Also for new readers, Phil's previous sexy adventures are collected here in Succubus Summoning 101. Give it a look if you like what you read here.
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L’mactia bent her legs and lowered her body down on him. Her labia, puffed up like soft cushions, quivered in excitement. Her abdomen expanded as she inhaled his energy. L’mactia gave a low sigh of pleasure . . .
. . . which was cut off with a harsh exhalation of surprise. She staggered. The connection between them was broken. Freed of the soporific weight bearing down on his mind, the cogs and gears of Phil’s brain clicked into life.
“Immolatum nida Flambastinaai!”
A nimbus of fire surrounded him and ignited the webbing in an explosion that knocked L’mactia aside. The restraining silk burnt away and, free now, Phil rolled away. As he stood up he realised he was still on fire, although he felt no heat or any kind of burning sensation.
Wow, this was so cool, he thought, looking at the flames flickering over his arms like busy snakes. This was magic. This was what he’d wanted ever since Recruiting Officer Garner had given him that demonstration behind the McRestaurant.
No time to bask in the elation. He still had the spider daemon to worry about. He’d caught her in the explosion. Patches of pale skin on her right side were blackened and singed. It was little more than a scratch for her. The burnt patches of skin were already healing and fading away.
“Gladucx nidafacii Flambastinaai.”
He focused on the flames flickering over his arms and willed them to form a sword.
Unfortunately, L’mactia had backed off to the rear of the arena and was preparing magic of her own. She recited words Phil tried to pluck from the air, but these were too alien, too quixotic. They slithered through the grasping fingers of his mind and were gone. What they left behind was far more frightful.
“You could have had such a pleasant end,” she said.
A ball of dark energy formed in her palm and swelled up. It hit football size and grew further still. Green light, the colour of pus from a septic wound, flickered within the roiling ball of shadow. A horrible, overwhelming sense of determination emanated from the ball. Phil got the impression it was sentient. And hate-filled, so malevolently hate-filled. The ball wanted to smash him from existence and Phil sensed that even if he was able to get out of its way the ball would simply change course and continue to follow him. It would chase and follow him and not stop until it had utterly obliterated him.
It didn’t matter. On the verge of completing the spell, L’mactia staggered as if hurt and cried out in pain and frustration. Her loss of concentration had disrupted the summoning and the ball of blistering dark energy evaporated before it could fully manifest in this plane.
Phil didn’t know what had caused her lapse, but he knew he had to take advantage. He charged . . .
. . . and was nearly decapitated by one of her lashing legs.
He had to limbo beneath the scything limb, but in the process lost balance and tumbled on his ass. Fuck, now he was totally open.
L’mactia didn’t take advantage, instead retreating along the curve of the arena wall. Phil got back to his feet and was surprised to find himself in the role of aggressor. He advanced and L’mactia backed away. Could it be fear of the flames? Rosa said they were vulnerable to fire.
Another clumsy swing—sword-fighting was much harder than how it looked in the swashbuckling films—gave L’mactia opportunity to put more distance between them. She twisted her abdomen and squirted a thick strand of gooey silk at him.
Phil moved his hand in a circular motion. “Shelduk nidafacii Flambastinaai.” The living flame swirled and formed a shield in front of him. The strands of silk hit the flickering flames and burnt away in harmless sprays of ash.
He threw fireballs at L’mactia with no success. She moved in a skittering stop-start manner that made it difficult to track her movements or predict where she’d be at any one moment. At best his fire kept her on the defensive, but for how long.
He was conscious his internal temperature was rising as he allowed more living flames through the portal he’d opened in his soul.
Burn her! the flames cried as they flowed out of his core and raced through his veins.
Set her on fire!
Set everything on fire!
Phil remembered Rosa’s words. Summon too much flame and the warlock would be consumed by it—roasted and blackened like a chunk of charcoal. He sensed that moment was approaching. The flames wailed their frustration as Phil slowed their flow to a trickle. The fire raging all over his body died right down. No more fireballs for him. He’d have to finish this with sword and shield.
L’mactia continued to keep her distance. Why wasn’t she attacking? Or using magic?
Phil was happy to get a break from her attacking. It was stalemate though. She was too fast and agile for him to get close to and she seemed reluctant to push the fight to him. Unfortunately, he suspected the stalemate would last only until he was forced to put out the flame completely. He needed to do something before then.
If only he could get her to stay still.
Then he remembered Verdé’s parting advice.
He went for another attack, but this one was a feint. While L’mactia dodged backwards he took the opportunity to crouch down and lay a hand flat on the sandy floor. Yes, he could hear it, feel it moving beneath him in the ground.
“Ĝiškimiti za bursaĝ ul Urpâdu ni Guberim li Išduum Qištu,” he called out to it.
L’mactia cried out in shock and surprise as green tendrils erupted from the sand beneath her and tangled around her legs and abdomen. She was yanked to the floor and bound by tangling roots. She bucked and swayed as she tried to pull her body free. Now there was fear in her eyes as she saw Phil approach.
“Sheldak nida Magique.”
An anti-magic shield surrounded her. Phil placed a hand on it . . .
“Dakshel exnida tanja vaarsta Magique.”
. . . and the shield dissipated into shards of light.
The flame sword in his hand was burning down and losing intensity. It would still be enough. L’mactia frantically muttered words of magic. They backfired. She yelped in pain as sparks burnt livid welts in her pale neck. Phil raised his sword . . .
He noticed the black collar around her neck. Electric blue sparks crackled around it.
Hey, wasn’t that . . . Oh.
It all made sense now.
Part 7 here