She’s bound by chains made of shadow. They’re coiled around her ankles and her wrists. Twisting and intertwining, crossing over and through each other until they reach their respective rings around her collar. Holding her, grounding her, controlling her. Each link insubstantial, incorporeal. Indestructible.
Yet every so often she tries them. Fingers flex and take hold. Puckered skin tightens over knucklebones as her hand becomes a fist. Tendons strain in her forearms, her shoulders shake with effort. All she succeeds in doing is binding herself tighter. With each tug the chains get stronger, the wickedness that forged them feeds off the energy she expends.
I’m standing in the darkness, watching her. Though she’s never seen me, she knows I’m here. She knows that I haven’t moved from this crack in the rock since she arrived. Even through a whimper, brought to her lips by an evil in the chains that pains her, she shoots a burning glance in my direction. Her kind isn’t supposed to be able to feel hate, but I know the emotion when I feel it. It stirs me in ways not many could understand.
I watch her lip curl in contempt. It pushes one side of her face higher. Wrinkles appear around her eye, her nostril widens. When she exhales through her nose there’s a flare, accompanied by an almost imperceptible smirk. Yes, hatred is supposed to be alien to her, but a sense of superiority, even in captivity, is second nature to her.
Well, for the time being it is.
Every time one of her kind is seized they’re brought to me. Here, in this dank cave in the belly of a mountain only accessible from the air, I fashion my chains, secure my subjects to the unbreakable ring I embedded in the rock uncountable years ago, and I wait.
Sometimes it takes mere days. Sometimes months. Occasionally years. It all depends on the constitution – and devotion – of the enslaved. If I could choose a timescale I would pick one year. Long enough for me to really get to know my prisoner, but not so long that their very presence begins to bore me. A year lets me feel their resistance wane, it lets me experience the changes in their psyche before I get to relish their resolve.
She’s been in my hole in the earth for less than a year and I can feel her changing. The will I’ve poured forth has pressed into her, seeped beneath her skin and into her very bones. When she arrived she brought a sweet, summery tang with her. I could taste it on the air, every time I took a breath I could feel it scorching my lungs. But now? The sweetness has gone stale. There’s a new bitterness to her scent that tastes of budding malice.
I drink it in, let this new edge of cruelty refresh me. Stare expectantly at the small orb of light that glows weakly in her breast. It’s all that’s left of the blinding halo that she drew into herself for protection. As I stare it shrinks, flickers, becomes a small, dull spot that’s no brighter than a lone candle.
My favourite part has arrived. A few feathers that stubbornly clung to her skeletal wings for weeks finally break free and drift to the ground. The sound of snapping and popping, of leather being unfolded and of a woman moaning in what could be either ecstasy or agony fills the cave. I’m panting, licking my lips, fighting the ache between my shoulder blades that will only be relieved when I allow my own wings to unfurl. Fighting the urge to thrust my hips, to take, to claim, to own.
As her once bright light flickers again and then blinks out, my dark one begins to shine. The blackness around us deepens, chases scraps of lingering goodness into jagged corners and beneath broken rocks where it cowers in fear.
It’s time for me to reveal myself to her.
With a single step in her direction, I am uncloaked.
My bottomless eyes rest on hers. They’re obsidian, all of the white and the gold of her irises devoured by her pupils. I recognise everything I see within their depths. Shock. Surprise. Acceptance, understanding…and lust. All of those emotions are so new for her, and all they’re all renewed for me.
Nine months to the day of her binding, her chains become smoke. It drifts around her, wisps in and out of the ragged holes in her inky, leathery wings. She tests them. Rolls her shoulders and lifts the heavy masses until their taloned tips scrape the ceiling. With one powerful downstroke, the smoke dissipates.
Long, slender legs bring her to me. There’s a new sway to her hips, instead of covering her naked breasts like she had that first day she pulls her shoulders back, thrusting them forward. Black nipples stiffen as she approaches, her eyes fixed on my cock. She’s hungry for it, coming for it, and when she reaches me she will have it.
I can smell her arousal. It leaks from inside of her, sour and unclean. Her thighs rub together, spreading her wetness to her knees. A flash thought shakes my resolve, just for a second, and I’m left with a nagging feeling in my gut. I know how she’ll taste when I push my tongue into her cunt, but part of me wishes she’d wanted me to know her before I brought her under the dominion of the Morningstar.
But never mind. I’ve created what I’ve created, and now it’s time to reap what I’ve sown.
Her claws dig into my shoulders and with the sound of storms and the power of raging seas, my wings unfold. They tower over hers, even as she digs her feet into my calves and climbs my body. The tips bend to touch hers as her wet lips stroke my cock, as she rises and falls, taking me inside of her.
Black ichor pours down my chest. She rubs her nipples in it, pulls my head forward to make me drink my own blood. It should chill me but all I feel is warmth. I want this beautiful monster to bleed me. To feed on me, to fuck me. I’m her first but I won’t be her last. She might be clinging to me now, pleading for my fingers in her ass, my tongue in her mouth, my fangs in her throat. But soon she will be with the Morningstar and I will be forgotten.
My fury shakes the mountain. I push her back, bend her spine and hold her hips while I drive my cock deeper and deeper, hurting her, delighting her, terrifying her. Shall I make myself bigger for her? My new size makes her scream. Her wings batter the ground, tear chunks of rock from the walls. With each thrust I take, I’m demanding that she remember me. Her cunt gets tighter, tighter, tighter, then clamps down. Her body stiffens and spasms, all the while her cunt grips and releases my cock until it coaxes every last drop from within me.
She laughs as I put her on her feet. Her fingers dip between her thighs and she draws some of the black fluid I filled her with to her lips. I open my mouth to tell her my name, to give her something solid to remember me by, but before the first syllable leaves my lips she’s gone.
I’m alone now, in the bowels of my mountain. All I have to do with my time is create my chains and wallow in malcontent until the hunters bring me another stray angel. It could be decades before I have another good thing to turn bad, centuries before I have something as good as her again.
I hear the rush of wings, a commotion outside of the cave, and sigh. They have another for me already. Straight away its light starts to bleed into my cave. I blend into the walls, waiting for them to deposit it on the rough ground. Will it have a cunt, or will it have a cock? When I ruin it, will it want to fuck or be fucked? Will this one want to suck?
The light gets brighter and hotter, it finds its way into the void where my own light once lived. This is unheard of! Only the Seven shine brightly enough to be able to reach me there, and there is no way would an angel of that calibre have been caught unawares by hunters.
Good floods the room. I gag on it, choke on it, drown in it no matter how hard I fight. My wings are useless. I’m powerless. I become fully visible as white-hot chains coil around my ankles and wrists, as a collar snaps into place around the base of my throat.
My roar breaks the roots of the mountain. My fingers flex and take hold of the blazing white chains. Puckered skin tightens over my knucklebones as my hand becomes a fist. Tendons strain in my forearms, my shoulders shake with effort. All I succeed in doing is binding myself tighter. With each tug my chains get stronger, the righteousness that forged them feeds off the energy I expend.
I see him. I see Michael. He’s standing in the light, watching me, not feeling the need to hide the way I did. His soft sigh is quickly followed by the ear-stabbing loveliness of his holy voice.
“Since your fall from grace, you have taken thousands upon thousands of the Lord’s angels and given them to the Accuser.”
Fuck this greetings card cliché and his pitying gaze! All I’ve done is the task that was set out before me by the Morningstar when the Lord declared me unworthy of heaven.
“And you did it well. But this time you went a step too far. Did you not know what taking her would bring you?”
I don’t answer. The Seven I would recognise a thousand millennia from now, but the rest are all the same. Well, they were. Until her.
“You didn’t even recognise her,” he laughs. “The one you just ruined? That was Radueriel.”
I still don’t respond, but if I did the words I would use would be oh fuck. Radueriel. The only being other than the Lord who can make other angels. And now, she and all of her skills for creation are in Hell.
“Yes, they are, thanks to you, and Radueriel’s defection has forced Heaven to retaliate. Now, we’re going to take the only fallen angel who can convert angels to demons.”
Michael’s light dulls for a moment and I see him in all of his unrobed glory. Broad chest. Towering, white wings. A silver bead glistens at the tip of his cock and I stare at it until I can feel Michael start to smile. The light brightens again and I’m blinded.
“And so we begin,” he whispers. “Let’s see how long it takes before you start to beg for my sword.”
If you enjoyed this story, why not check out part two here.