Waking the Fallen

This story is the second part to Demonised, a devilish tale of angels and demons. Check it out if you haven’t already.

Cocking my head to the right in a tick-like jerk, I consider the chair in front of me. Constructed from bone – femurs for legs, a rib cage back, a seat of jagged skulls – stained by time and blood, and lashed together with intestines in some places, sinews in others.

Looking a little closer, I see that the knucklebone armrests bear the fingernail scrapes of utter boredom, and that the pelvis which cradles my head is scorched black by the heat of my untamed thoughts.

Yes, my throne is now as it has ever been. The only thing different about it is that I’m no longer sitting in it. For the first time in centuries, I’m standing on my own two feet. Scuffing them against the floor, agitating the diaphanous carpet of forsaken souls until their moans rise to a crescendo then settle into a haunting hum.

It takes me a few moments to remember what drove my legs to straighten and pull me upright. When it comes back to me, I stalk to the window. From here, at the top of the highest tower, the highest point in my domain, I can see everything. Can feel everything. The red-hot glow of fire stings my flesh, sulphur burns my throat every time I inhale. The stench of suffering makes my heart soar even as it makes my eyes water.

I gaze down upon everything I control, looking for the thing that stirred me. On some level, I’d known it was coming. I’d felt its pain and yearning for salvation in my chest. I’d felt it in my belly when it began to change, and the nervous flutter had travelled down to my groin, bubbling and growing until, finally, its transformation was complete.

My eyes stay fixed on the rocky ground far below, but I shift my hand from my hip to my thigh and smile when I feel the sticky fluid there. It makes me wonder just who it is that has joined us. They must be special because in thousands upon thousands of defections, this is the first one to make my cock spurt with black anticipation.

Hands rested on the stone window sill, I grunt a quiet command. Something slithers around my leg, scaly and cool. I wait while it tightens, listen to it loosen its jaw, blow noxious gas from my nostrils as it encases my cock and starts to stroke rhythmically back and forth. Waiting…waiting…ahh. I widen my legs to allow for deeper penetration and then set to the task of finding my newest arrival.

It’s a female that I seek. That much I could feel when I let my consciousness sweep through the belly of the Mountain. Yes, it’s a female, and a powerful one at that. It took him almost a year to break her. I could have asked him to identify her and he would have had no choice but to obey, but I didn’t. Surprises are few and far between down here. It’s no wonder that I sleep for generations at a time.

She isn’t by the River of Fire, though it does look like the denizens are having a great time, pitching arsonists off its ashy banks and watching them drown in flame. Nor is she in the Field of Fornication. Plenty others are, though. On their knees, their backs, their fronts, being fucked raw by barbed cocks and razor-toothed cunts whose earless owners are deaf to their prisoners’ pleas and screams. It’s true that down here, ye reap what ye sow. Fuckers.

Oh, fuck! I lean forward, elbows rested on the sill now. Legs wider, ass higher, biting my own lip until my fangs tear it and blood oozes down my throat. It tastes malignant. So delicious, I bite on purpose so that I can drink it. Fuck me harder, minion. Fuck me deeper. Aah, that’s it.

Now, where is she? Not in the Hanging Wood, not in the Lake of Betrayals.

Clicking my fingers, I arch my back to give a shaking young man room to crouch in front of me. His body curls into mine, his blood erupts in my mouth, and at the same time my cock – still sheathed in scales – pushes inside of him.

Cry for me, sinner. Spread yourself wide. Push back. You’re here for the long-haul so you might as well enjoy yourself. Come on, sin just a little bit more.

My little fucktoy’s cheeks slap off my thighs as his tears drip on the backs of my hands. He fucks so well I almost forget that I’m looking for someone, but then I feel her. She’s close. I lean over the body beneath me, grind its face into the stone. And I finally see her.

Right beneath me, walking amongst those who turned the other cheek. Those who didn’t report crimes, who allowed atrocities to be committed by their friends, families, neighbours. Just as in life, they now live with their heads buried in the sand. Hanging from their ankles, neck deep in clay, breathing it in, choking on it, feeling it harden in their lungs.

I watch her weave between them. The barbs on the tips of her shredded wings tear at their skin. Female torsos spasm as she strokes a clitoris here, male buttocks grow taut as she tugs a cock there. She’s playing with them. Tickling their feet with her fingertips, their anuses with her tongue. The wanton little whore slaps, gropes, and pinches her way through the maze of headless bodies in a dance of violation, her wings flap in the shimmering heat of Hell while her fingers flick her from one orgasm to the next.

At the very moment when the barbs of my cock snap straight, pinioning my serpent and my servant both, she reaches the craggy base of the tower and looks up. And I recognise her. Still spurting inside of my now wilted fucktoy, I meet her gaze. I can barely believe it’s her, I’m almost afraid to. Breaking her? It’s forbidden. It should have been impossible but, somehow, he did it and here she stands.

“Radueriel,” I finally breathe letting my dead-for-now victim fall to the floor.

The fallen angel smiles back at me, sending ravens screeching into the air. “Hello, Lucifer.”

Week 238

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