The Creators Ch. 12

"That's it, you gluttonous slut," I said breathily when she began to whine in agony. I grabbed her hips, and guided them backward, watching the conflict of pleading mercy and voracious hunger battle within her. "You're not satisfied with just a little," I whispered, my tongue finding her lips. "You need to have every..." she gritted her teeth, "...last..." her head flew back, "...inch." I finished, and Joy willingly took the last of her father deep into her tightness. She gasped, unable to handle what she'd taken, but unwilling to surrender a morsel of it. She stayed still, her body tortuously adapting. Finally, her heavy breaths eased, and her face relaxed. It fell into a thoughtful expression for a moment, then it slowly widened to a wonderous smile.

"It's so good!" she said with a gasp, her eyes twinkling above mine. Her body lost its rigidity to a languid arch, and she tilted her head to growl. "Oh, it's absolutely decadent!" And with that, she rolled her hips, lifting one cheek, then the other, stirring her taut lips about her father's invasion, but not letting an inch of him free. For Greed was never one to willingly relinquish what she'd taken, so her father had to force the issue. He held her wrists together at the small of her back, and ravaged her like a bull. She lurched atop me, crying out with each entrance, and whining needfully with each exit, trying to entice her father with the back-arching elevation of her pelvis, presenting her fertile assets.

"Oh, please Daddy!" she cried, affecting the voice of a child. "Give me more. Give me MORE!" The affectation had the desired effect, and the weakness she portrayed goaded her father's power-lust. He wrapped his hands around her throat, wrenched her upright, and choked her as he heaved with a fervency. Joy's golden breasts turned to rippling domes, her lustrous hair flailed, and her belly clenched and convulsed, the flat of her pelvis bulging with each violent invasion of her father. She squealed her strangled delight, her head turning to gaze rapturously at her defiler, her chin resting upon her retracted shoulder, her arms flexing behind her back. The angle of her penetration allowed for Vitanimus's shaft to pass through my slit, and I moaned in congruence with my daughter's screams, watching her debase herself, and succumb. The nectar she oozed from her swollen petals was golden and viscous, and tasted of sweet honey when I brought it to my lips. Oh, I would taste it from the source.

"Vitanimus," I spoke with a drawl that I hadn't before. Vitanimus looked at me from over our daughter's shoulders, his red eyes wild. I guided him to stop his thrusts, ran my fingers along his half-buried shaft, and through the pummeled folds of Joy. She was staring at me with questioning, annoyed eyes, her lips parted to breathe decadent moans, her cheeks flushed with her pleasure and strangulation.

"You cannot conquer her more from this expedition," I said, withdrawing Vitanimus from her depths. "There are other campaigns to pursue."

"Fuck you, you old bitch!" Joy snapped. "He doesn't want you anymore! He belongs to me now!"

"You mistake me, daughter," I chuckled lowly, admiring the way her broken virginity stayed yawning and dripping even after it had been evacuated. I looked lazily into her questioning eyes, and guided my husband's weapon backward, sliding the tip down her moist taint. "I am simply suggesting an assault from the rear."

The look of shock that came over Joy's face was almost as exquisite as the agonized expression that came immediately afterward. Vitanimus used the fluid of his daughter's lust to lubricate the invasion, but there was no preparing her for the depth of it. He buried himself into her filthy virgin hole, and Joy's entire body wrenched. Her head flung backward, her breasts jutted forward, her pelvis pivoted downward, and her ass wrenched upward, the small of her back becoming the vertex of her agonized arch. Her bottom lip trembled below wide mindless eyes, and her chest heaved with desperate intakes. Vitanimus took his daughter by the golden globes of her flank, and lifted her easily from the bed. She fell spinelessly against him, her pelvis tilting forward, her legs dragging out from beneath her and flopping uselessly before her. I could see the extent of her ruination, and my eyes followed a dribble of lust that started from the bottom of her slit, dripped down the ribbon of her taint, and thinned about the stretched rim of her sodomy. When I looked back up at her face, the shocked pain was gone from it, replaced with a drunken satisfied smile of pure gluttony.

"It's so good, Mommy," she moaned. "It's so good because it's so wrong."

"That's right baby," I crinkled my nose affectionally, then lowered my lips to her leaking slit, and tasted her honey from the source. Vitanimus began to thrust, and Joy began to whine and grind. There was no love in the things we did to each other that night; only lust. Only power, greed, and corruption."

"Corruption became a part of you." Diamond moaned, her chin tilting in pleasure, her elegant neck tensing. To say that our sex had become more impassioned with my tale would have been an understatement; we were practically animals.

"She wasn't then," I said, taking Diamond's head between my hands, "before the worlds broke, she was just a mask. Now, she's a crutch. Even here, away from her realm, I feel that part of me pulling my strings." My grip around Diamond's head tighten. "Even as I speak of it, I feel it coming back to me."

"Do you want to dominate me?" Diamond purred, her big eyes brimming.

"I want to corrupt you," I hissed, grinding with a lecherous passion, the sensuality of our dance devolving to something seeped in debased carnality. "I want to find the darkest parts of you, and make them who you are."

"Yes!" Diamond's voice was dripping and thick, her drives had become long, purposeful motions that matched mine.

I breathed into Diamond's mouth, feeling the heaviness of my desire deep in my chest, feeling it take over my motions and mind. I saw the duality of Diamond's passions, saw the way her male side was weak, and her female side was strong, and I gaged the needs of both. In a motion that was both violent and graceful, I pulled Diamond from me, grabbed her by the hips, flipped her over on the bed, and left her bent over and begging, her back arching, her pleading face staring back from behind the hunch of her readied shoulders. I sneered at her, grabbed her pathetic little cock with one hand, pinched my fingers together with the other, and pressed them to the tight coiled aperture of her. She whined, her bright friendly voice corrupting with masochism, her body bending in a bow of pain and pleasure, wanting both, needing both. My fingers pushed into her; each knuckle a pressure point for her rectum to delight in. She hissed and cried, drooling stupidly from gaping lips that only begged for more.

I milked her as I went, pumping her seed shamefully onto the mattress, watching the stringing viscous flow increase as I found the erogenous button of her male homosexuality. Her pussy was blushing and dripping, but she left it unattended, not wanting to mar the exquisiteness of her masculine debasement. She bit her pouting lower lip, and sung weak vulnerable tones though her teeth; tones of prey; tones meant to goad the predator. My hand turned to a fist inside her, and her eyes rolled back, her lip indenting with the ardent pressing of her teeth, her legs trembling with the voracious clenching of her violated anus. Oh, what a treat this daughter of Passion was. She bent and squirmed with each twist of my wrist, each rotation compelling her hips to echo me, each movement spilling spit from her biting lip and nectar from her throbbing member. It throbbed and flexed in my squeezing hand, yielding spurts of milk, and when the ultimate eruption came to her, it was first marked by the fluttering convulsions of her tortured prostate before it burst from her pulsing cock in a violent spray that compelled her to throw back her luxuriant scarlet curls, and exalt euphorically to the ceiling below wide trembling eyes.

The moment faded from me, and I felt Corruption fade back into what was left of her realm. I removed my invading fist, and Diamond wrenched forward on her own accord, pulling out the sheath of her and letting it coil externally as a beautiful bud from her gaping aperture. I massaged it as I knew she wanted, kneading my fingers into the ruby flesh, savoring the tenderness of it and the way each caress sent involuntary spasms up the length of her elegant back. She lay horrifically violated and splendidly satisfied before me, one emerald and purple eye staring back with just a hint of love in it. I knew I should not have felt much over it; Diamond was predisposed to love everyone, but I could not help myself; it had been so long since I had felt actual love without the veil of Corruption. So I nestled myself beside the Untethered One, and when she sought to debase herself further by licking her nectar from my fingers, I could only giggle, and let her do it as I tasted her anus from my other hand. Her eyes twinkled when I moaned with my suction, and I offered to share my meal. She accepted, giving me an appraising look as she took each finger.

"I guess it shouldn't surprise me that someone named 'Corruption' enjoys her kinks," Diamond mused, then her eyes turned impish, "but I'm not sure what Mom will say when I tell her the Holy Mother fisted me." Then her smile faded, as did mine. Reality came back to us, and its sobriety shattered the moment. Diamond gave me back my hand, and rolled to her side, facing me as a lover does when the act of love is over.

"Did you try to corrupt me?" she asked quietly.

"I cannot give you the gift in this place," I muttered. "But I do not think I could anyway. You are a pure spirit, unabashedly yourself. You do not have darkness, for there is no part of you that you conceal. It is why everyone loves you."

"Not everyone loves me," Diamond said bashfully.

I caressed one of her blushing apple cheeks. "Lucilla hated you the moment she saw you, for you represented the end of her reign in Julia's heart, but after only a day, Lucilla loved you as the little sister she never had."

Diamond gulped, tears welling in her eyes. "How do you know that?" she asked hoarsely.

"Because I am God, and I see all in my kingdom," I answered, "and your mind exists in my kingdom."

"You are no god; you said so yourself. You're an idea that can move rocks."

"I was," I sighed, rolling onto my back. "Then he made me so much more."

Part Four: Convection

JUSTINA

"Why don't you fly?" I asked Jade. We'd been walking in silence for a long time, and I needed something—anything—to distract my mind.

"The ash," Jade said, regarding the grey above us, "it will build-up on our feathers. We are grounded until we get out."

We continued our trek through the wasteland, silently traversing the glossy remnants of roads and the melted corpses of buildings. The grey haze began to clear as time passed, and for the first time, I could see the sky. I would've vastly preferred not to. An immense black cloud hung overhead, stretching the diameter of the city. It seemed to endlessly consume itself from a vacuum at its center, sucking in the black matter around it while the edges turned over to replenish what had been taken. Lightning illuminated the hellish spectacle, revealing tornadoes that touched down and lifted sporadically, probably too weak to do any damage, but that was mostly just my hope.

"What is that?" Jade gasped.

"It's the corpse of the sun she made," I said, gawking at the sky. The epicenter of the blast was undoubtedly the vacuum.

"What do you mean?" Jade asked.

I tapped my bare foot on the glossy surface we stood upon. "The heat capacity of shale is too high for this to have cooled overnight. We should all be like eggs on a frying pan right now. This whole place should be glowing red." I looked up. "She must've pulled the heat from the ground, and pushed it into the sky." I looked at Jade, and put a hand on her shoulder. "She's still alive."

ASTRID

The immense mushroom cloud towered over me and before me, stretching into the heavens, breaking through its cumulus neighbors and pluming into the pale blueness overhead. I could see swirling vortexes in the blackness below, and the occasional lightning bolt flash within. Mistress was in there; I knew she was. I squinted as I approached the blackness, feeling the air turn sour on my wings. The acrid stench met my nostrils, the dry heat my met my flesh, and the sting of the wind hit my eyes. The clouds roiled before me, threatening, violent, larger than mountains, and rising, rising like a great column before stretching to a head in the stratosphere. If I wasn't careful, I'd be pulled into the uplift and thrown into the heavens where the air was unbreathable and too thin for my wings to catch. If I was lucky. Judging by the speed of the clouds, the uplift was powered by a great convective force; it was more likely that I would bake to a crisp. But if I went in too low, I'd hit the low pressure beneath the uplift, and drop like a stone. There was only one option then; I had to hit the space between, where the meeting of cool and hot air turned the base of the cloud into a turbulent wall of darkness. I closed my span around me, ducked my head, and shot like an arrow into oblivion.

Everything was black. I couldn't see my own nose, much less my wings, but I could feel them. The feathers were catching the airborne particles, and collecting them, making me heavier by the second. If I didn't spread my wings and blow out the residue soon, then I would not be able to later. But if I did that, I risked catching the draft, and being blown into the sky. I kept myself rigid, hearing the air whistle past me, bearing the gut-turning sensation of falling. My heart was pounding in my ears, accelerating with my freefall like a warning drum of my mortality. I tested my wings, and they barely shifted from me. I strained, and managed to get them to part from my body before I eased them back, not wanting to break my aerodynamics. The air was getting thicker, and the blackness was getting lighter. Soon it was grey, and I could see the outline of my nose. I was covered in ash. It was caked to my face, shelled in my hair, and created a carapace of my wings. I tested my wings again, and they didn't budge. I strained, heaved and twisted, but they didn't move. I could see the ground now. It was barely visible, but it was approaching fast. I dared to raise an arm, and immediately felt myself catch the wind. The loss of aerodynamics slowed my horizonal velocity, and the ground came at me that much faster. With this much speed, I had no chance to regain my flight if I went into vertical freefall. If I reached back to free my wings, I'd lose all forward momentum, and even if I did free myself, my wings would snap ten different ways when they opened. I growled and snarled, straining with all my might, trying to ignore the countdown in my head. It was useless. I was a missile at terminal velocity, and the air rushing around me trapped my wings just as assuredly as the caked-on ash. It was over. Five. Why the fuck didn't I just walk? Four. This is so typical of me. Three. Mother was right about me all along. Two. I just fly headfirst without thinking. One. Fuck it. I reached back with both hands, and hit the wind like a fly to a window. I dropped immediately, my hair flying upward from my head, my guts growing sickeningly weightless, and the ground rising to meet me with terrible certainty. I grabbed the hilt of my sword with both hands, and swung it overhead as hard as I could. The scabbarded weapon flung my wings open, and the air slammed into me. Snap, crack, tear. I screeched, the pain lancing up the delicate broken bones, shooting from the tearing muscles, burning from the ripped tendons. But I flew. I caught the wind on my broken wings, and I glided through the ash-soaked air with no semblance of control. I was a slave to the winds, but they were blessedly gentle beneath the cloud. I stumbled forward in an awkward landing, slid across the glassy plane, and came to a skidding stop. My wings drooped pathetically behind me, too painful to close, and too broken to reopen. They hung jagged and bloody from my back, crippled, useless, and throbbing with pain.

"You only feel one pain at a time, Astrid," I echoed my mother's words, and found them to be true. Though I was broken in a dozen places, my mind focused only on the torn ligaments between my flighted bones. I compartmentalized the pain, pushed it into the back of my mind, and walked through the wastes as a cripple. The horror of what I'd just done never reached me. There was only hope. I would find her.

BRANDON

The immense black cloud was drifting into the heavens, bending at the whim of the wind, torched at the edges by the setting sun. I had left Mom, Dad and Angela to themselves. It was strange, but I'd felt like an outsider in my own family ever since Angela died. Mom and Dad had been crippled with grief, but I couldn't share that grief with them. To them Angela was gone forever, but to me she'd become closer than ever before. Mom and Dad changed as people through their suffering, while I stayed on the same path. Our lives had diverged in that moment, and with each passing year, they grew further apart. When I stepped out of Arby's inn, I realized that same divergence had happened again.

Ever since I'd gone to Drastin, I'd longed to come back to Towerhead. And now that I was here, looking at the broken-down shacks and derelict farm homes, I realized this place was no longer home. It wasn't just the architecture; it was the people. People I'd known my whole life looked like strangers to me now. They were amassed at the bottom of the hill, not daring to near the golden-armored Ofanians who'd made a perimeter around the inn. They stared at the winged black beauties with fear and awe, and that sentiment was only more pronounced when their eyes fell on me. They knew me, knew me my whole life, but it was like they didn't recognize me. The feeling was mutual.

"How many have come back?" I asked Bianca.

"Fifty-five of two-thousand," Bianca said, her exquisite face drawn in a dour mask. "It is near evening, Your Holiness, and my scouts have all returned. This... this is all that remains of the Ofanian Guard."

"I'm so sorry," I said, putting a hand on her shoulder. Bianca winced. I peeled back her shoulder armor to reveal a horrific swath of burnt flesh, open, exposed and weeping with infection. "Holy shit, Bianca!" I exclaimed.

"Do not worry about me, Your Holiness," Bianca grimaced.

"How bad is..." I trailed off when I removed the shoulder piece, and saw the continuation of the wound expand down her back. I unstrapped her breast plate, lifted her shirt, and gasped. A burnt miasma hit my nostrils, and tortured heat radiated onto my palms. Bianca's entire back was cooked, the flesh raw and red, some of the sinew exposed. Her wings remained remarkably unharmed, only the tips of her feathers singed off, but the flight bones that connected to her shoulder-blades were stripped of flesh and muscle. She shuddered with the revelation of her wound, clenching her jaw in a vain attempt to conceal her agony.

"You should've told me," I whispered, barely holding in the contents of my stomach.

"There is nothing that can be done," Bianca gulped, staring fixedly ahead. "The Heat Bringer's wounds cannot be healed. I will find a suitable successor for you before I succumb."

"Don't give me any of that bullshit; sit your ass down," I ordered, and Bianca reluctantly complied. I kneeled behind her, clinically inspecting what was surely a mortal wound. I pulled the infection from her first, gratefully ridding the smell she'd concealed in her armor. It wouldn't matter if the lesions wouldn't close though, and Bianca was right; I couldn't heal what Julia burned. Or... hmm... I gently touched Bianca's cooked shoulder, and pristine brown skin marbled over it. She gasped, a different kind of shudder running up her spine.