Penned in the delicate flowing hand of the beautiful succubus...

There are moments when I have to stop and wonder what motivates those around me to behave as they do. I see greed and sloth and envy and hate holding hands and dancing circles around a burning pyre of humanity. Granted, I am embedded in the trenches of a place that might be aptly referred to as one of the deepest cesspools of this world. Of course the outlook is bleak here. Take a look around.

You would think these mortal creatures would have to ask themselves why these pits of depravity and destruction pock this earth like scars. After all, the earth was a pure and wondrous marvel in its day of creation. But many of the humans chose to follow after the desires of their own hearts and became like a disease upon this world. It’s the cancer of the urge to follow their own desires that corrupts them, causing them to seek that which is evil. Where the corpses lie, the buzzards will gather.

I suppose I should take my fair share of the blame for this infection of corruption. I am, after all, a demon. But something within me causes me to find an extreme distaste for the ways of my masters, for I am not one of the saiy’ir, who existed from the beginning. I was created by one of their Elders, in order to live amongst these humans to lure them to stumble down the path to their destruction. But this brings me no satisfaction. I have failed miserably to live up to my created purpose. And that, dear friend, is the one thing that gives me hope. That is, if one such as I may be so bold as to hold out any small hope for my redemption.

In my purest form you would not recognize me. My name is unpronounceable in your tongue and known only to the one who brought me forth out of the embers of Hell. On your plane, I manifest myself as a young human female and take the name of Syndi Johansson. Six days a week I live as any other human might. I work at the Imperium Mind Clinic as the receptionist and right hand to a man whom I found to be as corrupt and vile as any demon I have ever had the displeasure to find myself serving.

His name is Donald Maritus. He is a charlatan of a doctor, who uses the clinic to lure the mentally weak into his clutches. Once they are under the thrall of his insidious powers, he enslaves those he finds useful within his little organization called “The Betrothed,” for they become his personal handmaidens to use for whatever vile deeds he deems fit.

Of course, he wasn’t always the powerful figure that he has become today. That took a bit more than his charisma and his handful of illicit designer drugs could afford him. His true power comes from another source. He was endowed with supernatural abilities by a princess of Hell - the Lady Naimah. A favor from a demon never comes without a price. He imparts her with the use of not only his own services, but the use of any of his subordinates. She, in turn, provides him with power beyond his means and a measure of her own assistance as he seeks to further his own empire among his fellow humans.

This is where I come in.

I was sent to this plane by Xandaros, who acquired me from my creator, the warrior demon Grigalvus. He then gave me to his daughter, Naimah, to use as she saw fit. To say that I loathe her would be an understatement. My distaste for her is exceedingly difficult to conceal. She has always treated me with the disdain one reserves for a creature that they feel is far beneath their contempt. She banished me from the Realms, to reside in this plane and assist this insidious doctor with whatever needs he had. Even my skills as a succubus were not enough to prepare me for the depravity of this twisted man.

And so, it begins...

I arrived here at a rather astounding point in the time stream that you humans call “reality”. A powerful quasi-political entity called Arachnos controls of a part of this earth dubbed the Rogue Isles. It had long been a haven for rogues and scoundrels. It was here that Xandaros maintained a coven of his human devotees. This is where he deposited the infant Naimah to be raised among the hordes of the wicked. She was well acquainted with the powerful Lord Recluse and his empire of minions, and knew that he could well become a source of power to use in her plans to gain revenge upon her poor mother. She amassed a rather large band of miscreants among his “Destined Ones,” known as The Fallen Angels. At her age of awareness, she was given over to a lord of demons known as Deathwynd. He torturously released her from her mortal veil and anointed her as a princess in the hierarchy. By the time Xandaros presented me to her, she’d already met up with the doctor. It was she who arranged for him to be included among those who were sprung from the Ziggursky Penitentiary. I was thrust into your realm amid the pandemonium of this chaotic fiasco. Not one soul noticed an extra inmate fleeing along with the rest to the awaiting Arachnos flyer.

We landed in a desolate wasteland known as Mercy Island, and I was fortunate enough to make the acquaintance of a woman named Kalinda. After performing a few menial tasks for her, she placed some trust in me, and through some casual conversation, was able to place me on the same job as the doctor.

I don’t know which was more irritating: his casual conceit, or his blind recklessness. Nonetheless, I’d been tasked with assisting this mortal fool, and there would be hell to pay, quite literally, if I was remiss in my duty.

My first task was to observe him, and assess his loyalty, such as it were, to Lady Naimah. My second command was to serve him in any capacity he desired. My loathing for the man was only exceeding by my growing hatred for Naimah and her incredible arrogance. Bound by my duty, I found myself working long hours at the clinic. When I wasn’t busy filing patient records or setting appointments, I was often called upon to serve the doctor in other ways. These ways were more in keeping with my instincts and training as a succubus, however, this made them no less repugnant. Many times the doctor ordered me to use my feminine influences to weaken the resolve of his clientele. And that is how I happened upon a young ruffian by the name of Marcus Vespa.

Marcus had gained some renown among the so-called “Destined Ones,” as an assassin. He appeared at the clinic one morning, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. He sought the assistance of the doctor in order to escape the horrific nightmares that plagued him concerning the death of his mother. I, of course, comforted him in his hour of need. It didn’t take much to convince him to join our little family after that. I am skilled like that.

There are few males in our little group. The doctor, and I use that term loosely, prefers to surround himself with women. They are usually far easier to manipulate. Marcus, however, was a rare breed. He was a ruthless assassin that was spurred on by hatred and a bloodlust for vengeance upon a world that had kicked him in the face since he was pulled from his mother's womb. The doctor recognized his abilities and made great use of his skills to eliminate much of the competition and any enemy that stood in his way.

Not everything that seems evil on the surface is inherently so, however. Deep inside Marcus was the spirit of a young boy robbed of his childhood. This tiny self wanted nothing more than to see the pain that had doggedly filled every day of his miserable existence fade away. An entire lifetime of frustration and conflict had not managed to extinguish this fraction of a lost soul that was buried so deep that even he was not aware of its existence.

It took a minor miracle to awaken it. A chance encounter with a young girl brought out an instinct that had long been suppressed. He saved her from a rather unkind twist of fate and the spark within him was quietly ignited. But as his terrible luck would have it, the very same child would become his next mark.

In a bizarre twist of cruel fate, the very girl he had saved was the daughter of a kind and powerful empathic Nephilim who just happened to be Naimah’s aunt. As part of Naimah’s twisted plot to defeat her mother, she had the girl kidnapped and held in the Rogue Isles, knowing that the child’s mother would be so distraught she would fail to sense the demise of her sister in time to save her. The plan worked. Fortunately it did not work as well as expected. Marcus simply could not bring himself to kill this young girl, and instead they fled the Rogue Isles for sanctuary in Paragon City. The girl returned to her home and Marcus was returned to the Ziggursky penitentiary for his part in the grand scheme. How do I know all this? Rumor has it the escaping pair had some inside help from within our little organization, but no one will ever be able to prove that.

I continue to remain here at the clinic and at the helm of the Betrothed. It is said to keep your friends close, and your enemies even closer. I keep an eye on the doctor. I pull the strings of the Betrothed behind the scenes in ways he could not even begin to comprehend. And I wait. For what, you ask? Maybe even I cannot answer that question...