Ever wonder what happens to an angel that becomes corrupted by a demon? It becomes dark—blackened beyond recognition—a heart so icy and lustful that nothing could ever come of it.
She loves me. She really loves me. It doesn’t matter what they say about the demons. She’s different.
This is what Arcändor believed. He thought the vixen he met in the Black Forest was misunderstood. He thought so many things.
When he saw her…or him…they fought, they talked and they danced among the thorny black pillars of the forest. Their dances lasted ages, to music neither of them could hear on their own.
By holding hands they could hear the song in each other’s hearts. She—or he—could hear his song. It was so pure it nearly disgusted him on the inside. The vixen, male or female, wanted this angel for herself. The vixen’s song was pure but wrapped in a bag of maggots.
There was no purity.
It was all a lie.
Arcändor is strapped into a bed. The vixen surveys his latest prey as the other demons in his horde gather ’round. They climb into the bed and begin feasting on the angel’s flesh.
Arcändor is kissed by his two-faced lover.
“It’s alright.” She (he…) says. The soft wet kiss is a blind reassurance.
“Right now, Arcä, I will make you one of us.” The vixen rides the angel gently. His soft movements give way to a single, heart-stopping feeling. Arcändor’s light huffs make vixen go faster.
His pleasure fuels the demon.
As the others feast upon him their poisoned, cream-colored saliva taints his blood. Anything angelic is stripped away
demonic traits are plastered onto an angelic soul.
A converted demon would be created but…Arcändor is different. He angel traits are buried deep
retiring into the recess of sleep.
Arkändor loves the vixen’s wiles
—the way he (she?) moves and how he (she?) feels on the inside. It’s almost holy (unholy…)
Arcändor’s golden eyes become shimmering red. The blood of demons rushes to his head and clouds his vision. A million screams swirl around, sounds spiraling like a spinning wheel, until it all becomes clear.
He feels their hive-like structure. He is connected to the High Demon.
(Heaven will never welcome him back unless he repents)
Arcändor pushed his lover down and takes over. Deep inside h realizes the mistake he has made. He isn’t a true angel anymore. He was fooled—played like a fiddle
by this slutty boy;
The deep anger he feels comes out as hatred. It bleeds through the hard, pounding movements as he angrily fucks this vixen into exhaustion.
“s-someone’s hungry.” The vixen laughs as he’s uncomfortably hit by Arcändor’s hard thrusts.
Arcändor’s only response is a heavy growl of a phrase.
The other demons, crawling on all fours, take a step back as they feel Arcändor’s anger. It hits them like a cloud and weighs them down with fear. Threats of death linger over them and they hate it.
Arcändor bites into vixen’s neck with his new set of demon fangs.
Vixen screams in pain as a chunk is shredded
A chunk of glesh is RIPPED and PULLED until it is separated from his body.
The demons are in shock.
Arcändor swallows it whole. The unnatural flesh burns his throat but fuck if he cares. It doesn’t matter anymore.
He looks down at vixen. The demomboy’s eyes are glistening
Arcändor mutters only one word.
Context: I thought I could fit another story, an original one this time, but the clock already reached 12 AM. *le sigh*
I saw the picture of the angel boy and immediately knew what I wanted to write. The prompt I used is by Nancy Stohlman:
“13: Write a story that deals with or includes some aspect of a taboo.”
I figured “how about a demon turning an angel?” At first I actually wanted vixen to have remorse but we all know demons aren’t capable of that on their own. Plus it’s a cliche. I still want to avoid those.
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