As promised, Hellions has arrived! Get ready to follow the adventures of Alastor as he tries, as hard as he can, to screw up everything. I’m very proud of this story, and I’m so happy to share it every Monday! Description is directly below; then the “cover”, then the story. (Story contains explicit, mature content.)
Story Name: Hellions
Rated: (Extremely) Mature
Author: Ronin Writing
Synopsis: The forces of good and evil have been at war since time immemorial. Heroic archons have always done battle with the twisted legion of the damned. But, times have changed. Mortals aren’t as interested in right and wrong as they used to be. They’re far more… understanding. Facing the worst spiritual downturn in history, the corporations of good and evil have been forced to make an unholy alliance. There’s going to be a merger. Alastor, an upstart demon rising through the ranks, now faces new management: his angelic enemies. Tasked with turning new souls to faith and forced to work with his greatest enemy, Alastor must figure out how to break the merger before some goody-two-shoes snatches his corner office. It’s time to raise Hell.
Lily’s moans clung to the penthouse walls like the sweat on her pale skin. Her half-breathed encouragements fogged up the window Alastor had her pressed against. How did she feel about the whole city watching? Did the boxcutter scar on her chest grow hot?
He checked his watch. Two minutes past midnight. The husband was due home over an hour ago. How long would he have to keep this up?
“H-harder…” Lily whimpered. It almost sounded like she couldn’t breathe.
Distantly, Alastor picked up the pace. He knew that any man—any mortal man—would give his last cent to be with Lily like this. Her eyes were just as sultry staring over her shoulder as they were over a crystal shot glass. Her smooth, naked body was the sort sculptors immortalized in stone. She wore an insatiable hunger on the corners of her lips. It was no wonder the immaculate Dr. Lorens Thale had married her before his latest trip to the third world.
Lily was the kind of girl people killed for. Some had already tried.
Alastor pictured the deranged lunatic with the boxcutter at Lily’s exhibition. Professing his love. Cutting her. Blood on priceless art. The police reports claimed he had magazine pictures of her stuffed in his underwear.
Alastor rammed himself in harder and deeper at the thought. She yelled out in a mix of surprise and pain. A tinge of pleasure jolted up his spine.
There was little to be said for the simple, salty pleasures of flesh. Coitus was a repetitive thing. But pain… oh, pain tasted sweet. Sweet enough to pull him through eight months of this dull human pastime.
He imagined a thick vein throbbing on Dr. Lorens Thale’s forehead and a gun pressed under a stubbled chin. Warm tears kissing cold metal and hot skin. He saw the boxcutter lunatic crying in a cell somewhere. Alastor felt himself swell inside Lily. That was better.
Her voice grew louder. Much louder. She sank her claws into his thighs. The sting of her nails was welcome. He snagged a fistful of her hair and shoved her face against the window.
“I—I…” she stammered.
The front door unlocked with a satisfying, heavy click. Finally.
Lily tightened so abruptly Alastor nearly came for her shock. Her fear sent waves through him. They were made storms by the sound of Dr. Lorens Thale’s first, confused word.
Thale’s voice was low and naturally smooth. Chopped up by panic. The good doctor was even perfect in despair.
Alastor felt reality sink into Lily. She shivered on him for a moment. It was difficult to tell if it came from rising terror or falling orgasm. Both, maybe. Either way, she separated herself from Alastor and snatched up her nightgown, leaving him standing dripping opposite the door and the doctor. She scrambled to make herself presentable. Like it was going to help.
In all the time Alastor had spent with her, he’d never seen her like that. Her eyes so wide; her hair so wild. She looked helpless—well, she was always helpless. But, now he saw that helplessness in a new way. Not as it dribbled out of her in wine-thick drabble. Not as she tried to hide it with a purr and the spread of her legs.
No. She wore it now.
Was that the expression she’d made during the accident?
She blabbered, but in no formal language. Clamber. The strictly mortal fear that the status quo was about to abruptly change without permission. It tasted like burned cinnamon.
To her credit, she fought through it better than most. “Lorens, I can explain.”
Alastor identified sweet vanilla notes at the tip of his tongue. Ah, the doctor’s terror was… plain. He turned his attention to the man. It was such a thing to watch a heart break. Set up well, it was as beautiful as a dying sun’s last light.
Doctor Lorens Thale was no sun, but he was as bright. Just as impressive in real life as he was in the source file. Tall and dark in the doorframe. The picture of a civilized woman’s perfect catch, head to toe. Mysterious—even rebellious—eyes, but his shoulders were poised and his posture refined. Some eighteen hours on a flight from around the world and a long cab ride later, the man still looked dressed for a night on the town. Alastor knew actual angels that didn’t carry good the way this man did.
Not for long. There was a reason it was Alastor standing in that penthouse and not some other hack Hellion. This was no simpleton’s turn op. It had subtlety. The situation demanded it.
Thale held a briefcase in one hand and roses in the other. Not the cheap grocery store kind. Actual roses. A smile died in a frown. The doctor couldn’t choose between watching his wife hastily make herself up, or scanning Alastor. Briefly, Alastor wondered if the man was comparing the sizes of their manhood.
His skin tightened in excitement. He didn’t know how much harder he could be.
Thale ignored his wife’s words and gently put down his briefcase. He lay his bundle of roses on the kitchen island’s cold granite and poured himself a drink. Scotch. The top-dollar stuff. Alastor had read in Thale’s file that he preferred a glass of Scotch when he was nervous. Before flights or surgeries.
Immediately after finding his wife with another man’s dick in her.
Thale’s eyes glanced over the gun that lay almost too conveniently on the counter. It wasn’t well-placed. Alastor would have to remember to scale back the setups. Being too overt in this kind of situation led to very fast climaxes, and those were never satisfying.
Flavors were so much better when they were savored.
To Alastor’s surprise and delight, Thale didn’t bother with the gun. He just focused on his cup. A defeated man. A man hunched over his drink, pondering options. Wondering if he had the courage to do what he wanted to do. Skirting the blade-thin edge between composure and anarchy.
Orange peels and mint.
“I never wanted this for you,” Thale said. When he finally revealed his face again he was—Fuck. He even looked good when he was crying. “I never meant to make you a prisoner.”
Hesitation. Lily looked to Alastor as though she was awaiting an answer. When he gave none, she rushed to her husband and clutched him against her. When she stole another look at Alastor, rage boiled the blood behind her face.
“Baby, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” She cradled her husband’s head.
“I quit for you,” Thale said, his voice muffled by his wife’s ample chest. He pried himself up; stood taller, half-smiled. “I told Tom to go fuck himself. I’m off the project for good. I came home to—I came to surprise you with the good news. If it’s between my work and you, honey, I pick you. I didn’t think…”
The idiot was telling the truth. Alastor hadn’t planned it that way, but he took advantage. In truth, the doctor would have been home weeks earlier, but his planes kept getting “delayed”.
Lily’s surprise. “You… you what?”
Alastor made a mental note to thank Barbas for his work with the pilots. It wasn’t easy to set up something like that. And the room service! An excellent touch.
The extra time had given Alastor plenty of space to finally break Lily. She’d been difficult to seduce. He’d had to blackmail the very careful owner of a private security firm, and live every hour of every day with an over-dramatic artist falling into the distance from her to her husband. He’d held her hair back while she vomited. He’d listened to her stupid, human worries. He’d massaged her feet.
All for this moment. This moment, and that corner office.
The doctor was supposed to grab the damn gun and, if it went especially well, kill everyone in the room. Worst case: just Alastor. Even that would have been acceptable. Enough to damn a soul even as pure as Lorens Thale. Enough to savor.
But this… This was just… unsavory. Hardly the crescendo he’d planned.
And a boner-killer.
No. This project was not going to go down like the last one. He was not going to leave with the taste of shit in his mouth again. There was not going to be a fucking happy ending. That corner office was his, and some chivalrous doctor was not about to get in the way.
He was a demon, for fuck’s sake. Turning people was his job.
Alastor made for the gun on the counter. He wouldn’t be able to mortally wound them, of course, but he could at least make threats. Pointing the gun was enough, sometimes. Maybe at Lily.
“I love you so much, Lil, and I’m so sorry. I should have come home. I should have been here after the accident. They didn’t want me to go. Said they hired professionals. If I had just told them off sooner—”
“Look at me! It is not your fault, Lorens! I was so lonely.”
“You had every right! Locked up here like this…”
Alastor snatched the gun off the counter and dropped the hammer. He pointed it directly at Lily. “Hey!”
Thale closed the distance so rapidly, Alastor couldn’t process the chain of events until he hit the floor. In seconds, Thale had disarmed him and put him on his ass. Eons of warring with angels, and bested by a fucking pediatric surgeon.
The doctor towered over Alastor, his eyes incredibly calm. He almost looked like an archon. Instinctively, Alastor looked for the shimmer of near-invisible wings.
No shimmer. Thale was just a badass.
Of course he was a badass. Save dying children and know Krav Maga. Sure, why not?
“You aren’t the first deranged, naked man to threaten me with a gun,” Thale said. He tucked the weapon behind his belt and held out a steady hand. “But I’m not like you. I’m a doctor. I don’t kill people.”
Alastor slapped the man’s hand away. “Yeah, sure.”
With a sigh, Alastor got to his feet. He’d certainly planned to rise naked from the floor, but he’d hoped it would be while shockingly coming back to life. Crawling out of a half-closed bodybag. Bewildering investigators as they regarded what could have been a wonderful bloodbath. Something cool.
“You tell Mr. Garret to expect a call from my lawyers come morning. Get out of my house, and stay away from my wife,” Thale snapped. Alastor waved off the words and retrieved his clothes.
For a moment, the city twinkled its delight from thirty stories below. What a show.
“Mortals these days,” Alastor said over his shoulder, putting on his pants. “Used to be, a guy came home to his wife taking it up the ass, that guy kicked in skulls and tossed motherfuckers from balconies. Now? Ugh. So much harder to orchestrate proper violence.”
He fished his phone from his pocket.
“It’s all about evidence now. What happened to passion? Play ‘Plan B’.”
His phone dinged, then started playing the audio. The sounds of grunting and moaning; the shifting sound of blankets; the wet pack of skin. A woman’s voice. Not Lily’s.
“Fuck me like you fuck your wife,” it said. The accent was round and exotic. One of Barbas’ girls.
By the sound of it, Dr. Lorens Thale had clearly obliged. The audio cut off abruptly.
“An airport hotel four days ago. Room service. You ordered steak and fri—”
The taste of caramel and burning carbon. Alastor’s whole body tingled.
Thale stumbled back and clutched his bloody crotch as Lily wrenched the gun free from his belt. The doctor whimpered; blood soaked through his fingers. Lily pointed the gun at his shocked face. Thale put up a red hand in desperation.
She pulled the trigger. Blood splattered her. Thale’s lifeless and presumably dickless body smacked satisfyingly against the floor.
Yes. Alastor’s erection was back.
She trained the gun on him, cheekbones streaked with black. Her lower lip quivered just so. She sniffled. Alastor’s balls tightened and his toes curled. Electric anticipation.
She fired. Once. Twice. She kept squeezing until there were no more bullets. Most of them had gone through his chest. He felt the cold living room window on his back. Blood and piss leaked from him and met in a swirling puddle at his bare feet.
Alastor couldn’t hear anything but the rush in his ears, but he couldn’t take his eyes away from the scene. Lily’s just-covered breasts swung as she dropped the gun. Blood speckled her ghost-white skin. Tears moistened the boxcutter scar on her chest.
Most perfect of all was her face. Empty. Void of everything; forever purged of any happiness by mere seconds of anger. The silent echoes of wrath. Helpless even as she killed.
If only she knew the extent of what she’d done.
Alastor’s vision went mostly black and dull scarlet. He could only make out a smudge of light. His last image was of that face. He felt the rush of dimethyltryptamine hit him in force. His center of gravity shifted. Was he on the floor?
In his head, amber lances of light played on a clean oak desktop. He smelled manilla folders and pine-scented furniture polish. He heard the clack of a keyboard; a ringing phone.
Windows that looked over Southern Park.
The corner office.
Somewhere down low, an eruption of tense pleasure.
What a beautiful way to flicker and die.
[End Part 1]
I hope you enjoyed the read! Remember: writers need feedback! Let me know what you thought, and help me make the story as good as it can be!
More parts posted every Monday.