Mammon and me

Illustration for my series of books "Smoldering Hell", for the seventh book: "Smoldering Hell 7: Burning Paradise. 99 Names of the God" author.today/work/160832
The whole series of books: author.today/work/series/11980

Mammon and me. The scene in the guest chambers of the Purgatory (Mammon's palace in Rome). In truth, my terrible memory, which periodically appears to me as so-called flashbacks: I will never forget these burning golden eyes, this rude face above me, filled with animal thirst, and a fist of inhuman size and at all, taking off time after time in a blow. And I will not get tired... of admiring this terrible power, this power to allow freedom to Animal of the heart, which I, apparently, will never allow for myself.

... Every time I forget that in the sixth and seventh books I wrote about myself in the third person. So unusual.

For English-speaking subscribers, I translated the passage using an online translator, and I do not know how crooked the translation turned out, I'm sorry:

<...> "The fallen face into the pillows, Azazel immediately realized, was only more frightened when the purgator loomed over him with an unthinkable, heavy, strong hands resting on the bed, on the sides of the unfortunate; the poor Khalifa shrank from this push into the bed bent, raked the crumpled sheet with his claws, closed his hands convulsively, closing his eyes desperately, — but Mammon wrapped him on his back at once, like a fluff. And Azazel again covered himself with his hands in panic, finding himself lying on his back, but Mammon immediately swung his fist, rising a little, and gave a couple of strong blows to the archdemon's face, from which the head of the prisoner was thrown away on pillows, smeared with blood, a cloudy fog gave rise to half-closed, mournful eyes. Mammon did not stop there, he squeezed Azazel by the throat, squeezed him tightly, pressed him into the bed, devouring the unfortunate with a beastly, greedy gaze; Khalifa wheezed, exhausted, bloodied, opened his mouth, desperately catching air, clutched his massive hand with weak hands, barely resisting, twisting his camp, and moving his knees mournfully under the belly of the terrible purgator.

- You are so fragile and weak, Khalifa... - Mammon said with a peaceful grin, peering intently into the piteous eyes, while the barons around looked at the terrible sight, drinking wine from glasses. — Such a charm... — purgator grinned, stroking the slender figure wilfully and watching with delight how Azazel scratches his claws on his hand, trying to push away from himself and unclench the grip of his rough fingers, then closes his eyes, then throws a sad look at the baron, tears from now on filled with sincerity that flowed from those eyes in the end, disappearing in disheveled hair.
— Oh, why are you crying, sultry? - Mammon inquired condescendingly, huge over the Khalifa fragile, like a rock, collapsed by an earthquake, in order to bury the traveler under him. —You like strength, - the baron tilted his head to the side, feeling the trembling and wheezing of a trembling, slender throat with delight under his fingers. — And the size in addition to the strength of that. Don't resist, dressed up as a woman... You like being in the hands... I know everything about you, cobra... and I see clearly the lust of the body... The heart, however, is not weaker... Isn't that beautiful? The beast and the victim. Here is the most important union. To die in the fangs of a monster... You are this thirst incarnate." <…>