Chapter 0 - Fury

A piece from 2013.

A female figure sat on an intricately designed throne at the center of the living room of her oddly-shaped ethereal house. Her sensuous aura washed over the room. She carried an air of mystery wherever she went, an enigma. Her curves were voluptuous, her eyes cold and blue like ice from the pits of hell. Her touch was like poison, making the very blood of anyone she touched freeze in its tracks, inspiring a selfish need to want all they could get from her at any cost. Her presence penetrated wherever she went, as if a deep chasm had opened and started to slowly suck in the innocence of anyone around her.

She left her mark wherever she went, driving observers mad with curiosity just from a glimpse of her figure. No one knew her name; no one knew what she was. Those lucky enough to come into contact with her were never the same again.

Her voice was wretched, drenched in the lusty tonality of a female demon's voice as she belted out, "METHIAS! I require entertainment!" Her voice ricocheted throughout the house, causing its walls to ripple with the desire that she held within her soul.

Methias could soon be seen limping down a hallway, drawing nearer towards his mistress. His posture was slumped, for he rarely ever slept. His once beautiful and vibrantly white wings were now bandaged and stained a crimson hue as feathers fell while he walked. His body was tattered, scarred in too many places to count, his wounds, some still fresh, oozed a thick red substance as some crumbled with the hardened crusts from his scabs. 

Fright. It had become an emotion Methias had come to know quite well since he had lived with his mistress. His voice stuttered as he arrived at his mistress's feet, kneeling before her as he said, "Yes my mistress." She quickly threw her hand backwards into the air with the speed of a goddess and in the blink of an eye it came crashing down upon Methias's face, digging into his scars and still-fresh wounds. A furious bolt of pain wracked through his body in an instant. Methias' back arched in agony before belting a screech that would make anyone but his mistress double over in pain. 

The walls of the house rippled as the horrible screech ricocheted throughout the many halls and corridors of the estate. As his bloody tears were absorbed by the floor, the female figure said. "This is entertainment? You come and muck up my beautiful house and expect me to be happy? Go clean your mess!" she said as she smacked him once more. 
Her tongue could be seen slowly unraveling out of her mouth to lick up the scabby crusts and fresh blood from her hand as Methias cleaned his mess and reapplied his bandages. After he had finished cleaning the mess that he had made, the female figure walked over to him and picked him up by a leash he had attached to his neck. "Now for my entertainment." she whispered, leant into his ear as she walked through one of the ethereal walls, into to a room Methias knew all too well. 

The room was filled with a pitch darkness, lit only by a tiny flame.

The mistress threw Methias up against a wall, the force of his back slamming into it pressed a switch embedded into the wall behind him. Large, thick nails crusted over from past contact with his blood shot out from the wall opposite of his, impaling his palms and his feet to keep him pinned in place. A thick crunch could be heard as the nails splintered into his bones as Methias let out another wretched screech. The female figure had walked over towards a wall covered with her tools. Her moods dictated which of her extensive collection would be put to use that day. 

She decided on a small sharpened knife, walking over to Methias after she grabbed it. "Mmmm." could be heard slowly rumbling out from her throat, as her legs started to glisten in the light by the wall. Wet. She was a sick woman, this was how she got her kicks, she could orgasm at any moment while torturing him, this was his main purpose. She ripped his tattered, old clothes off, the sound of the tearing fabric echoed violently throughout the small room as she leant in to lick his chest. 

Her tongue was drenched in lust, for when she licked him Methias could no longer contain himself and bellowed out a deep, almost demonic moan as his whole body shook in violent ecstasy. His pleasure would end there. As the mistress’s breathing sped up, her right hand was lost between her legs. She pressed the blade up against his chest to slowly drag it downwards, drenching the lower half of his body in his own blood, forming a puddle of thick crimson blood beneath his feet. 

This was all she could stand, as she thrust her fingers within her body. The knife fell from her grip as she collapsed into the puddle of his blood and her lust, convulsing in the same violent ecstasy she had shown Methias. She came where she lay. Methias soon fainted from loss of blood and the shock from the ordeal he had just gone through. They would both lay there, for days sometimes, until she felt it was time to get up.