from its corner. “And I need to stress once again that I do not need to be part of this meeting.”

“Mandatory attendance,” said BBEG. “And speaking of which….”

“Eep,” said the demonette. And then: “Wait!”

The blue-skinned font of evil grinned his death’s head grin. “Yes, my dear?”

“You got all that not-wish power, right? The stuff that lets you do Matrix-style residual self-image? Couldn't you just like, you know, use it consciously? Maybe make yourself more handsome? Less bald, more abs, weiner that doesn’t look like a dog toy…?”

“Oh certainly I could. But where’s the fun in that? Now prepare yourself to leave this sorry corner of the lower planes. Next stop? Bone town!”

“Yes, my lord,” said the demonette.

The skull in the corner wished it still had the neck muscles to look away.