Chefsache, color version

Иллюстрация для моей серии книг "Тлеющий Ад", для седьмой летописи (Тлеющий Ад 7: 99 Имён Всевышнего)
На Автор.Тудей: https://author.today/u/rahatlukumchik_vkusniy/works
Ваттпад: https://www.wattpad.com/user/AzazelAlKhalifa

На русском текст - подробный разбор иллюстрации и рассуждение об иерархии - вы можете прочитать на моём Дзене, статья под названием" Иллюстрация: «Chefsache». Воспоминание из жизни в моём истинном воплощении. Маммон и я. О жаждущем главенства мужском начале": https://dzen.ru/a/Z_erYa-H73xixgKh

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An illustration for my series of books "Smoldering Hell", for the Seventh Chronicle (Smoldering Hell 7: 99 Names of the God)

So, the illustration. In fact, two (See the second one in my profile). Two solutions to the same plot. The first one is colored, it was drawn initially. The second one is a black-white with a shade of green, painted after a sudden inspiration at night. I still couldn't figure out which color scheme is better for such subjects. That is, in black-white, the work seems to look less joyful and more difficult, serious, and therefore the second version of the work appeared as an attempt to convey the emotional severity of the situation even more thoroughly.

The illustration depicts a moment from my life in true incarnation, described in the seventh book of my series of chronicles "Smoldering Hell". Italy, Rome, Mammon's palace (Purgatory), from the Inside behind the Castle of the Holy Angel. One of the bedrooms. I, disguised as woman, am under the archdemon Mammon (Purgator, Caesar of Rome, Baron of hell, ruler of Germany and Rome). Behind us, the faces of the other officials are barely visible - the invited guests, whom Mammon then recruited into his associates and demonstrated his power in front of them by dominating the captive me, because, as always, I underestimated the enemy, thought I was invincible, and because I was usually too careless, that's why I fell into the hands of Purgator. Excerpt from the seventh book (Smoldering Hell 7: 99 Names of the Most High).
(In the sixth and seventh books I wrote about myself in the third person).
(Warning: rape):
translated into English

<... > Azazel, who had fallen face first into the pillows, immediately realized, and was only more terrified when purgator loomed over him with a huge, unthinkable, heavy hand resting on the bed, on either side of the unfortunate man; the poor Khalifa shrank from the impact of this into the bed, which bent, raked the wrinkled sheet with his claws, closed his hands convulsively, squeezing his eyes desperately. But Mammon wrapped him on his back at once, twirling him by the shoulder like a piece of fluff. And Azazel again covered himself with his hands in panic, finding himself lying on his back, but Mammon immediately swung his fist, rising up a little, and gave the archdemon a couple of hard blows to the face, from which the head of the prisoner was thrown away onto the pillows, smeared with blood, and a cloudy mist appeared in the eyes of half-closed, mournful ones. But Mammon did not stop there, he squeezed Azazel by the throat, squeezed tightly, pressed into the bed, devouring the unfortunate with a bestial, greedy gaze.; The Khalifa wheezed, exhausted, bloodied with a slender face, opened his mouth, desperately gasping for air, clutched his massive hand with weak hands, barely resisting, twisting his body, and mournfully shifting his knees under the belly of Purgator the terrible.
- You are so fragile and weak, Khalifa... - Mammon said with a peaceful grin, peering intently into his plaintive eyes, while the barons around looked at the terrible sight, drinking wine from glasses. - Such a charm... — purgator grinned, wilfully stroking his slender frame and watching with delight as Azazel scratched at his powerful hand with his claws, trying to push away from himself and unclench the grip of his rough fingers, then he squeezed his eyes shut, then he cast a sad look at the baron, tears now filled with sincerity that flowed from those eyes as a result, disappearing into disheveled hair.
— Oh, why are you crying, sultry? - Mammon asked condescendingly, huge above the fragile Khalifa, like a rock collapsed by an earthquake in order to warm the traveler under it. - You like strength, - the baron tilted his head to the side, feeling the trembling and wheezing of the slender, trembling throat with delight under his fingers. — And the size in addition to the strength of that. Don't resist, you mummified woman... You like being in the hands of others... I know everything about you, cobra... and I see clearly the lust of the body... The heart condition, however, is no weaker... Isn't that wonderful? The beast and the victim. That's the most important union. To die in the fangs of a monster... You are this thirst incarnate.
(continued in the comments)