In a galaxy far removed from our own, a young tribal chieftain named Syntian Cree had been gifted by his people with a lovely bride named Tsahan. He had fallen deeply in love with his wife but there was among his tribe a woman who wanted him so badly, she murdered Tsahan to have him. In his raging grief at the loss of his bride, Syntian had in turn murdered his wife's slayer, the first-born daughter of the tribe's High Priestess, Uxumia.

Uxumia's own raging sorrow had called upon her to punish the male who had so callously and violently taken her daughter's life. With the womenfolk of the tribe gathered around her, Uxumia had summoned the minions of the Abyss, bidding Them come to her to avenge the death of Uxumia's daughter. And the powers had come, Their beastly wings flapping about Them as They dove out of the howling heavens.

"Take him!" Uxumia had entreated the beasts of the Abyss. "Take the murderer of my child and confine him to the loathsome pit beneath the Abyss. Bind him there for a thousand, thousand years in the cesspool of all the wastes of all the living things. Show him no mercy and grant him no surcease from the punishment my sisters and I have passed upon him!"

The beasts of the Abyss had sought out Syntian, laying repulsive talons on his cringing flesh; clasping heavy chains to his wrists and ankles and dragging him—kicking and screaming and crying out his vengeance—to the noxious, lightless cavern that oozed beneath the bowels of the Earth. It was in that horror as he was plunged beneath the pernicious surface of the pit to the very depths of it, that he sought a higher power, a mightier master than the One served by those he had offended.

"Hear me!" he had pleaded, his shackled hands thrusting up through the sludge and slime to make entreaty to whatever Source might hear him. "I will serve him who takes me from this wretched place. I will gladly do the bidding of he who will rescue me from this accursed existence! I will sell my soul, such as it is, to be free of this hell!"

And One had come, red eyes gleaming, forked tongue slathering over scaled lips, cloven hooves striking fire against the stone barriers of the pit.

"And will you sign with your own blood that you will obey Me?" the demon had asked, Its slit mouth stretching wide over fang-like teeth.

"Release me from this place," Syntian had begged, "and I will do anything. Anything!"

Anything, he had promised and the demon—Raphian—had taken him at his word.

"Rise up, Cree," the hiss had slithered from the demon's slathering mouth. "Rise up and hand me your soul and you will find the place to which I have assigned you."

The lair had been cold, colder than any snow that had fallen on the high mountains of his homeland. And it had been barren of light or sound. But it did not smell of animal excrement; it did not slime his skin with its loathsome, poisonous touch. It was a place for him to hide, to lick his wounds, and heal his soul, to await the call promised when he could once more return to the world of light and sound and warmth. Little did he know, or guess, that when the summons came, it would be from the very gender he had cursed; nor that when he was able to look at what he had become, he would view in horrific silence the image of the master he had sworn to serve.

His terror had been so great, so overpowering, he had nearly begged to be returned to the pit; but such was his joy at once again seeing the light of day and feeling the warmth of it against his skin, he allowed the female to do as she pleased with him.

At first, his main purpose had been the settling of scores. With his vile looks he curdled milk, made sterile the herd, caused all manner of problems among the human race. At the death of the woman who had called him, he had flown back to his lair to await the next call. When it came, his purpose for that female became more sinister. He caused stillbirths, gathered for her potions to kill and maim and destroy, all the while crying deep in his lost soul at the things he was forced to do. When that woman was burned at the stake for her evil deeds, he escaped once more to the lair that had summoned him.

It was not long after that time that he heard the first faint call for his help.

Although he could not act upon that call, he could not escape it, either. The harder the tears fell; the louder the sobs of loneliness and heartbreak; the longer the misery continued, the deeper the pain of the woman's wretchedness affected him. He soon began to realize that he might well have found a way to escape the vengeance Uxumia and her tribeswomen had thrust upon him.

What better way, he thought with sinister glee, than to aid the weakly females who called out to him? To take all they were willing to give and give pain and suffering to those who abused them in return for the pain and suffering he had been forced to endure? To avenge the weak and helpless with a vengeance so exacting it destroyed those upon whom he unleashed it? He dwelt upon his plan, brooded upon it, seeking a way to go forth on his own, to find the one seeking his aid, to punish those who preyed upon the weak, but the lair was a prison, binding him in its cold, cold walls.

It was not until he was summoned again, this time to murder and cause mischief across the land, that he was able to bargain with his new mistress, slyly hinting of untold delights he could visit upon her unresisting body if she would but make him presentable to the human eye once more. And in return? she had asked.

"You have enemies, milady. Enemies you want destroyed. I will reap the vengeance you seek. In return, grant me what I need to sustain me," he had asked. "Allow me to go to those lonely women like yourself who need protection; who need the touch of a gentle hand upon their bodies. Let me seek out and destroy those who have hurt that woman, who have oppressed women like yourself." His hooded eyes had gleamed in the dark. "Let me punish those women who have turned their noses up to you and your kind; who have sought your misery and downfall with the priests and inquisitors; who have laughed as your sisters have burned and drowned." His hissing voice had lowered to a seductive coo. "Let me be the vengeance of all the sorceresses from all time!"

And will you remain faithful to me and mine? she had demanded. Will you come when you are called?

"Aye," he had agreed, sensing her capitulation. "I will serve you and be at your command for all eternity."

She had demanded he sign his name in blood—binding him contractually to the vow—and he had gladly taken the athamé and slashed his palm, dripping his mark upon a page in her Book of Shadows. "It is done," he had whispered. "Now make me a man once more."

The witch had agreed and had cast a spell that peeled away from him the scales of the viper he had become; that had rounded his slit eyes; had stitched together his forked tongue and turned his cloven hooves to human feet; had given him fair form and face so remarkably handsome it dazzled all who beheld him.

"You will serve me and mine," the woman had sighed as she looked up as he stood before her in all his naked glory. "Do what you will to those of our enemies, but it will be me, and mine, you will obey." She had touched him. "Now make good on your promise, demon!"

For the vengeance he sought, he was more than willing to pay the price of lying with the woman and pleasuring her body with his own. It had been thousands of years since he had coupled in human form and the pleasure far outweighed the price he had to pay to achieve it.

Through the centuries, he had taken his revenge on those women who had dared to hurt and cause hurt for the weaker of their gender. He listened for their call: the wounded ones, the ones in pain, and he had sought them out, able now to leave his lair whenever his mistress did not need him, and destroy, body and soul and mind, those who—because they had hurt the weak ones—had become his enemies. His revenge was exacting and final and the acting upon it gave him pleasure such as he had not known since he lay in sweet Tsahan's arms.

As for those whom he championed, he left them better off, stronger than they ever thought possible. He gave them self-pride and knowledge. He gave them strength and bravery to face a world set against them. He gave them the will to endure and to carry on. He made them a part of him and he, a part of them. The only price they ever paid for his intervention, his schooling, was the induction into that secret sisterhood that controlled him.

"Before you leave them, you must recruit them into the art," his mistress had made him vow. "These women you champion must become One with Us. There can be no other way. And when you have done all you can for them, you must leave them and never seek them out again."