Stuck in the Middle (TheCorsair and Xanaphia)

[TheCorsair]

7 And there was war in heaven: Michael and his angels fought against the dragon; and the dragon fought and his angels,

8 And prevailed not; neither was their place found any more in heaven.

9 And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world: he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him.

-The Revelation of Saint John the Divine, chapter 12, verses 7-9

-*-


Martha Theresa Howell shuddered as she trailed her fingertips over her naked belly, drifting lower and lower, gasping in a confused mixture of lust and guilt. She was a Dominican Sister of Mary, sworn three years ago to a contemplative life of poverty, chastity, and obedience. She shouldn’t do this, she knew it. Pleasuring herself was a sin. With an effort of will she withdrew her hand and seized her rosary. “Hail Mary, full of grace,” she whispered, silent in her bed, “the Lord is with thee...”

Zathael smiled from the corner of her small room, shifting his six rainbow-colored wings as he uncoiled. His serpentine form, spiritual and unseen, made no impression as he slithered onto her bed. Martha was fun. The challenging ones always were. “There’s no harm in it,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Surely God would not deny His daughter the pleasures He created?”

In truth, Zathael had no actual idea why humans had been created as they were. Nor did he care. His interest was in the ways they behaved, and this one was young and full of desire. There was no real evil in her, but disobedience was a thin vein of color marbling her aura. “And surely He would forgive,” he added, his coils sliding along her bare thigh and over her stomach. “God is Love, is He not?”

Martha’s voice hesitated in her prayers. One hand clung to the rosary, thumbing the beads in a robotic fashion. The other ghosted along his serpentine length, between her breasts and lower, and the touch of his tongue on her erect nipple drew a sound of strangled pleasure from her.

Not that she could really feel him. Not in the flesh, at least. But her spirit felt him, even when gross matter could not. All that she could feel was her fingers tracing the slick heat between her legs, the thrill of forbidden pleasure as her finger caressed her clit. “Blessed art thou amongst women,” she gasped, still gripping the rosary in her free hand.

Some of the Fallen worked to destroy humans. Zathael simply enjoyed helping them, working to free them from their inhibitions. He smiled as he enveloped her with his wings, coils sliding around her thighs and body as her fingers explored her depths. “And... and blessed... blessed... is the fruit of... of thy womb, Jesus!” The divine name escaped her in a cry as her hips bucked upwards against her fingers.

“Open yourself to me,” he whispered, forked tongue tasting her building pleasure as she arched against him. “Let me feel you...”

Sister Martha climaxed with a hoarse gasp, rosary dropping from her grip as her walls clenched around the three fingers buried in her depths. Zathael entered her slowly, sleeping into her physical body. Slowly, she caught her breath as the orgasm subsided, and Zathael wove himself through the energetic channels that connected her seven chakras. When she opened her eyes, the demon gazed out at the mortal world with her.

A sound caught their attention. “Now who,” they wondered, “would be at a nun’s door at this time of night?”

 

[Xanaphia]

Armageddon.

Ragnarök.

The Day of Reckoning.

The final battle between heaven and hell had many names. Many stories, many prophecies and revelations. None had come to pass, and yet, the battle raged on. There had been no warning, no build up, no rapture of the faithful and obedient.

In the end, everything devolved into chaos.

Fighting upon the front lines was Zerachiel, an archangel of healing and judgment. But there was no time for her to heal her fellow seraphim. No judgment to wield against the interlopers. There was only death and destruction, too fast and too furious to properly defend against.

She’d been engaged in combat with a demon, a fury with grey skin and hooved feet. She wielded a blade of like an icy razor, and summoned gale force winds that bit and stung at skin. Zerachiel blocked a blow with her wing, but contact was enough to for the sword to freeze her limb. Before she could even begin to fall, a second strike hacked through her wing, sending her down in a spiral. Her foe pursued her, icy blade raised to strike a finishing blow.

Flame erupted through the demon’s chest, a blade of burning fury belonging to Nathanael, archangel, and lord of flame. One hand extended to help her stand, and take her place beside her beloved upon the battlefield. Still her stance wavered, the loss of her wing disrupting her balance. She could heal her allies, but not herself, because divine gifts were a duty to others above one’s self.

“Has Lucifer grown impatient for his final judgment?” More foes surrounded them, taunting her with feints and fake outs, trying to draw her away from Nathanael.

“It’s not Lucifer who strikes us this day. Lilith, taking the form of Kali, the destroyer.”

“An agent of Lucifer, then, fighting on his behalf–“

“No.” The lone word cut through her protests, just as a blade hammered upon her defenses, sending her back two steps. But the attacker had over extended herself, and Zerachiel pushed back against the deadlock. Before she could recover, Zerachiel impaled her upon her sword. This opened her to more attacks from the remaining foes, but Nathanael stepped in to deflect their blows. “She’s raised her own army, of demons and devas, and relentless human souls.”

“And YHWH?”

He shook his head, “Gone. In retreat, I believe.”

“If we are forsaken, then we must serve our final moment in glory.” A deep breath steeled her resolve against the agony of her several wing. She took a step towards her foes, by he pulled her back with a steal grip on her arm.

“You must flee. You must live. Find Zathael.”

“Zathael is fallen! A traitor to heaven.”

“Yes, and he is the only one who can help you now.” One blow struck true upon Nathanael, landing with a hideous crack upon his ribs. With an overhead swing of reprisal, he drove back his attacker, an asura with four arms and purple skin, severing both limbs on the right side. In that moment of reprieve, he pulled her close, free hand cradling her cheek and jaw, and drew her into a kiss.

It wasn’t merely a kiss, though. It was goodbye. It was an ending. She’d never see Nathanael’s face again. Except upon his brother, his twin, the treacherous lord of flame who followed Lucifer from grace.

When her eyes opened, she was no longer among the divine. Some cloister, with rows of identical doors leading to individual rooms. A nunnery? Was this right? Was this where Nathanael had intended to send her? Was this where Zathael dwelt? Of course. It wasn’t enough to be fallen, if he couldn’t drag innocent souls into his damnation.

And yet, here she was, fleeing heaven into his protection. What of the risk to her soul?

The spiritual wounds she sustained had become injuries upon the physical form she’d taken, an open gash on her back, where her wings would have been. Warm blood drenched her clothes and flowed down her skin. Every step was agony, pulling against severed muscles.

It took five steps to reach the door. She knocked once, before collapsing against the wood. And when the door opened, she further collapsed against the figure that opened it. An attractive young woman, not a form of his she recognized. But her divine senses perceived the two spirits that inhabited this body. Possession. That was so like him.

“Zathael… The end… is nigh…” And then she lost consciousness.

 

[TheCorsair]

Zathael stared down at the unconscious, bleeding figure before her, and considered her options. Close the door, and pretend she hadn’t seen or heard anything? As solutions went, it had a certain short-term appeal. But a bloody corpse outside her door when she’d just mounted a horse was problematic.

Plus, if she was forced into the admission, she rather liked Zerachiel. In an in again, off again, occasionally trying to kill her because of business sort of way.

Still, she hesitated. Then she sighed. “Well, shit.” And with that, she dragged the unconscious Seraph inside and locked the door.

It was a strain to get Zerachiel up on the bed - her host was in decent shape, but she clearly valued cardio over strength training. She’d have to do something about that, if she wanted to keep this horse a while. But she was woolgathering.

She managed to get Zerachiel’s jacket off simply by tugging, but she resorted to scissors to get her shirt off. And not in a fun, sexy way. Just slicing it off to see what was going on. And what was going on was bad. The wound on her back wasn’t matched by any damage to her jacket or her now-ruined t-shirt, which implied that it had been sustained by her true form. Which was bad. Zerachiel was of the Seraphim, the highest Choir in Heaven. What existed in Olamot that could have done this?

Zathael busied herself with gathering supplies - a sewing kit, and dental floss. Then she made a gesture, sending flame licking over thread and needles alike. The answer was... uncomfortable. There were other entities out there, even more powerful than a Seraph.

Enough woolgathering. She dragged a finger through the wound on the angel’s back, steam and the scent of cooking meat licking up as she seared away any poisoned or necrotic tissue. “Stop bleeding on my bed,” she muttered as she threaded a needle. “I’d hoped to use it again.”

Then, singing a cheery little song, she began stitching up the angel’s back.

 

[Xanaphia]

It was a kiss of flame that brought Zerachiel back.

She returned with a gasp, high and sharp and in time with the bite of the needle. The spike of pain died away to a dull throbbing, and she blinked her eyes open. The room was dark, but it made no difference to her celestial senses. A simple room with a simple bed, lacking in luxury but comfy and warm. The scent of burnt flesh mingled with the musk of arousal, and the stench made her scrunch her nose. As consciousness returned, Zerachiel could begin to make out the song Zathael sung.

“I'd trade my soul for a wish
Pennies and dimes for a kiss

She supposed this was further proof that Lucifer hadn’t attacked Heaven. Zath wouldn’t be sewing her up if he had. Though, Zerachiel couldn’t say for certain if she had anymore loyalty to Hell as she had to Heaven.

“I wasn't looking for this
But now you're in my way”

“Zath…” she murmured, but Zath placed a single finger against her lips, musky arousal clinging to the digit, and sang her song louder, more purposefully.

“Your stare was holding
Ripped jeans, skin was showin'
Hot night, wind was blowin'
Where you think you're going baby?”

“Zath!” she barked, and immediately regretted it as arching muscles pulled against her wound. With a wince and a whimper, she started again, “Heaven was attacked, Zath, and Nathanael… he didn’t…” Swallowing down a sudden surge of grief, she exhaled hard. “He sacrificed himself, to send me here.”

 

[TheCorsair]

“Attacked?” Zathael cocked her head. “That... nuh-uh. I’d have known, if we were launching an attack.” It wasn’t a petty boast. He wasn’t one of the squabbling self-proclaimed princes of Hell - not a Lucifer or an Asmodeus or a Beelzebub or the line - but she’d been a Seraph before Nathanael had cast him down. Her assistance would have been courted for an attack on the Throne.

“And Nathanael… he didn’t…” The angel’s face twisted with emotion. “He sacrificed himself, to send me here.”

“Sacrificed himself?” The reply came out as an amused snort. “Sounds like him - you always did have the worst taste in suitors.” The comment felt flat, even as she said it. She’d come to hate her brother, in the long millennia since the first battle of the War, but the realization that Nathanael was gone still hurt, somehow. “Who killed him?”

That was when she felt the arrivals, like a prickling of heat on her skin. Several of them, one after another, like lightning striking from a clear sky. Sliding to her feet, pausing to pull on a t-shirt and sweat pants - an impulse from her horse that she indulged - she cracked the hallway door.

Four hulking, misshapen figures stood in the hall, reeking if power. One had oversized arms like a gorilla, another great curling horns like a ram, a third played skin like an armadillo. Recognition struck her as they turned towards the door. “Nephilim.”

Slamming the door was a futile gesture - the bastard by-blows of men and the Grigiry were powerful beyond reason - but she did it anyway. “Lovely catching up,” she called, sprinting past the bed, “but I must be going!” A wave of her hand and a surge of power blew the windows out into the night, and she dove through them.

 

[Xanaphia]

“You’re right,” she grunted, watching Zath flee out the window and down the street. “I always did have the worst taste in suitors.”

There was a brief temptation to flee. She’d fled one battle already. But the Nephilim had chased her from Heaven to Earth already. There wasn’t a place on the material world she could safely hide.

Instead she stood, and summoned her spiritual weapon. She was still topless, but that didn’t bother her. Shame over nudity was a mortal concern, and wearing clothes in her mortal form was solely an effort to blend in. Spiritual armor still protected her soul, for all the good it had done the other seraphim.

At least Zathael had taken care of her shoulder. It still ached something fierce, but she’d done a good job stitching it up. Maybe she’d get to slay one of the bastards before going down into oblivion.

The door would serve as a funnel, giving her a chance. A one on one battle against the Nephilim was the best plan she had, but the thin wall of the covenant wouldn’t hold for long against their strength. One single deep breath steeled her, and when the door ripped away from the frame, Zerachiel was ready thrust her blade deep into the abdomen of the gorilla armed figure. Her injury protested the motion, and she screamed in righteous fury as she ripped her sword free.

 

[TheCorsair]

Zathael sprinted away from the convent a fast as her horse’s legs would carry her. Not particularly fast, compared to the speed a spirt could travel, but the truly mortal flesh had other advantages in this moment. It was, for instance, easier to avoid detection by other celestials while riding her. Particularly if she relaxed control and gave the horse her head.

And the horse had no desire to remain near the nephilim either.

It was, of course, a pity about Zerachiel. She’d always liked her, even if she’d been such a short-sighted fool, willing to abuse herself before the Children of Clay. Willing to suffer the humiliation of bowing before beasts at the demand of the Most High. Willing to try to shepherd the unruly bleating humans along the narrow path demanded by I Am That I Am.

Willing to overlook a few orders, trying to give me another chance at living when she had me dead to rights.

She tried to ignore that last thought. It made things complicated.

-*-

The gorilla-armed nephil staggered backwards, gripping at his guts - he was naked, and most certainly a he - with one hand. The universe screamed with the giant’s power and an axe of celestial flame manifested in his free hand, torn from the higher worlds by his will. “Bitch,” he thundered, “I’ll rape your corpse!”

The plated one laughed, slapping him aside. “Once I’m done with her, you mean!” He batter aside her sword with a mace forged from the four-faced skull of a Cherub, then brought it high and smashed it down. The nun’s bed and the floor beneath exploded into kindling.

“Looks like plenty for us all,” laughed the last giant, brandishing an iron spear that flickered with black flame. He might have been handsome, if not for the twisted leer on his features. “Seraphim take a lot of killing.”

“Hey, fuck-head!” called a soft, feminine voice from the window. The armadillo-scales nephil glanced over, and a needle of blinding white flame flashed through the room and through his brain.

Zathael stood outside, finger cocked like a pistol. “Bang, mother fucker. Then her attitude got serious. “Come on, Zera! Fucking run!”

 

[Xanaphia]

Zathael returned, renewing her now dwindling supply of faith. Just in time, too, with a pithy one liner and perfect shot. Zerachiel would have called it miraculous, if she weren’t talking about a fallen seraph.

Of course, she didn’t even get a chance to thank Zath before they were arguing again. “Run? Where am I supposed to run?” She parried a spear thrust, and stepped into his space, to deny him the benefit of his weapon’s reach. Her blade rose in a flash of silver, cleaving away the arm that wielded the spear and the next swing took his head. “They followed me from the Heavens, Zath. Where on Earth could I possibly hide?”

The remaining Nephilim, with ram horns and a wicked curved blade, tackled Zerachiel into the wall. The attack drove both the air from her lungs and her wounded back through the wood and plaster, and onto the cement sidewalk outside. He drove his forearm into her throat, cutting off her air, and raised the blade in his other hand.

“I didn’t want to share you with them,” he insisted, drawing the point over her chest, between her breasts. A thin line of red blood welled up, and the Nephilim lapped it up. “I’ll violate your soul until you surrender your strength to me. But do put up at least a little fight.”

---

“What are you?” the gorilla armed nephil growled, turning on Zath. His nostrils flared, and he sniffed in her direction. “You stink of Hell, and yet you wield celestial flame.”

He swung the axe with one hand in a wide half circle, just missing Zath. “There’s two of you in her, aren’t there?” He laughed, and swung again. “Why don’t we find out just how many of us can fit inside her?”

---

Zerachiel groped blindly with fingers against the sidewalk, trying to feel for her blade. The movement tore at her wounded back, but she didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop, if she hoped to survive with her soul intact. But the lack of air made her fingers numb, and her vision darkened.

“This is your judgment, bitch,” the nephil taunted, cutting off her pants with his blade.

Thump. Her fingers hit the hilt of her sword, and she grasped wildly to get a grip. Finally, her got a grip, and swung wildly at the nephil above her. She sliced into the arm that held her down, and swung again as he reared up. That blow caught him in the gut, and spilled his intestines over her.

Standing on shaky legs, she caught sight of Zathael and the remaining nephil through the ruined remains of the convent. Zathael may have been a traitor to heaven, but she was also Zerachiel’s only ally. So, while the gorilla armed nephil threatened Zath, Zera charged, and drove her blade through his back.

It was over. For now.

She slumped against the wall, the ache of her injuries flooding her nerves all at once now. “It doesn’t matter if I run, Zath; they are going to keep coming after me. You might as well get away while you can. They aren’t after you.”

 

[TheCorsair]

Zathael surveyed the wreckage of the east wing of the convent as Zerachiel slumped against the wall, considering her options. Most of the other nuns were hiding, no doubt. But someone would have summoned the police. And while she could handle the mortal symbols of authority, there was still Zera’s point. The nephlim has clearly come looking for her.

“Nah,” she finally said. “I got a place you can hole up. Long enough to heal up and tell me what’s going on.” With a grin, she gripped the Seraph’s wrist. “Come on. Let’s go!”

There was a sudden jerk and they were falling, accelerating downward in a direction mortal eyes couldn’t follow.

-*-

Sister Martha blinked, feeling as if she’d just jerked awake from a confusing dream. But... had it been a dream? She was standing in the middle of her room, her deatroyed room, staring at monstrous corpses. Too numb to react, she fell to her knees and vomited.

She was still there ten minutes later, shaking and sobbing, when Mother Superior arrived with the police.

-*-

The worlds of Olamot receded above them as, hand in hand, angel as demon plummeted into the darkness farthest removed from Ohr Ein Sof. As they fell Zathael spread six wings plumed with flaming sapphire and emerald, directing their serpentine forms in a specific course. And soon, a pinprick of light appeared below them.

“This way,” he said, beating his wings as the light enveloped them - not the glorious light of Ohr Ein Sof, not the warm light of the stars that shone within Assiyah. This was a blood red glare, the mocking attempt of the Fallen to create their own replacement for the Divine Light of the celestial worlds. It beat down on a vast inverted cone of a depression, a twisting wound in the firmament vast enough and deep enough to contain numberless worlds.

It had never been big enough for Zathael.

“My fortress is there,” he said, wings beating as he accelerated into the wound. “In the remotes of the second strata.”

The fortress was a towering, sprawling structure of basalt, separated from the howling winds that blasted the second strata by high ringed walls of flame and stone. Within the walls, in contrast to the barren wastes beyond, streams of crystal water flowed through gardens and orchards.

Zathael landed in the highest tower, where a collection of human souls bowed in greeting. “Welcome home, my lord,” proclaimed one. “How may we serve?”

“Food and wine,” the demon answered. “And salves and ointments. And prepare the...” he considered. “The green room. We have a guest, after all!”

 

[Xanaphia]

“This is…” nice, Zerachiel almost said, before catching herself. “Unexpected. It seems you’ve made yourself quite comfortable here.”

One human soul motioned for her follow, “Allow me to show you to the green room.” Walking the halls, it was immediately apparent that the fortress was a work of art, rivaling some of the great palaces in the heavens. It made her suddenly homesick, wondering if she might ever be able to return.

The green room had the same elegance of the rest of the keep. An airy design with marble floors and sheer curtains over the windows. Another open archway lead to a balcony that overlooked the gardens, separated by its own curtain, billowing gently in the blunted winds. In the courtyard below, more human souls went about chores or recreation, free of the burdens she would have expected them to carry.

Did they realize they were in Hell? How could they, when Zathael had transformed this place into a paradise, befitting a seraph. He’d abandoned Heaven, but he still took his celestial predilections with him.

Movement within the room caught her attention. The soul of a male youth, with broad shoulders and dark hair, set down a tray with grapes, cheeses, meats and bread upon the table.

“Is this suitable?” he asked, arranging the food.

“It’s fine.” Zerachiel pulled a grape free and popped it into her mouth. “At least it’s not pomegranates.”

 

[TheCorsair]

“Comfortable?” Zathael asked, leaning against the doorway, polychromatic wings moving in lazy sweeps up and down. His eyes roamed her figure, taking especial note of the dents and rents in the golden armor that sheathed her celestial form. “Because that armor can’t be pleasant to wear right now.”

He clapped his hands, and the human soul sprang to attention. “Bring suitable clothing for my guest. And notify the armorer that her services will be required.”

“At once,” the soul declared, racing from the room.

Zathael watched him go, then took a seat and helped himself to a goblet of wine. “The vintage is not so fine as the wines pressed in Atziluth - a trifle bitter, with an earthy aftertaste,” he poured her a goblet as well, and offered it with a languid gesture, “but we poor rebels and outcasts must make due.”

Leaning back, he took another sip. And wine of my own make drunk in freedom is finer than any vintage tasted with shackles on my wrists.” He grinned suddenly. “But enough politics, for the moment at least. “Tell me: whatever did you do to enrage a nephilim war band sufficiently to hunt you into Atziluth? And did we kill the ones that slaughtered my brother, or do I have to go hunting?”

There was a discrete sound of s throat clearing. The mortal soul had returned, bearing a gown of shimmering rose silk. “Thank you,” the demon smiled, before turning his attention back to his guest. “But first, please. Make yourself comfortable. Jordan will take your armor to be repaired while we speak,”

 

[Xanaphia]

“And wine of my own make drunk in freedom is finer than any vintage tasted with shackles on my wrists.”

Zerachiel rolled her eyes. "So dramatic. The only chains you wore in Heaven were the ones you invited me to put on you."

“But enough politics, for the moment at least. “Tell me: whatever did you do to enrage a nephilim war band sufficiently to hunt you into Atziluth? And did we kill the ones that slaughtered my brother, or do I have to go hunting?”

“I didn’t see who struck the killing blow, but we were surrounded by foes. Demons and lesser angels alike, honestly. But the being ultimately responsible is Lilith, for attacking the throne in the first place.” With a deep sigh, she took a deep drink of her wine.

In most circumstances, it would have been foolish to remove her armor while in enemy territory. But it was hard to say no to Zathael, especially while he wore this form. And he was right; it was uncomfortable to wear her armor while torn muscles ached and throbbed.

There was no shame as she removed her armor and padding, no modesty. Even if she had such mortal concerns, Zathael had seen every inch of her before. Had tasted every inch her, before he’d chosen Hell over Heaven. Her bare body was much as he remembered, the muscles in her arms and shoulders and back hardened over a millennia of warfare and servitude. That strength tempered by the swell of firm breasts and soft curve of her hips. “I am going to guess that she didn’t come with orders from Lucifer, then. Seeing as you aren’t holding me prisoner.” Seeing as you saved me, before.

Given the cut and fit of the dress he’d offered, she suspected he still remembered her body. It clung to her figure, showing off her bare arms and shoulders, accentuating her curves. The silk was smooth and cool against her skin as she took a seat across from Zath.

“If you do intend to hunt down the beings that killed Nathanael, we might actually have common cause for the first time in millenia.” She helped herself to a bit of cheese and meat, topped upon bread. Eating, keeping her energy up, would lend itself to healing. And she needed to heal now. “But when it comes to vengeance, you’re going to half to get in line. For my anger is kindled against them.”

 

[TheCorsair]

“You,” Zathael leered, gesturing with his goblet, “are sexy when you’re angry.” He sipped his wine with a smirk. “I knew that, though - remember Babylon!”

As he said it, though, things she’d said began to make connections. The end is nigh. Heaven is attacked. Lilith. “What... actually happened?” His goblet clinked as he set it down and held out his hand. “Show me.”

She took it, and gestured. He looked, and...

The eyes of his understanding were opened. He beheld, as in a vision, the glories of the Throne ringed about with Seraphim and Cherubim, singing and praising God. And the Hosts of Heaven, and the majesty of the Heavenly City that surpasseth all mortal understanding. And he saw that it was good.

And it came to pass that the angel said “Look”, and he looked. And behold, the armies of the First Woman, even Lilith, were gathered together against the Heavenly City, even the Zion of the Lord of Hosts. And there was war in Heaven for the space of many hours.

And it came to pass that he heard a sound as of wailing, and as of gnashing of teeth. And he heard a voice crying out, and saying “Woe! Woe! Woe, for the city of the Lord of Hosts is fallen! Is fallen, and become a habitation of devils!

“SHIT!” Zathael recoiled, eyes wide as he tie his hand from Zerachiel’s grasper. “I thought... I mean...”. He ran his fingers through his hair, looking around. “I thought you meant some sort of raid, or something. A quick in and out hit. Not...”

Words failed him, and he drained his goblet to cover his confusion. “Fuck. No, Lilith wasn’t taking anyone’s orders. Lilith doesn’t take orders. Asmodeus found that out, the hard way.” He refilled his goblet, and drained it again. “Lucifer warned him, I warned him. Belphehor warned him, and that bastard’s the laziest fucker in the Pit!”

He sipped his wine. “She was his prisoner for centuries of mortal time, until he got sloppy. We found him in her cell, beaten to death with her golden chains. Nobody had any idea where she went after that.” A sigh. “Now we know.”

 

[Xanaphia]

“Oh, they have chains down here in Hell too?” Zerachiel asked, tone mocking. She drained her goblet, and poured another. “I thought that’s why you left Heaven.” The mocking turned harder on that last word, slipping into angry territory. Because it still upset her, after all this time.

Anger was good, because it distracted her from the resurgent feelings of being around Zathael again. Distracted her from the resurgent memories of stolen moments spent together, and how easy it would be to slip back into that with him.

Blowing out a breath, she continued. “So what, Asmodeus keeps her prisoner for a millennia, and she takes her anger out on Heaven? Why wouldn’t she strike Lucifer? Unless… Do you think she’d come here next?”

 

[TheCorsair]

“Oh, they have chains down here in Hell too?” Zerachiel asked, tone mocking. She drained her goblet, and poured another. “I thought that’s why you left Heaven.”

“Oh, we’ve got chains here too, all right,” Zathael shot back, bristling. “We’re just honest about them, instead of pretending obedience to the Most High isn’t slavery.”

It was a sore point between them. Unsurprising, given that they’d fought on different sides of the War since the beginning. Just one of the things that made their relationship so complicated. Particularly when she got in one of her priggish holier-than-thou rants.

Blowing out a breath, she continued. “So what, Asmodeus keeps her prisoner for a millennia, and she takes her anger out on Heaven? Why wouldn’t she strike Lucifer? Unless… Do you think she’d come here next?”

He shrugged, and drained his goblet. “Lucifer had nothing to do with what Asmodeus did, so she wouldn’t have a specific grudge against him. And the Throne is where the power is. But...”. He frowned, and poured another glass. “Depending on her goals, she might. I mean, striking the Throne is audacious enough. But... succeeding?”

He sipped his wine. “She’d want to consolidate power. Hunt down anyone who escaped her conquest of Heaven, I assume. And, well, we’re the biggest rivals she’d have after this. Lucifer might not have kept her prisoner, but he’d see this as an opportunity. She’d be s fool not to see that.”

He grimaced. “And Lilith’s no fool.”

 

[Xanaphia]

Without thinking, Zerachiel poured –and drank– another goblet of wine while Zathael worked through Lilith’s plan. Her next steps. Zerachiel didn’t care if Hell was at risk of attack. She was more concerned with her own next steps. She’d need to heal, which Zathael helped to arrange for her. Then, she’d need allies, of which Zathael was the first. Had any other seraphim survived the attack? Had they evaded being hunted down? She’d have to find out.

“Does Lilith even realize what’s she’s done? What of the souls that would seek entrance to Heaven?” “Each day that passes, she could add one hundred thousand souls to her numbers. How long would it take her to build the strength to conquer Hell as well?”

All this chaos, the uncertainly, it left her with a restless anger. She thrived in her duty, to He Upon Most High, to the souls awaiting judgment. Emptiness consumed the space her purpose would have been. And she filled that emptiness with another goblet of wine.

Though Zath would have filled that emptiness just as easily…

She pushed away the rebel thought by pushing away from the table. “I hate this helplessness. I want to strike back now. The longer we wait the stronger she becomes.” With a sigh, she stepped out onto the balcony, seeking peace in her surroundings.

As if she weren’t still in Hell.

 

[TheCorsair]

“Does Lilith even realize what’s she’s done? What of the souls that would seek entrance to Heaven?”

Zathael refilled his goblet, then sampled a sliver of cheese. “I’ve no doubt she realizes,” he remarked. “I’ve never heard Tell she was stupid. She must have had a plan, to have launched so audacious a stroke.”

“Each day that passes, she could add one hundred thousand souls to her numbers,” Zerachiel mused. “How long would it take her to build the strength to conquer Hell as well?”

Zathael sipped his wine, and watched as the angel drained her goblet once more. “An army capable of conquering Heaven is already strong enough to conquer Hell,” he pointed out. “We were only a third of the Host, and mostly drawn from the lower Choirs.” He shrugged. “Although it may be she is not strong enough to occupy Heaven and conquer Hell at the same time. Not yet, at least.”

Zerachiel sighed and rose. “I hate this helplessness. I want to strike back now. The longer we wait the stronger she becomes.”

“Very true,” he agreed, following her out into the balcony. The Green Room was not the highest tower in his fortress, but it still offered a commanding view of the grounds within the basalt walls. Below he could pick out mortal souls and lesser demons, all sworn to his service, tending to their duties. “But you need to wait.” His fingers trailed down her wounded wing, and along the scabbed over injury in her back. “This will only weaken you.”

He moved closer, letting her feel the heat of his chest on her back as he rested his hand on her silk-sheathed hip. Her wings spread reflexively, letting him closer. “You need to rest,” he murmured into the nape of her neck, raising his goblet to her lips. “Build your strength.”

 

[Xanaphia]

Zathael’s fingers moved like a whisper over her wing, gentle enough Zerachiel could almost forget what he was. Her breath hitched as his hands moved lower, trailing over the bare skin on her back and lower still.

“You need to rest,” he murmured into the nape of her neck. “Build your strength.”

“It’s…” She shuddered, “it’s not that easy.” She didn’t resist when he brought the goblet to her lips. Didn’t argue, but crooked her neck and took a drink. The wine was cool on her tongue, and his chest was warm against her back. “I mean, I know you’re right,” she replied in a wince and sighed, “I just don’t know what to do without myself with my duty.”

Winds buffeted the basalt outer walls, but only a breeze managed to make it through and ruffle the feathers on her outstretched wings. The injured wing twitched, and she ached to take to the sky, to clear her mind. Bracing both hands on the railing, she opened a little space between them. A little room to think straight. Unfortunately, it didn’t help much, not with her hips pressed up against his.

“I thought you hated humans,” she murmured, seeking distraction from the way his body felt against hers, and the way she craved more of him. “You don’t seem to torture them. At least, not the way I’ve heard it told.”

 

[TheCorsair]

“I mean, I know you’re right,” she replied distantly.

“Of course I’m right,” he replied, following the curve of her throat without quite allowing his lips to touch her skin. “That was something you always appreciated about me. My common sense.”

She sighed. “I just don’t know what to do without myself with my duty.”

“Whatever you want,” he whispered, slowly gathering her silken skirt in his fist. The fabric inched up Her thigh, allowing him to stroke her skin. “You don’t have to live for duty alone.”

She shifted her stance, trying to ease away from him. All it did was grind her rear against his shaft. “I thought you hated humans,” she murmured. “You don’t seem to torture them. At least, not the way I’ve heard it told.”

“I never hated them,” he replied, offering her the wine once more. “I hated the way we were commanded to bow to them. To treat them as their betters.” He moved against her, half embracing her with his six wings, letting her feel him hard against her. “And I’ve never needed to torture them. They do that themselves, when they try to convince themselves they shouldn’t be here.”

He sipped the wine himself now. “I can taste your warmth in the goblet,” he told her, offering her the wine again. His smallest finger traced the curve of one breast as he did. “Do you remember the last time I tasted you?”

 

[Xanaphia]

Silk slid against bare legs as he bunched up her skirt, and she knew what he was doing. She could have stopped him, but that would be a lie. So she drank again, allowing her protests to be swept away in the wine. Whatever they were, they weren't enemies right now.

“Do you remember the last time I tasted you?”

Zerachiel laughed fondly, "Orleans. You had convinced that girl you were an angel." Which was true, in a way. She'd been sent to determine if it were a plot by Hell to attack Heaven with a cult of human worshippers. But it was just Zath fucking around.

"You picked one of the more handsome soldiers to possess, and we stole into the keep. With my thighs on your shoulders, you made me scream loud enough that everyone heard us.."The night had been filled with passion, desire, but she'd left before morning came. Because, he could nearly talk her into anything, and she didn't have it in her to resist him. Like now, as his hardening cock ground against her ass. She drained the goblet this time, and a purplish trickle dripped down her chin.

 

[TheCorsair]

One hand cupping her breast, he drew her back right against his chest. “I did, didn’t I?” he murmured, his tongue collecting the wine on her chin. “You repaid me in kind, though. And kept me from helping her with the drive.” The goblet fell from his hand as his lips found hers, spinning wildly as it bounced and plunged from the balcony.

“Not that you minded everyone hearing us,” he whispered, breath warm in her lips. His free hand slid over her thigh and hip, tracing inwards. “Ever. You took a positive delight in letting mortals see me enjoying you.”

His palm pressed against her stomach before sliding lower, cupping her mound. “Look at them down there,” he whispered, finger slipping along her lips on a film of her desire. “All of them can see us.” He groaned as his finger pressed in, and he felt her slick walls grip him. “Say you want me,” he urged, sliding his finger over her clit as he stroked into her. “Say you want me fucking you, in front of my entire fortress.”

 

[Xanaphia]

Zathael pulled her back to him, and her arms went up and around his neck for support. His feathers tickled her skin, and she breathed deep in the memories of previous trysts. They awoke in his kiss, his caress, and the heat of their bodies pressed together. They awoke deep within her, to flood her with sultry warmth and eager hunger.

There were dozens below, human and demon alike. Most were tending to their duties, but more than a few were looking up at them. Watching them. Watching as Zath kissed and groped her, watched as she spread herself for him. Zath was right, again; She did delight in the witnesses to their pleasure.

“Say you want me,” he urged. “Say you want me fucking you, in front of my entire fortress.”

She moaned, and more eyes turned towards them. ”Zath… I… please…” Her words came on gasping breaths, came in time with his ministrations inside her. Her wings fluttered, like the white flag of her surrender. “Show them how you fuck me. Show them how I like to be fucked.”

 

[TheCorsair]

That was what he wanted to hear. Zerachiel, begging for him. It was always hot, as hot as the times she’d made him beg. Hot as her strong body pressing against him, responding to his touch.

Her inner walls clung to his fingers, trying to hold him within her depths as he slowly drew them out. Slick and sticky with her hunger for him, they left a faint trail on her skin and on the rose silk as he traced her curves. His hand found hers, peeling her fingers from the balcony.

“Show them yourself,” he urged, drawing her hand to her stomach. He pushed lower, his hand covering hers as he placed her palm on her damp mound. His teeth captured her earlobe as he pressed one of her fingers between her lips. “Show them how you like to fuck,” he whispered, shifting to let her feel his hardness against her ass. “Show me how you want me to fuck you.”

 

[Xanaphia]

“Fuck…Zath… I…” She wanted him so bad, and he knew it. Knew, and used it against her, used it to torment her more and more. He could feel her trembling and soaking his fist and heaving in breath. All that hunger for him, and it wasn't enough. She was wrong. He did indeed torture those in his realm. Or, at least her.

Zathael’s finger slide in alongside her own, a delicious pressure that left her even needier. She didn’t need more prodding, working that finger deeper insider herself, as deep as she could, letting her lust drip down her hand and his. Soon she needed more, fingering herself faster and harder and crying out her bliss with every stroke.

By now, all the souls below stopped their tasks, and stared. Watched as an angel fucked herself on her fingers on a demon’s demand. Still, she didn’t stop, didn’t slow, two fingers and then three filling her slippery cunt with lewd pleasure.

Her orgasm built, fed by the curious and engrossed eyes upon her, fed by Zath’s filthy demands and dexterous hands, fed by the delirious friction her fingers made against her throbbing clit and within her aching slit. “Fuck me!” she cried, begged, screamed out into the expense of the courtyard, to echo against the strong basalt walls.

 

[TheCorsair]

He could feel her orgasm building in the tension of her body against his, and in the tightening of her channel on their fingers. And in the desperate, begging demand for him to fuck her, of course. His response was a slow, hungry smile. And then a bulging of the muscles in his arms, dragging his and her fingers out of her cunt and forcing them into the balustrade.

“No,” he whispered, revealing in the feel of her strong body telrembling on the verge of orgasm. His hands gripped hers, holding her down, keeping her from moving. “Not until I’m ready.”

In truth, he was ready. Hard and aching, ready to drive deep into her. But he wanted - needed - her to be desperate for him. To hunger for him, all sense of control lost. So he concentrated, summoning the flame that raged within him, letting her feel the heat licking at her skin as he burned his clothes away.

“Look at them,” he growled, teeth leaving red marks on the back of her neck as he ground his iron-hard cock against her silk-sheathed ass. She moved and his grip tightened, straining to hold her down. “All of them, ready to take you up on your offer.” His wings ghosted over her body, plumage caressing arms and legs. “All of them, ready to take you. To use you for their pleasure.”

He bit along her spine, pushing her down until her torso was handing over the balustrade. The rasp of silk on his shaft was maddening. The pressure of her ass against his shaft as she strained to push back against him was intoxicating. “Should I let them?” he purred, biting her earlobe once more.

“Or are you going to let me use you for my pleasure, before them all?”