Holy Device X: Resurrected

by Doug Rinaldi

  A ringing perpetuated in Devon's ears. He felt dizzy; his vision blurred. Yet, all he knew was the tremendous, passionate lust, the undying urge to stoke the fire smoldering in his loins. Despite nearing exhaustion, he could not stop thrusting into her. He could not quench the thirst; douse the flame burning within his being.

  His hands roamed her body, gliding over her porcelain skin, each motion exploring a different, but equally winsome, part of her anatomy. She strained to satisfy his overwhelming size; his member filled her beyond capacity and she quivered at his touch. He smiled as he prepared himself for the next phase of his release.

  Devon kneaded the flesh of her back. Sharp nails ran down the length of her spine, leaving red welts in their wake. The feeling of being in her—engulfed by her—pleased him beyond words. Claimed by over zealousness, he dug into the soft flesh of her back. The pressure of his nails shot white-hot agony into her brain. Just like the rest over time, she needed to pay the price for his need.

  A cry erupted from her throat as Devon's nails clawed hard into her skin. Uncountable streams of blood sprayed from her skin, arcing through the air and spattering the wall a slick shade of crimson. She pushed away, but he held her fast, his strong arms gripping her shoulders. A thick warm torrent now ran down her back. Blood, dark and thick, oozed from the deep scratches that broke the skin. Devon continued to rock into her, relentlessly, sensing his imminent release. His lips curled into a menacing grin as he forced himself in her, unwilling to let her escape. He needed the relief, the wonderful discharge of his evil seed.

  The tender flesh around her shoulder blades burned. With ease, Devon's fingers ripped open her skin. Each plunge into her he tore deeper, his hands wetting with her blood. Screams poured from Vivian. Tears fell from her eyes as she pushed at him, trying to get away, clawing at his face. Agony filled the room, a deluge of torment.

  Laugh.

  All Devon could do was laugh. He didn’t care about her pain. Whatever brought her here to him, by fate or by luck, might be the death of her. He could see the fear smoldering in her eyes. He could smell it.

  Then he stopped laughing.

  Heat emitted from the wounds on her back, weak at first, but building with intensity by the second. Silence fell like a heavy blanket, threatening to suffocate. A sudden beam of white light invaded the dusky room.

  What the...?" he asked with a sensation he hadn't felt in ages—genuine surprise.

  They sat on the couch, naked and motionless, staring into each other’s eyes—one pair like fiery sparks, the other a tearful, emerald abyss. At first Devon didn't understand from where the light came. One after another, more beams of brilliance shot from the breaches in Vivian’s back.

  She threw her head back with a resounding snap of bone, her shriek breaking the silence. From her mouth another beam of light spilled, shining wildly about the room as she flailed. Then, more luminance shooting from her eyes flooded the space like a heavenly beacon roaming the dressing room.

  Devon's vision blurred again as the cacophony intensified. Vivian's cries echoed through the air and through Devon's body, shaking his bones. Yet, his engorged member would not falter, remaining strong as it stayed buried in her warmth. The turn of events, this twisted display of anguish, aroused him even more. His heart didn't skip a beat; the devilish smirk returned to his face.

  Vivian's howls ended as abruptly as they began. Stillness settled again. The light emanating from Vivian's back faded to a dull yellow before altogether vanishing. In its place, white protuberances sprouted. Inch by inch, the boney-tipped, white protrusions spread out behind her. Feathers, blinding white where they weren't streaked with blood, unfurled. Stretched to their maximum, these heavenly Angelic wings filled the room with shadows. And within these shadows, the darkness seemed to move. Tentacles of gloom danced under the canopy of her wings, flowing over Devon's naked form like a rolling river.

  Arms extended from her sides, symbolic of the death of her maker's miracle, she began breathing in rough and jagged breaths. Still with Devon Illes inside her, she tilted her head down to meet his fiendish gaze. The shiny green eyes that once graced her face now burned a blistering yellow. They burned with a furious lust—an insistent need. It was an aching for blood, his blood. The blood of this man, Devon Illes, this demon, was her's to shed. That was her chore, her task, the meaning of her existence.

  "Oh...." Devon pointed a finger up toward the ceiling. "So you're one of ... His."

  She clenched her fists until her palms dripped blood and her scream rent the silence. Her bare chest heaved as she breathed. A wildness infested her eyes as insanity tightened its grip on her infuriated mind. Regressing and frenzied, her head tilted in feral confusion. Flickering halo-light danced around her head.

  Drip, drip, drip.

  Blood from her self-inflicted wounds trickled down her legs and onto Devon as he smiled all the while. He had not said a word and his burning eyes had not flinched. He did not seem impressed in the least. That only made her fury worse.

  All she knew was the wrath, the need for a bloodletting. She had done this so many times before, in one aspect or another, sent so many foul creatures to the Under Side. But she sensed this demon was special. He seemed almost indifferent to the fact that in mere moments she planned to reintroduce his foul soul to his master.

  Casually he asked, "Are you finished?"

  His eyes crackled brimstone red, electric with hate. He stared into Vivian’s eyes, scraping her soul with his very thoughts. Her head tilted as he gained access to her weakened mind, learning all her secrets, all her desires, and fears.

  "My, my, aren’t we the little whore?" He laughed. "If I didn’t know better, I would think that you were enjoying this, my fucking you."

  She had nothing to say. What could she say? Her dreams of earning passage back to the Everafter melted away as her mind fought to focus. All she knew now was piercing pain that stabbed her mind. Her hair tossed about as she struggled to shake free the stabbing spikes in her head, to block the mental assault. But he was inside now and she could barely move.

  A vicious swing knocked Vivian from his lap, their carnal link broken. Her heavenly white panorama of wings faltered against the darkened backdrop of the wall into which she smashed. Once on his feet, Devon was a blur of bronze skin, his advance unstoppable—an unholy juggernaut. One of her wings tore, now soiled and tattered. Devon gripped the feathered appendage and launched Vivian into the air. The sounds of bones snapping echoed through the room. The words poured from her mouth, laced with a piercing crescendo, "You bastard!"

  "No wings for you, my little harlot," he spat. "You have no clue, do you? You should’ve just let me come and it would’ve been over with a quick snap of your neck."

  Her disguise shattered, shredded before its time and against her will. The failed plan of a rogue Angel of the Authority, an envoy who had fallen from the grace of Heaven's Second Sphere on a self-appointed mission to appease her Lord, to regain his love—to do His work the only way she now knew how.

  She knew her methods would raise His ire, but she hoped beyond hope the results of her work spoke for itself and He would grant her respite from this lunatic Earth and reentry into His Golden Kingdom. Eradicating these enemies of Heaven and driving them back from where they came was all she knew, in this life and the last. After what seemed an eternity, all she longed for was entrance into Paradise.

  Devon moved closer. In a failed attempt to protect herself, she fought against the burning tendrils in her mind and raked her nails across his bare leg. Tiny rivulets of static charged pain snaked over his skin leaving a bloody mark.

  Demons could bleed. Demons could hurt. Demons could die.

  However, Devon was not the average blasphemy of God’s creation. Hiding amongst mere mortals, Devon Illes was no man. He chuckled as he looked down at the mangled form at his feet. This holy device had made the wrong choice of whom she attempted to kill.

  To his dismay, he had neglected to recogni
ze the signs of the omen, of Vivian. Lust had overwhelmed his mind. He had bided his time until there was no doubt his opportunity to return darkness to the world had arrived—ahead of his schedule. "Why wait?"

  He dropped the moniker, the act; for he was ready to introduce the world to his true self, allow them to witness the meaning of true evil.

  Devon Illes ... how pathetically clever, he thought.

  Yet, he grew fond of this name. Having been known as many things, by many names scarring the face of history, he liked this self-appointed name the best. It made him feel more despicable and even closer to the humanity he planned to slaughter.

  Devon Illes ... Dev Illes ... Devil.

  He felt the pride build within his chest.

  Outstretched hands summoned power from below. Fiery red light filtered into the room through every crack in the floor and walls. The crimson glow illuminated his muscular body, bathing him in hellfire as the pungent stench of brimstone permeated the room.

  The overpowering odor made Vivian gag. Cowering on the floor, crouched over and bleeding, she wept in pain and failure. She had failed her God on her mission gone awry. A dispensable vessel. All felt hopeless.

  A bellow of rage shook the room, not from Vivian, but from Devon. In the treacherous firelight, bones erupted from his brow, curling like ram horns while shattering through the front of his skull. From his back, shards of bone ripped through muscle and out of his skin and bony protuberances raced down the length of his spine until ending at the point of his new tail. His skin color muddied, mixing to form its own unholy hue. The sound of tearing tissue accompanied his guttural howl caused by the birth of his ultimate transformation.

  The more he shed his humanly skin, the more he changed—grew. His facade shattered just as Vivian's had. But, unlike hers, it was of his own free will. No longer needing it, he realized the time for the world to bear witness to the coming of the new holocaust was now.

  While the Devil-in-man's-skin transmogrified, Vivian begged for forgiveness. She begged not of Satan, but of her lord, a last wish before she died once again. Vivian watched in hopeless fear. The hellfire licked at her, teased her—tempted her. She knew the end drew near, not just for her, but also for living beings. Her mind raced with the endless possibilities of what might lay ahead.

  The end of humanity.

  No one would save her. She was now on her own. Even her thunderous screams of pain went unheard. Alone, they existed in their own private space, a microcosm separate from the rest of the world. Beyond this room, humanity could not hear, see, or comprehend a thing. Devon raised Hell in this small room. Soon it would spread like a rampant, infectious disease over the entire world and at the helm of the chaos the man who was no longer Devon Illes would sit ... and he would laugh.

  He was no longer a man; he was the farthest thing from it. The power he possessed was immeasurable, on par with his ultimate adversary. The battle was never ending, constant through the history of time and before. He was the archfiend and found God's move in the game almost insulting.

  "So He sent me a pawn to do the work of a knight." His mouth didn't move. The deafening sound of his voice carried through her mind and she shuddered at his words.

  He turned his head, focusing on her with his demonic gaze. Flames created an aura around the hot embers of his eyes. "He’s so full of mistakes, isn’t He? I have a message for Him to go along with my next move."

  "He- he didn't send me." She would never reach Heaven. She would die—again—never offered the chance to see the brilliant white light of God’s love.

  Vivian wielded only the minimalist of power since her fall. But not once had fright ever claimed her. With her renowned success and diehard efficiency, her lord Himself once regarded her highly. However, this was the last thing she expected as no one had ever warned her that this could happen. So much for faith. She sniffled and repressed a cry. A solitary tear rolled down her cheek.

  "My ... aren't you a brave little Authority. I knew your kind well." Devon walked over to her, his hooked claws clicking on the floor, his tremendous cock swinging like a lascivious pendulum. "This just sweetens the pot, doesn't it?" With a kind hand, he lifted her to her feet, her wings hung limp from her back. His fist was enormous, almost the size of her head. A bronze colored finger stopped the tear before it fell to its demise from her cheek. Devon lifted his finger to his nose, breathed in the tear, relishing the aroma. "Mmm, so many scents to savor. You’ve been soiled too many times, I'm afraid. Luckily for you, I am here to take the pain away."

  His fang-filled mouth smiled at her. With a little snicker, he continued, "It won’t hurt one bit." She found his voice momentarily soft—almost kind—yet still bordering on sarcastic. "But your skull is staying with me, a trophy for my throne. Consider it an honor. However, the rest of you is going back to ... well, Him—your holy liar and His bastard son!"

  He stomped his foot against the floorboards and snatched her by her hair, throwing her across the room before she could regain her strength. Wood and plaster splintered from the collision. Her halo sputtered and faltered once more. His smirk disappeared.

  Time for the next task.

  He had an erection again. It throbbed with every beat of his wretched heart; its veins threatening to burst through the thin skin of his shaft. Lust consumed him for a second time. Vivian wasn't the first angel he fucked and she wouldn't be the last.

  As he approached Vivian's mangled body, the door burst open. Despite its intensity, the red glow of the hellfire didn't seep into the hallway. Instead, it shrank away, receding to the darkest regions of the room. In its place, filtering in from the hallway, a blinding yellow radiance emanated. The light chased the dark away, like water dousing a flame. Outlined by the shattered doorframe, a figure stood bathed wholly in the brilliance. Blurry tentacles of yellow fire danced in the air, licking everything it touched. Devon, left untouched by the glow, stood out in stark relief against the brightness as if he absorbed all light that hit him.

  The figure, cloaked in black, entered the room, seemingly floating in for its legs did not move. Shifting its head, it focused on Vivian. "You've ruined everything. Get out! Now!"

  She obeyed without question. What choice did she have? She had failed. Flee or die. On shaking limbs, Vivian attempted her crawl of shame out of the room but Devon blocked her sluggish retreat. He grabbed her by the back of the neck, lifting her onto trembling legs, his grip like a vice. The figure paused.

  "You must be the Knight in this game. I guess we're going straight to the climax then," Devon glanced at Vivian's abused body in his grasp. With a quick twist of his wrist, the mighty demon snapped Vivian's neck at the base. All traces of her light vanished as she hung limp in his hand. "What a shame. I was looking forward to tasting her dirtied soul." Devon tossed her through the wall into the hallway beyond without a care where she dropped to the floor in a crumpled heap like a discarded marionette. "Shall we continue, stranger?"

  The shadowy figure continued inside, the broken dressing room door swinging closed on its battered hinges after him, blocking the outside world from the impending melee within. The figure's hair danced, blowing wildly on a mysterious wind. The coal blackness of the figure faded as it ventured deeper into the room; the wind died down. To Devon’s dismay, he realized who now stood before him, despite the physical form he had chosen.

  Josef, Black Inversion's guitarist, still in his blackened outfit and spikes, looked nothing short of lethal to go along with the sinister gleam sparking in his eye. Yet, compared to Devon's looming monstrous form, he still looked meek and small by comparison.

  Standing tall and breathing heavy, Devon's sinewy muscles flexed under his thick skin. "Interesting," he said with uncharacteristic sincerity. "Well played but pointless."

  "Did you think I was going to make it easy for you? I know this war is never ending, but you are not winning this battle!" The roar of Josef's voice pounded through the air.

  "Your Holiness will lose in time,
Emissary, no matter whose mortal shell he allows you to possess." Devon swept his arms out in a grand gesture. "It’s the dawn of a new era. A new beginning of iniquity and all will bear witness to the real 'Second Coming'!"

  Their voices tore the air asunder. The atmosphere rippled like heat rising off sun-drenched concrete, distorting everything. All around them, the two contrasting explosions of light danced—the golden radiance of Josef's Godlight and the bloody crimson of hellfire. Tendrils of each lashed at each other, tangling together in a furious firefight.

  With battle lines drawn, the two stared each other down, their respective auras hissing and shimmering. The deafening silence hummed with an unearthly quality, born neither from Heaven nor from Hell. Josef's eyes closed, strange murmurs escaped his lips. He raised his arms out from his sides, palms out, and his hands began to bleed. Droplets of the blood sizzled when they hit the floor, turning into steam.

  The-Man-Who-Became-Satan raised his arms over his head and began screaming out phrases in a foreign tongue, indistinguishable syllables laced with harsh consonants. Around his eyes, the aura intensified, devouring them both before it slathered his whole body. He brought his palms together with a forceful clap. Immediately, between his hands, hellfire erupted, congealing into form. The flames forced his hands apart as the shape solidified and hovered. Waves of heat flowed about as he continued to chant.

  Josef's palms still bled, the blood of a martyr coursing through his veins, the blood of the Son of God. His holy gift. As more blood flowed from the stigmata, it pooled onto the floor around his feet. From his eyes, red tears fell one after another until it cascaded down his face in streams, joining the puddle on the floor. As quickly as blood left his body, it soaked into the floorboards. From the constant torrent, liquid life drenched his clothes and clung to his body. Blood drained from his nose, then from his mouth and ears. In a matter of seconds the lake of blood was sucked downward where it became one steaming, boiling mass.