Page 9 of Fallen: Darkness Ascending, Vol.1

A growl splatters against my throat, his presence hovering above my floating form.

His voice returns, mouth dripping acid onto my essence—all the pain, none of the damage.

“So happy to have you in my clutches again…it’s been far too long.

You’ve ma de far too much progress with that crack-shot doctor…

I think it’s time for a regression, don’t you? Little lamb? ”

Don’t call me that! I’d say if I had a mouth and lungs to say it with.

His laughter sounds like gagged choking.

Something brushes my essence, mind struggling to compute what’s happening, delivering the information in a way that makes sense.

I process it as a claw between my collarbones, scratching down my skin and pressing inward until I bleed.

I can feel Phantasmus’s form shudder in eagerness at my flicker of incorporeal pain.

“You really think he has your best interests at heart? Aww…you really are na?ve. It’s cute . Mmm…”

My surface ripples in fearful torment as the claw digs in, cutting deeper, feeling like toxic ink being dripped into pristine water, other fingertips touching down around it to join in the fun.

Another hand, elsewhere, sending more ripples of pain that disturb the first and start to make crashing waves of agony on the surface of my essence.

Another hand. Another. Another. Another.

Please stop, I want this to stop.

Phantasmus hacks a laugh. Hot wet drags across my stormy surface, a tongue over bloodied injuries.

“‘Stop’, lamb? No, no no no no no —no, not nearly. You think you want this to end? Still lying to yourself, are you?” He growls the word, flecking acid from his fangs.

The claws curl in on my body, gaining firm grip, and his form pushes down against mine.

I feel the thick blood-water rush around me as we descend further, the heat and pressure rising past comprehensible levels.

“ Humans love pain, ” he swoons into my ear as we fall. “Why else would you all inflict so much of it on one another? And you especially love pain, little Hope. Why do you think demons find you oh so irresistible?”

The rushing blood slows, stops, and I float through the boiling bubbles that tickle and burn my essence as they rise past us.

What are you talking about? I don’t, I don’t like pain. I want it to stop. I want all of this to stop.

The words in my own head almost sound like watery echoes.

His claws peel their way through my surface, lower, lower, all the multitude of hands coming together at the soft pit of my stomach.

His favorite place to play. “It’s in my nature to know your deepest fears and wants.

It’s my duty to know, to act upon. You can’t lie to me…

I know exactly how you want to feel, and I get equal enjoyment from your pain and pleasure.

Both at once? Mmm… divinity , little lamb. ”

The agonized waves caused by his claws now crash with constricting whirls of want from the brush of him at the deepest seed of my core.

Whatever part of my spiritual essence that correlates to my clit, my labia, everything beneath.

Laughing moans thrum through me, long, forked, cold tongue pressing against my surface and along my slit in a calculated, eons-honed maneuver.

I can’t writhe, can’t struggle, can’t move.

But the stir of my surface spells out every little reaction I don’t have a body to express.

That doting tongue drifts along my stormy seas and into red waters of my stomach where he’s made mincemeat of me, licking into the torn essence and suckling up like dining on a blood orange and slurping up its juices.

The tongue stirs bits of me as his mouth bites, face digging, voice laughing, hand intermittently attending to my core to keep those whirls of pleasure winding through me.

The faintest thought, one without even true form of words, sends him laughing and splurting and patting at my tortured essence in some mock sympathy.

“A pretty hope, but your dear angel can’t reach us here.

This is my special domain, too deep for his wings to reach.

We won’t be interrupted here…I can take my slow, sweet, time with you… ”

His teeth nip at my side, then the jaw widens, and he slowly sinks the fangs into me as a pair of fingers drive inside at a matched pace .

The fangs come together in a small snap, taking a mouthful of me with him and kissing at the torn, aching, bleeding part of me as I’m unable to scream. His fingertips have found a special place within me, massaging forcefully, matching torture with bliss in demented harmony.

Even without ears, I hear the sound of his thick swallow. Somehow I’m still connected to that piece of myself, and I feel the way I dredge down his throat to sink into his pit, nestled against the cold inside him.

“This is my domain. I have complete control—I choose if I want you to taste….to smell…to hear… to feel …This place is my infernal canvas, and you are merely the paint I make my art with. I get to choose what the final result looks like. Don’t worry, sweet little Hope— I plan to make you so very beautiful, in the end ?—”

Unsung screams waver across my edges, the force of those shockwaves threatening to burst through my essence, joined by hurricanes of pleasure forced into me.

His hands and mouth take turns with each toy, rending tortures and desire in a complex, elegant dance.

Every endured agony is rewarded with pure bliss, he breaks my body with his claws and fangs and then breaks me again with his tongue and fingers, dining and indulging in me.

His mouth spreads across mine and he chooses to allow me to taste what he’s done to me, to feel the mess of it, the mixed fluids, drowning me in it and driving his tongue down through my throat as though to shove the evidence into me so deep I won’t be able to cough it back up.

His fingers splay me open so his mouth can unhinge and the forked flesh can thrust and taste my depths.

He manipulates the dials of my sensations to choose when to let me feel what—alternating between painless gnashing of his teeth against my bones while my clitoral sensitivity is turned to a hundred and the slightest whisper of his fingertips leaves me screaming just the same.

At the precipice of forced release, the dials spin and reverse—denying me the sensation of my own orgasm as I instead feel every reverberation of his fangs grinding on my cracked and broken bones.

Even the bubbles of the boiling blood-water passing my raw, torn essence are so agonizing I think my mind will break and shatter. Maybe it already has.

My essence reforms, reclaims its shape, bouncing back and giving him a fresh new playground to make a mess of.

And again and again it goes.

Torture.

Orgasm.

Agony.

Bliss.

An eternal, unexhausted dance he orchestrates across my body until I’ve come a hundred times, until I’ve died a hundred times, until my essence splinters and breaks in just the right way that I lose sense of myself, my surroundings.

I cry out in split pain-pleasure, and he lets me hear my own screams this time.

His claws rend through my ribs, holding the bones as an anchor, thrusting slow and deep and rough, spilling oceans of heat within me as the boiling-blood bubbles in his throat around the sound of his pleased screeching, the first I’ve heard it to such an extent, and all at once his form folds around me, smothering me, as he laughs deep from his core and turns every, last, dial down to zero.

Nothingness.

Non-existence.

Mercy .