Chapter 26: Prurience

"More."

Music

Gold and intoxicating heat sears forth from your hands.

The impossible light from above and from the altar intensifies tenfold.

A shield of solid radiance flares around your allies for the briefest of moments to protect them.

All of Mercy's abandoned church sears with your molten blessing, and destroys every weapon before you in an instant.

In a new volley, one dagger soars straight towards Ray. There's no trace of your humanity as you sprint to meet the weapon with speed beyond mortal comprehension. The blade is caught out of mid-air by the edge of your shield— only for five more weapons to follow.

Your muscles are worked to their limit in a blaze of divinity. Snakes of liquid metal swirl into the smoke that rises from your burning flesh. The God of Action tears you down with each deflected weapon, while Mercy works to rebuild you.

Each weapon that sinks into your shield pushes you back. You push yourself harder, farther, and faster— lusting for more of the burn. But you can't hope to guard everyone.

Shadows run along the top of the balcony. More projectiles coming from the distance breaks through all of your smoke and light. The enemy is closing in on you— and more are on their way.

While the girls give up on dislodging the swollen door from its position, Celegwen readies to try and break its painted glass. Breathing hard— heat seeping off of you— madness licks at the edge of your voices. You struggle to speak through the will of two deities. Desperation to get your allies into a safer position forces you to command them.

"Stay together! Behind me! Be careful—!"

Ray whines in distress. He clearly can't recognize that you're the one speaking, but heeds his master's gestures. With his tail down, your boy snarls as he urges Ofelia and Celegwen to get behind your shield. It's not nearly large enough to protect you all.

The instant you risk stepping out from cover, you're impaled by one of the demon's weapons. Pain hits you hot and intense— not unlike when you were last with Mercy. Your eyes cloud over as you lean into the blow. The wound is severe, and your breath is hitching, but you're far from distraught.

You want more.

Ofelia looks up to you in terror as you clearly relish pulling out the barbed instrument. Smoke and gold ushers into and from the site of the wound. The shredded skin and muscle knits back together before your eyes, even as you pull the weapon out.

Another blade strikes into the arm that's pulling out the first dagger.

A lascivious burn works through the impact, while a third weapon grazes just past your shoulder.

A haze of heat and violence robs you of most of your senses. Only Ofelia's voice registers as she shouts to Celegwen, "hurry! Please!"

The sorceress takes a deep breath and slams her staff into the colored glass behind you all. The tremendous doors reach up to the second floor of the building, and shatter in all directions. Both women scream and throw their arms up before their face and eyes.

You dive backwards— raising your shield— and embrace your friends as best as you can. Shielding your allies with your body, radiance flares forth and extends your protection just enough to cover you all.

A waterfall of painted agony crushes into your barrier. The weight of it splinters bone and shreds your muscle. The sound is deafening— but that's the least of your concerns.

A number of daggers pelt into your back. You can't quite discern how many. Your body— Flesh and Mercy's vessel— is an inferno of sensation. You're completely overwhelmed by pain and pleasure, and indecently cry out as you release your friends. It's all you can do to push them away from the carnage.

Celegwen and Ofelia sprint into the ruins beyond, and flee for their very lives.

Ray is not having any of it. Knowing that you're hurt— and too faithful for his own good— he stays right by your side.

You keep your shield ahead of him as imps swarm around you all. You count eleven running straight towards you— and another three that have just now entered the church. As much as it hurts, you have to push Ray away, and command him with as much force as you can muster. "OBEY me, Ray. RUN!"

He whines, and runs over the broken glass to tear off after your companions once again.

You were so distracted, you almost didn't notice that two imps have come right up behind you. The rest are in hot pursuit.

You swing your mace around— back aflame— and fight for your life.

With an attacker on each side and another dozen en route, it's everything you can do just to fend off the assault. Right arm braced against your shield, you block a swing from an imp on one side of you with expert precision. Your wasted muscle screams at the shock of the full force of their blow, but you hold your ground, and use your left hand to swing up your mace. The thin limb trails with smoke and gold— catching a blow from the imp to your other side. The metals of your weapon and his short sword spark and tear against one another. The shrill screech echoes throughout the church, and sends the other imps into a frenzy.

You swing your weapon down, and jump backwards. Pulling away from the monsters beside you is all you can manage as the rest quickly catch up. This swarm is more coordinated than any you've ever seen before. You barely lean back in time to dodge another dagger that's thrown straight at your face. Swinging your shield aside deflects two more.

The pain you're experiencing is exquisite in its intensity, as a God keeps your back from becoming irreparably damaged. Your chest heaves from exertion. You're short of breath, even through the agonizing burn of Flesh's blessing. Every muscle tenses and tears. The serrated and barbed metal in your back twists deeper with each passing moment— eliciting more noise from you, clouding your thoughts, and aiding in your struggle to survive.

You keep backing up, deflecting blow after blow with inhuman precision and speed. Each battery hits harder than the last, but Mercy works through your frayed nerves and tortured motions. She gifts you with pleasure— giving you the strength to endure, and the will to take on more.

There's no respite from the attack as all fourteen demons close in. They're on you— weapons in hand— and practically climb over one another to overwhelm your defenses. Seeing the slightest of openings, you push yourself to the limit— and dive over two of them.

You cry out as you land. The blades embedded in your back slink dangerously close to your spine. Keeping your shield out, you drop your mace and twist back— grasping onto the handle of one of the daggers as tightly as you can.

Hesitation is not an option. You think of soft gold and light as you pull out the blade in one swift motion.

Stars explode before your possessed and metallic eyes.

Blood pools down your back.

Flesh floods the wound as you cry out.

"Mercy— !"

An explosion of radiance bursts forth. The imps are momentarily blinded by the light and screech in agony. You stagger backwards from the blessed distraction, and break out into a run.

Throwing the dagger aside, you dive behind a pew for cover while the demons are stunned. There isn't any time to spare. Already, you hear the imps recovering from your defense.

You reach back to grab another one of the blades embedded in you. There are three remaining in all. A feverish prayer to the Goddess is uttered as you find your purchase along flaming skin, and brace to pull out the weapon.

"Steady these hands! Through restraint and compassion— the Father beseeches you! Grant this vessel Your aid! MERCY!"

The jagged blade is ripped out in one fell motion. You scream into the open air. A significant amount of flesh slakes across the pews as you look up, and hurl the bloodied dagger back at your foes.

The risk of peeking out from hiding was well worth it. One of the imp's screams gets cut short as the dagger embeds into its skull. Thirteen monsters move to swarm over the blood-coated benches before its corpse falls to the floor.

Infatuated with anguish, you struggle to focus— but Flesh keeps you moving. His burn is in your limbs, lungs, and heart. All of your back lights up in agony as you dive under the pews ahead. You only risk breaking from its cover to rush for a pillar closer to the exit.

The moment you emerge, three more daggers are thrown at you. Mercy extends Her compassion, and the weapons soar just past your face. The edge of one of the blades is slick with poison, however. It catches on the side of your cheek, and snags on an old scar. The pallid flesh is torn open. Toxin drips along your gaunt bone and tightened skin. In return, smoke and heat pours forth from the cut, and expels the poison.

You feel for the other daggers.

An imp comes from around the side of your cover just as you take hold of one of the remaining weapons. The demon tries to drive a sword straight into your stomach while you're distracted, and you scarcely move aside in time. Its blade cuts into your side.

You gasp in agony and elation— and tear out the third dagger.

It's uncertain if a mortal man can endure such torture. The cracks at the edges of your mind deepen. The fractures in your soul are barely bound together by the embrace of Mercy and Flesh. You're either screaming or gasping as the blade slides completely out from your body. It's hard to tell. You're losing yourself.

An imp is in your face. Bringing your shield up before it, your arm is aflame with exertion. Taking on another swing from its sword, your limb is begging for release— but you can't stop.

Another dagger streaks by the side of the pillar. You have to leave your cover behind as more projectiles quickly follow suit.

You slam your shield into the demon and charge forward. The dagger you ripped from your back is still in hand. The monster's screams and gurgles echo through the church as you drive your weapon straight into the side of its neck, and keep stabbing as quickly as you can.

It somehow endures as you press forward. It pushes back against your shield, and the monster's desperate attacks and cries alert its allies.

Stabbing the demon for a final time, it goes limp at last. You toss its body aside, and break for the front of the church.

The broken glass littering the floor does nothing to slow your dive for complete cover. You slide along the colored debris, and are slender enough that even with your robes catching, you can easily get beneath a fallen pillar.

A collection of destroyed paintings and rubble leaves enough room for an escape, but the screams of your pursuers are still too close for comfort. You take hold of the last dagger in your back.

The edges of the world soften.

The hands of a Goddess are on you as you rip out the final source of your pain.

"M-Mercy...!"

You bite down on your lip in an attempt to muffle your scream. Blood dribbles down your chin, but Flesh pays the minor wound on your face no mind. He pours into the raw and exposed tissue of your shoulder blades, spine, and the dip in your back. With the mending of your exposed tissue comes a burn so deep that smoke pours from within.

Every inch of you wants to lay down and die, but Mercy eases you into the pain. She grants relief through the very sensation that's causing you so much agony.

It's more than a man can take.

The crimson and gold radiating through you threatens to overflow. Euphoria blends into terror as you struggle to keep hold of both deities at once. You find yourself digging your fingers into the cut on your side— drawing out more pleasure and relief while a God and Goddess work to mend your wounds.

The edges of your mind are fraying.

Softening.

Burning.

The rubble behind you shifts as one of the demons throws an entire sword into it. There must be twelve of them left— if no more have entered the church— and you suspect that more will be coming.

You can scarcely think. Adrenaline courses through you. Your blood is aflame. Your lungs are on fire.

You want to rest— to stay with the God and Goddess indefinitely— but you can't stay still. You have to act if you want to survive.

Yet another weapon hits the rubble you're using as refuge, and threatens to collapse the entire structure. There's no question that you can't stay here for a moment longer.

The real question plaguing you is if you can bear to part from Flesh.

It takes every ounce of willpower you possess to stop digging into the wound in your side. To stop feeling along the newest, raised scars adorning your back. To stop your bloodied hands from threatening tender skin. The temptation to work it back over— to elicit another wave of healing and relief— is nearly irresistible.

You tear your hands away at the last possible moment. Your sanity strains.

Tormented by the desire to live another moment with the Gods— to intertwine Mercy's pleasure with the torturous heat and building agony— to extract another sensation from your overworked muscle and bone— to feel— to know that the Gods are with you

You have to release Them. Your weakness may be Their strength— but at this rate, you won't live long enough to use it.

The dagger you extracted from your back drips with a steady reminder of Flesh's gifts. You murmur your thanks to Him, and throw the weapon as far out as you can. Praying it will be a sufficient distraction, you release the God, and tear out from from cover to run in the opposite direction.

Your overworked and once-again-emaciated frame emerges from the darkness and into Mercy's light. Each and every step rapidly becomes more excruciating than the last. Every vein, nerve and muscle screams with abuse.

You keep Mercy close. She's the only thing keeping you from collapsing as you break away from the abandoned church, and move once more into ruin and shadow.