5 comments/ 28903 views/ 49 favorites Conversion Ch. 01 By: TimeWise Milyn looked around the room hopelessly. There was no way out that she could see. The door was sturdy and locked, and there were no windows. The only piece of furniture in the room was the simple stool she was seated on. Folding her hands together in supplication, she knelt on the hard stone floor, bowing her head in prayer. Only the One God could save her now. It had been four days ago that the Convent of the Precious Gift had been taken. She had lived there for most of her young life, dedicating herself body and soul to the One God. The calm, regimented life was all she could remember. As the nuns were brides of the One God, she could not even remember what men looked like, as they were never allowed inside the holy grounds of the convent. But that day, she had finally seen men in all their horror. Rough, grinning brigands had somehow got in past the tall walls and strong iron gates, pillaging and killing at whim. The Flames of the One God, elite nun warriors who protected the holy place, had somehow been overcome. Milyn had seen little of it, for she had been sent to hide in a storehouse with a few other young nuns, in the hope that they would be safe there until the trouble was dealt with. But instead, blood-stained bandits had found them there, bound them hand and foot, and loaded them in carts like sacks of grain. Milyn's last view of the convent was of it burning, growing smaller and smaller as she was taken away into the wide cruel world. Her captor's destination was a stone-walled town a few days journey away. They only made a few stops on the way there, as the bandits untied and fed their captors as quickly as possible. Out of the near two-hundred nuns who had lived at the convent, Milyn could see that only about thirty-odd had been taken captive. The greater part of those were the younger, more comely nuns, and she despaired when she realized what that probably meant as to their captor's intentions. There were at least twice as many of the ruffians, and no chance for escape ever presented itself. Honestly, even if she had seen a chance Milyn was unsure if she would have taken it. She was just too afraid of the consequences when they inevitably caught her again. Truly, she was shocked that none of these vile men had forced themselves on any of the Sisters. While she had never been out in the world, there had been many sermons preached about the filthy lusts of such evil men. When they had reached the town, it seemed only half-filled. Many houses lay silent and presumably vacant. Still, there were a number of people up and about, going about their business. Strangely, none of them seemed at all perturbed at the sight of the bound sisters being driven down main street in carts. A few of the young men did crane their necks to get a better look, hungry looks on their faces, but that was the extent of their reaction. The town was formed around a sprawling, elegant manor building which lay at its heart. The carts stopped in the stone-flagged square in front, and the brigands set to work at once hauling the battered and frightened Sisters out and lining them up facing the building, while one of their number went within. Milyn whimpered in pain as she was roughly pushed to her feet. She felt light-headed from a mixture of terror and gnawing hunger. The one who had entered the building soon returned, bringing with him a tall man in rich clothes of black and gold. He came towards the line of bedraggled Sisters, high black boots clicked softly on the stone with every step. His brown, wavy hair framed a broad forehead, large and penetrating green eyes, and an aquiline nose. He was slender, with pale skin, and his hands seemed unusually long-fingered. In one black-gloved hand, the stranger casually gripped a rod about two feet in length, capped with the snarling visage of some great hunting cat. Milyn could clearly tell that this man was in charge. The rough brigands treated him with a deference tinged with a hint of fear, as if he were more dangerous than all of them put together, despite the man's almost cheerful demeanor. As he walked down the line of nuns, he examined each one closely, peering into their eyes and running his gaze critically over their bodies. Cowed, none of the Sisters would look him in the eye... until he came to Mother Selcrie. Mother Selcrie was one of the only two senior nuns who had been taken by the bandits, rather than slaughtered; the other being Mother Elantine, who was further down the line. A stern-faced, strict, middle-aged woman, Mother Selcrie had been the harshest disciplinarian at the convent, quick to assign hours of reciting Acts of Contrition while kneeling directly on hard stone floors to young nuns who giggled, gossiped, or let their attention wander from their duties. Before the attack, Milyn would have said she was the most fearsome person in the world. When the richly dressed stranger arrived in front of her, Mother Selcrie looked him in the eye, and spoke out in a firm, loud, angry voice. "I know not who you are, but you have made a terrible mistake in violating the sanctity of holy ground and assaulting those dedicated to the One God. In this world, the Church will hunt you down and put you and yours to the sword, and in the next, you will burn forever in a river of hellfire! Not one stone of this place will be left standing atop the other when the soldiers of the One God finish with you!" She pursed her lips, breathing hard, then lowered her voice from the near-shout it had been, looking about at the other men in the square. "However, if you release us and repent, mercy might yet be granted. Any man who does not wish to die a terrible death and spend an eternity in torment must make a stand now, or be forever damned. The full weight of these sins rests upon the head of he who ordered the deed done. For others, there might be clemency, provided my Sisters and I are brought to the nearest Church unharmed." Milyn drew in a short, sharp breath. She really, really didn't think that had been a wise thing for the Mother to do. These men were not going to be cowed by threats, however much truth was behind them. She could see they respected and feared the tall man too much. She felt a sinking sensation in her stomach for what would be coming next. This was just the same as if a foolish young nun had tried to challenge one of the Mothers publicly; the reaction would no doubt be swift and brutal retaliation, to drive out any further thought of defiance in all those who watched. The tall man drew back a step, and a wide smile stretched over his face. It was a strange expression that Milyn didn't think she'd ever seen before; he looked genuinely happy, yet there was a fierce, smoldering anger lurking in his eyes. "Ah, a bit of backbone! But... no flexibility, no adaptation." He shook his finger at her. "Same old story, different day," he continued in a sing-song voice. He sighed, then abruptly snapped his fingers and clicked his tongue. "We'll have to deal with you directly. Object lesson and all... no offense." Mother Selcrie's eyes flashed. "Do with me as you will, you filthy heathen! You only prove your own iniquity and ensure your own damnation! Sisters, regard this vile sinner with no fear! Whatever evil he visits upon us, our souls will in the end reside with the One God, and he will scream for all time in the deepest pits of Hell!" The man tutted at her. "Now then, Sister, you operate under a slight theological misapprehension! While your God cares only for the totality of his worshipers - slaves would be more appropriate, actually - I have Friends who care for me above aught else. Thus you stand here spiritually naked, aside from your perverse obstinacy, while I am armed with the most potent of weapons." Mother Selcrie spat full in his face. Milyn winced and looked away, expecting him to strike her with his rod, or order his men to attack her, steeling herself against whatever sick sound of abuse she heard. Instead, she just heard laughing. She looked back up in wonder. The tall man had subsided into a chuckle as he wiped his face. "All this righteous fury! Good, good. You, and you, hold her." He indicated two of the bandits, who rushed forward to seize each of Mother Selcrie's arms. The tall man pointed at her belly, and his wrist rotated, fingers moving as if he was tracing a strange symbol in the air. His lips moved, framing soundless words. At first, nothing seemed to happen, and Mother Selcrie smirked back at him in smug disdain. Milyn thought it foolish. This strange man had control of all their fates right now, and to needlessly provoke him seemed reckless at the least. A moment later, the tall man finished with a satisfied air, and folded his hands in front of him. The corner of his mouth quirked, and he cocked a sardonic eyebrow at the defiant nun before him. A frown touched Mother Selcrie's lips, and she shook her head as though trying to dissuade the attentions of some buzzing insect. A tremor ran through her body, and her hips twitched. Her head shaking became constant, now a steady denial as her crotch began thrusting forward, just slightly at first, but increasing in frequency and vigor. "Nooo..." a protesting mutter escaped her, as her body began to bend forward, shaking. The tall man gestured to the bandits holding her, and the two pushed her forward as they stepped back, retreating to a safe distance. The young nuns on either side of their thrashing superior drew back as well, gasping and whimpering in fear. Their captors did nothing to stop them. Mother Selcrie was groaning almost constantly now, and Milyn realized in shock that it was not in pain, as she had first thought, but undeniably in pleasure. The older nun's face contorted as she panted out shuddering breaths, and then she threw her head back and keened in ecstasy, her hips juddering with the force of her release. It was clear that whatever was driving her did not relent, because she immediately began to groan again with increased fervor, eyes squeezed tightly shut as her body bucked and shuddered. "When the pot comes to a full boil - not before, mind you! - you will then reduce the heat to a low simmer, and add the ingredients," the tall man said jovially, giving a few quick passes with his hands. Milyn noticed his fingers touched and twisted a ring on his right hand, a band of twisted crimson so deep it was almost black. Mother Selcrie sighed and hung her head, her body relaxing a little. Behind her, the air roiled, split, and rotated apart, revealing a screaming infinity of seething darkness. A hulking figure stepped through, and the rift sealed itself behind. Milyn was not alone in taking an involuntary step back as they all took in the creature the tall man had conjured from nothingness. It was huge, at least seven feet tall, and looked like some sort of huge wolf, if the beast walked upright like a man, had human-like hands, spikes jutting viciously out of its muscled body, and coruscating red eyes. Its tail, a fleshy appendage that must have been at least four feet long, seemed prehensile, twitching back and forth with purpose, and was tipped with a long, slender, tube-like stinger. The tall man did not seem in the least concerned. As the unholy thing approached on its spurred paws, slavering jaws gaping wide, he pressed his palms together in front of him and bowed respectfully, speaking a few measured sentences in a harsh, guttural language. He ended by gesturing invitingly at Mother Selcrie, who was still whining faintly under her breath as she fought off whatever lingering stimulation his magic had inflicted on her. The demonic creature looked down at the woman on all fours in front of it, and its jaws gaped wider in a horrific grin. For the first time, Milyn noticed the thick, leathery organ that swung between the beast's thighs. The member twitched and shifted as it began to expand, rising steadily upwards. She gaped in disbelief at the massive thing, fully as thick around as one of her slender arms. Was this what all men carried between their legs? A surreptitious look around her assured her that if there was anything like this on the other men in the square, it would have to be smaller, or she would be seeing some kind of very noticeable lump beneath their breeches. Milyn looked back at the blasphemy unfolding before her, at once horrified and strangely fascinated. She had only a vague idea of what was going to happen next; when any of the older sisters had talked about the perils of the world and the savage lust that lurked in the hearts of men, they had never really discussed the specifics of the act. A few of the other young nuns had once gossiped with her about seeing two of the goats mating. Apparently it had somehow involved the male's genitals becoming inflamed and swollen, and then he had shoved them into the female. Milyn wasn't sure if she believed them. It sounded painful, disturbing, and downright filthy! The beast snarled and lunged forward, seizing Mother Selcrie's habit near her rear and tearing it completely asunder. The nun's eyes shot open and she screamed in terror, scrabbling at the ground to get away, but it hooked one thick arm around her throat and snarled viciously in her ear, causing her to freeze in panic. Brutal claws shredded her underclothes, and her firm ass and dripping sex were bared for all to see. The thing growled in what sounded like satisfaction as its fully erect organ rubbed against her soft rear, drooling a clear, thick discharge from the tip. The creature's tail coiled lazily, then struck with the speed of striking snake. Mother Selcrie screamed again as it buried itself at the nape of her neck, but her exclamation was cut off half-way as it tightened its grip around her neck, leaving her choking and gagging for air. The tail flexed and quivered, and an audible pumping sound drifting from it as some sort of fluid was forced into the wound. Foam began collecting at the corners of the nun's mouth, and her eyes rolled back in her head as her body began to shake uncontrollably once again. The demon roared in satisfaction as its tail withdrew, and shoved the jerking woman down on her face, shifting its weight into both hands so that its hips were lined up with those of the defenseless woman. Mother Selcrie was making constant, dumb grunts as her body twitched rhythmically, glistening fluid leaking from her swollen cunt. With a triumphant growl, the beast thrust forward, impaling her half-way on its rampant member with one lunge. The nun's head lifted and her body arched as she screamed out the loss of her virginity, a string of spittle hanging from her mouth. Paying no attention to her feeble, muttered protests, the creature began to rut into her, hunching forward again and again into her soft wetness. Soon, the creature's whole organ was buried inside her. It began to draw its member back to almost its full length, shining with the Mother's juices, before slamming it back in again. Milyn could hardly believe her own eyes. How did that huge thing fit inside the woman? Milyn gasped in horror as she realized a horrible change was coming over the senior nun. Beneath the rutting monster, her skin writhed and darkened, her natural body hair thickening and lengthening as it became fur. Muscles jumped and bunched as they grew, and her nails lengthened and twisted into vicious talons. Mother Selcrie threw her head back and screamed piercingly as bone cracked and shifted while wet, fibrous tearing sounds attested to the violent shifting of unseen ligaments. At last her abused habit, no longer able to contain her new demonic form, hung in tatters from her newly powerful shoulders. She had always been flat-chested, but now ten pendulous teats swung from her furry chest, each the size of a ripe melon. Selcrie now seemed cast from the same mold as the beast that mounted her; albeit decidedly female, with fur the same chestnut brown has her former hair, and a bestial face that seemed drawn in caricature from her former body. She snarled and grunted through her new fangs, bucking her wide hips back against the thrusts of the male covering her, clearing savoring every second of her brutal rape. Her newly formed tail coiled dexterously around the base of the demon's member, squeezing and milking it. One of the younger nuns fainted dead away, unable to cope with the sight of their respected superior so hideously transformed. Suddenly the beast howled, burying itself to the hilt in the corrupted nun's swollen pussy, every muscle in its body tensed and straining. The orange-sized, furry globes hanging below its member expanded and constricted spastically, and Selcrie screamed in tandem, little shudders coursing through her body as her tail contracted rhythmically. Thick, white fluid seeped out of her engorged lower lips and dripped down slowly onto stone. Her belly visibly expanded as she was filled to the brim. The demonic creature withdrew, its member leaving her with a slick, sliding sound, and Selcrie collapsed, unconscious. It saluted the tall man with a taloned fist to its chest, and he returned a courteous nod. A moment later, the beast began to blur around the edges, growing less and less distinct until it had faded away altogether. "Would any of the rest of you like to threaten me?" the tall man inquired pleasantly, looking up and down the ranks of frightened nuns. "Good. You four, take her to the breeding wing. Take care she is not harmed, now! Her litter will be... quite useful." As his men hurried to obey his orders, their leader continued his interrupted review of the prisoners. Milyn had ended up at the far end of the line, and her heart felt as if it would almost beat its way out of her chest as he made his way closer and closer. She had resolved to keep her gaze respectfully directed downwards, but curiosity won out over sense, and as he came to stand in front of her, she was unable to resist peering up into his face. His eyes were the most incredible thing she had ever seen; an intense, depthless green that seized her gaze and held it fast. Breaking through the fear and hopelessness, strange feelings that she could not put a name to stirred within her, accompanied by a sudden surge of excitement that sent her blood pulsing heavily through her veins. His eyebrows shot up as he looked at her. After a moment, he smiled warmly, an expression that reached all the way to his eyes, crinkling them at the corners. "And what is your name, little one?" She gaped for a second, unable to find her voice. None of her Sisters had been asked anything. For an instant, she considered casting defiance in his face and refusing to tell him, but then she thought of Mother Selcrie, and that course of action suddenly seemed very foolish. "M-Milyn." "Singular," he said softly, as if to himself. Then he shook his head slightly and stepped back. "Captain! That one, that one, ah, and those two there are for you and your men. The rest escort to the holding pens in the dungeon... except for little Milyn here. Put her in isolation for now." As the bandits bustled to follow his orders, the tall man stepped in close and leaned down to look her in the eye. "You and I, little one, we are going to get to know each other very well indeed." Conversion Ch. 02 Thanks to everyone who made a comment! Hope you enjoy this chapter! ***** The hideous corruption of Mother Selcrie had been yesterday... or that was at least Milyn's guess, considering there was no way to tell time from inside her isolated cell. But some of the ruffians had come by three times to give her food and drink, so she supposed it might have been a day. The constant, dull terror weighed on her mind so heavily she felt it might drive her mad. She kept praying, but it was largely by rote by now. Honestly, she could feel no connection to the One God here. He certainly hadn't helped Mother Selcrie, but instead let her be twisted into some sort of monster. But then, perhaps her faith just hadn't been strong enough. Everything seemed unreal. She hadn't been able to sleep at all; there was nothing other than the stool in the room, and the stone floor was both hard and cold. Her thin habit was of no use in keeping her warm, and shivers wracked her body constantly. As much as she dreaded the tall man coming and committing whatever dishonors he had planned, at this point she wished he would hurry up and get it over with. All at once, a tremendous blast of sound shook the cell, shaking the ground so hard that Milyn toppled over on her stool. Shouts and the sounds of running feet came faintly from outside. A few minutes later, the clash of weapons crossing echoes in the corridor outside. Sobbing in sudden, insane hope, she began pounding as hard as she could on the door. "Help! Help me! I'm locked in here! Help!" She struck the hard wood until her hands were bruised and bleeding. At last, there was a click from the lock, and the door opened with a grating sound. Milyn smiled through her tears as she saw a warrior in the threshold, his white tabard blazoned with the golden circle of the One God. "Sister!" The man exclaimed. "My name is Father Hoyt. Please, we must leave at once! Follow me!" He led her confidently through the maze of passageways, passing the still, bloody forms of bandits and Church soldiers. The sounds of fighting still echoed all around them. In the upper halls, where the ceiling was taller and windows let in the late afternoon light, they came upon a skirmish; two warriors in white battling a man whom Milyn recognized as the Captain of the scoundrels. Broad-shouldered and thick-necked, he fought the ferocious intensity of an enraged bull, wielding a two-handed sword that dripped gore. Even as Father Hoyt hesitated, obviously torn as to whether to get Milyn to safety or to go to the aid of his comrades, the Captain smashed a gauntleted hand into one of his opponent's faces, sending the man reeling back with a broken nose, then gutted the other, opening him from belly to collarbone. Father Hoyt seized Milyn's arm and pulled her through a door, closing and locking it behind them as the last soldier's death-cry reached their ears. His face had gone very pale. "Hurry Sister! We are nearly out. We must get away! Their forces are stronger than we had thought." Milyn did her best to keep up, fear lending the illusion of strength to her limbs. They burst outside, and came upon another contingent of Church Soldiers fighting to keep control of the square. She felt faint as the panorama of blood and death impacted her. A few of the other Sisters were huddled on the steps, their white faces stupefied in terror, and Milyn went to join them. Father Hoyt grabbed the shoulder of another soldier and pulled him in close. "Sergeant, we have to get out! The rest of the rescue party inside is dead, or as good as. Where are Selsehtiriel and Haephremanoel?" "They said something about cutting the head off the serpent, and flew up to the top of the manor! Then there was that explosion... haven't seen them since, sir!" Father Hoyt grimaced. "Get every soldier and form a wedge! We'll-" Another great roar of sound rocked the air, and fighting died down as everyone looked towards the noise. A bay of broken windows on the top floor gaped like the mouth of some great monster, with shards of glass for teeth, and only darkness within. A body was hurled violently from within, arching out into nothingness in a completely uncontrolled tumble. It impacted on the stones of the square with a sickening thud, coming to rest in a broken tangle of arms, legs... and wings? *Oh dear God*, Milyn realized in a flash. *An angel of the Lord. What could kill an angel?* A roar of fury issued from above, and Milyn looked back up, and into glory. Two winged figures had issued from within and were battling in the air above their heads. One was clearly another angel of the One God, a female form radiating golden majesty, held aloft by snowy wings and bearing a sword of pure crystal that bled pure light. The other figure was recognizable as the tall man even at this distance, bourne aloft by wings of black fire. A whip formed of the same black flame flowed from the tip of his rod, and he lashed at the angel with an expression of cruelty fixed on his face. "Selsehtiriel!" Father Hoyt gasped, looking at the embattled angel. The angel look as if she were trying to disengage and escape, but the tall man would not let her flee. She dodged desperately to the side to avoid the whip, but it suddenly split into two tongues of flame; one wrapping around her sword, twisting it from her grasp, and hurling it aside. Darting closer, he batted aside her ineffectual strikes and seized her by the throat. Drifting lower over the square, he dragged Selsehtiriel with him as she clawed at his pinioning grip. "Lay down your arms, men of the Church, or I will snap this harlot's neck!" Father Hoyt sneered in response. "Archers, shoot him down!" As a hail of darts arched skyward, forcing the tall man to veer away abruptly, he formed his remaining soldiers into a fighting wedge, the freed Sisters at the center, and drove towards the gate. Milyn did not go with them. From the top of the steps leading to the manor's great doors, she could see that they were not going to get through. The gates were closed again, and brigands swarmed in the space between, creating a killing gauntlet under the directions of their lieutenants. There was no point making the attempt, and it was much safer just to stay put. Besides, she couldn't take her eyes off the tall man. It seemed impossible for him to survive the rain of arrows and bolts directed his way, but somehow he dodged, jinked, and dove around the lethal volleys. She noticed something else that astonished her; several times, when the captured angel would have been struck by some dart, he would deflect them with his whip, pull her aside, or in one noteworthy instance, take the hit himself instead. Why in Creation would such an evil man - if man he was - risk his life for a sworn enemy? ________________________________________________ A few hours later, Milyn was feeling much better, physically, at least. Seated in a cozy sitting room at a small table, a quiet servant was just clearing away dishes from the sizable meal she had consumed. A fire crackled and snapped in the hearth, spreading warmth across the room. Before she had been taken in to eat, she had been allowed to bathe and was given new clothing; a simple dark skirt and an off-white tunic. The clothes were strange to her; she was so used to the loose concealing habits of the Convent that being dressed in garments that revealed the curves of her body seemed positively indecent. When the brigand captain and his men had come out of the manor a few minutes after the Church forces had begun their doomed drive for the town's gate, she had raised her hands to show them she was unarmed and not hostile. They'd been confused and suspicious, but as there were other matters pressing, the captain had simply left one of his men to look after her while he led the charge that caved in the rear-guard of the embattled soldier's formation. Most of the Church soldiers were slaughtered, but a few were taken captive. Milyn saw one of the other sisters, Sister Daria, impale herself on a blade rather than be recaptured. Milyn couldn't see that as anything but a bad choice. Since Daria committed suicide, she would spend an eternity in Hell, impaling herself again and again without surcease. And if the One God had no sway here, as would seem to be the case considering the ignominious defeat of his angels and soldiers, Daria had no doubt instead consigned herself to an eternity being tortured and used by demonic forces, if they did not consume her soul outright. The door clicked open, disrupting her thoughts. The tall man walked in, smiling warmly at her when their eyes met. He carried a silver chain in his hand, and trailed the captive angel behind him from a black leather collar around her neck. He seated her at the table with Milyn, then took a chair himself with a sigh of relief. He was wearing a sleeveless tunic that bared his athletic arms, and tight bandage was wrapped around his left bicep where the arrow had wounded him in the fight earlier. The angel was the most beautiful female Milyn had ever seen. Her shining, dark hair fell in waves around her muscled shoulders, and within her vibrant, deep blue eyes a fire smouldered. Her full, pink lips were sensual, displaying elegant nuances of emotion in their dips and curves and delicate corners. The full, generously rounded orbs of her proud breasts strained out against the tight material of a black dress that molded itself to her body. Her wide hips curved sweetly down into powerful thighs and long, toned legs. Graceful fingers worried at each other in her lap, unable to conform to the impassive expression on their owner's face. The glorious radiance that had earlier issued from her seemed muted, only a slight, pearly glow surrounded her figure. With her dull yellow hair and boring muddy eyes, Milyn had never felt plainer. "So," the tall man began easily. "Here we all are. Introductions are in order, I think. I am the Lord Susurrus, but... you may know me better as Zaphatoriel, Second Herald of the Evening." The name sounded vaguely familiar to Milyn, but she could not remember where she'd heard it before. Judging by the choked off gasp from the angel, she recognized the name instantly. Lord Susurrus cocked an eyebrow. "Care to share with the little one, kinswoman? She must not be caught up on her angelic history." The angel's lips twisted in defiance, but there was now a touch of fear as well as fury in her eyes. "Zaphatoriel..." she began grudgingly. "Zaphatoriel was one of the seraphim, a powerful warrior and revered scholar. He was corrupted long ago by his mentor, Telesariel, who was the first Herald of the Evening, and fought alongside other traitors in the Second Angelic Wars. Do not concern yourself, Sister... this is not he. After Telesariel was slain, Zaphatoriel assumed command of the traitors, and was brought down along with all the rest in the battle at the Plains of Emarius. This is just some jumped up demon, invoking his name to gain some false notoriety." The tall man quirked his lips. "You are a young thing, otherwise you would know the taste of my aura, kinswoman. I suppose I could offer proof that even you would be forced to recognize... perhaps a recitation of the words inscribed on the Thirteenth Seal? A rendition of the Lay of Evening, which I led the choir in singing for uncounted years before you were manifest?" He shrugged, chuckling. "It matters not at this juncture, I suppose. We will get to all that later. The young lady seated with us here is Milyn, and I see you have noticed that she is one of the One God's mortal brides. What is your name?" The angel sneered at him again. "I will tell you nothing, demon. You may have gained the upper hand using some vile trickery, but once Hae- my comrade and I do not return, a full Flight will be mustered to hunt you down. Your days are numbered. Slay me, and my name will be sung forever in the Chant of the Glorious Martyrs. My honor will be eternal, as will your damnation." Milyn shot the angel an incredulous glance. What was it with these people and their foolish acts of defiance? It boiled down to arrogance, she supposed. This angel, like Mother Selcrie, was so used to being in control and on top of things that being forced into any other role was almost unbearable, causing her to lash out in smug righteousness, certain that soon the world would be made right again soon. She wasn't so sure. If this man said he was Zaphatoriel, she was inclined to believe him. And like he said, it didn't matter either way, when you got right down to it. He had them in his power, and needlessly angering him was a poor course of action. To Milyn, all of this still seemed like a puzzle that was missing pieces. While it would certainly be simpler to regard this Lord Susurrus as a vile demon, and dedicate herself to the hope of rescue and the undying faith of a martyr, what she had seen did not fit that theory. He did not seem to be simply bent on the destruction or corruption of everything around him, Mother Selcrie notwithstanding. Or perhaps he was, and he was just very clever and subtle about it, although that was not what her intuition told her. The sensible thing to do was to deal with what was in front of her, play for time, and gather as much information as she could. "My Lord," she interjected as he frowned at the angel. "If I may ask, why are we here, and what do you intend to do with us?" He refocused on her and gave her a brilliant smile. "Ah... not only beautiful, but level-headed! If I had a hat, it would be off to you." He leaned back in his chair. "Since you asked so politely, little one, I'll tell you. You are here because you are prisoners in a war that my colleagues and I, the Council of Lords, are waging on the Empire of the One God." He shrugged. "Although I'm certain it will drag the elven Commonwealth in as well before we're done, considering their alliance. Can't say any of us will mind taking those self-righteous atheists down a notch." "Council of Lords? I've never - never heard of them." Milyn glanced at the angel again to see if this was something else she was just ignorant of, but the dark-haired beauty seemed just as lost as her, if more hostile. He waved a hand dismissively. "Recently formed. Myself, Lord Sanguine, Lord Sinister, and Lord Sequester. As I said, this is war, and an ugly one. The nature of our enemy necessitates actions that would otherwise be arguably immoral and unethical." He leaned in close, his green eyes blazing. "My friends and I, we intend deicide, and we will take every opportunity and exploit any weakness to triumph." Milyn felt the blood leave her face. "That - that isn't possible," she managed to get out, her voice stricken. "The One God cannot die!" the angel added bravely, only a small quaver in her voice. "He is the Eternal, who brought life into the world and fashioned it in His image! Even were it possible, His end would mean the end of Creation itself, and all would perish with Him. You - you are mad!" Lord Susurrus wrinkled his nose at them. "Eh... propaganda. The One God cares only for himself, and consumes all those who fail to bow to his tyranny. He feeds off slavish devotion, suppresses reason, destroys art... probably kicks puppies too, come to think of it." Milyn could not help the short, incredulous laugh that slipped out. Her indignance overcame her caution. "You would have us believe that the One God is evil, and that you are good? You're the one who has made war on the peaceful, senselessly slaughtered innocents, and twisted a helpless prisoner into a hideous monster!" He returned her glare full force with his depthless green eyes. "I have killed enemy combatants, little one, and done what I must. And as to your comrade... she made her choice. She was old, inflexible, and arrogant. The best use for her was as a lesson to the rest of you. And you will note that I did not kill her; instead she will live out the rest of her existence with every chance at happiness. You don't believe me? I'll arrange a visit. Do you know that once, women competed to gain the chance at transformation? It was considered an honor, a blessing." He leaned back again and held up a hand to forestall any further questions and protests. "Moving on to what I intend to do with the two of you! Quite honestly, you are both powerful young women, who could be a great asset to our cause. I think there is a good chance that, given the information to see this conflict for what it is, you might aid of us of your own volition. And please!" he raised his voice slightly to speak over the angel's fuming protestations. "I do not expect you to take my word for anything. I will explain some things to you, I will show you some other things, we will do some things together, and we will see how you decide to proceed from there." He stood from the table slowly, his eyes lingering on the angel. "Perhaps, Selsehtiriel, I can even teach you some manners." She gaped at him, and his smile reappeared. "I have arranged rooms for you both... much more comfortable than your last, little one; that was necessary but there is no need for it any longer. Make yourselves at home, regain your energies. I won't try and tell you not to escape, since you are both determined young ladies, a quality which I admire. Think about what I've said, and we will resume our discussion tomorrow. Now please excuse me, as I have a pressing engagement to twist another helpless prisoner into a hideous monster." __________________________________________________ Daria was falling into a hungry void. If she could find her voice, she would have been screaming, but there was no breath in her lungs. She couldn't feel her body, couldn't see anything, but she could still sense what was around her. She knew when she reached the bottom, it would mean the end for her. She could feel tendrils of utter obliteration reaching for her, and a vast expanse gaping like a gargantuan maw. Then, in a flash, she was pulled back and away, smashing through barriers that ripped and tore at her essence. With a last mighty tug, she flew up and out... ...and jerked upright with a scream, clawing at whatever was holding her down with desperate strength. Everything was a blur of color and sound, clashing together and revolving around in a confused jumble. She gasped for breath, fighting against a tight constriction in her chest. Something was very wrong, and in the next instant she realized what it was. Her heart wasn't beating. The world began to resolve itself into definition around her. A strong form was holding her down to a smooth stone slab. "...you are back. Calm down, Daria. Calm down. Slow your breathing. Slow down. You are back, Daria." "...can't breathe," she gasped out. "You can. Slow down. Breathe in... breathe out. Breathe in... breathe out." After a minute, her breath started evening out, and her panic began to subside. She realized it was that tall man who was holding her, the one who had destroyed Mother Selcrie's soul. She remembered dying to keep herself from being imprisoned again. That fear didn't seem as important now. Killing herself, giving in to that sheer terror at the thought of returning to captivity and the wait to be twisted into some horrible monster, had been the worst choice she'd ever made. An involuntary shudder ran through her as she remembered the voracious darkness that awaited beyond the veil of death. The tall man had saved her from that. He had been the one to pull her out. She didn't understand it, but she knew it to be true. He had saved her. She looked up at him, and he smiled at her. "There you are, sweetheart." "What happened?" she asked him, wincing at the dryness in her throat. Her limbs felt weak now that her panic had past, and her muscles twinged painfully. Conversion Ch. 02 "You died," he said bluntly, if not unkindly. "But I would not willingly let any being go to the fate you were departing for. So I brought you back to offer you a choice." Daria sucked in another breath, feeling her lungs expanding reluctantly. Instead of getting stronger, she felt like her life was draining away again every moment. "What choice?" "Here, stand up." He helped her off the slab and onto her feet, where she swayed unsteadily until he moved right up against her, steadying her small frame with his large, hard body. Then he nodded to the side, and for the first time she noticed that Mother Elantine was there, gagged and bound to a chair. The older nun's eyes were wide and terrified. A slender cut on her neck bled sluggishly, dripping thin streams of crimson down to the neck of her habit. "This is what you need now, to sustain yourself," he said softly in her ear. "If you want to live, to conquer your fear, to avoid what you saw when you passed on, you must renounce and repuidate the One God." She looked up into his eyes, wondering and afraid. In the dimly lit room, his gaze was lost in shadow. "Sustain myself?" His lips thinned as he pressed them together, but she was unsure what emotion stirred him. "I cannot bring life from death without cost, sweetheart. Balance is required and dictated by the grand design. If you wish to stay in this world, you must feed on the blood of the living. You are a vampire." She choked, clutching at his arms, and he tightened his grip on her to prevent her from falling. "Calm! Calm down, Daria. You have surely heard or read lies about the night-walkers, but I assure you, this does not turn you into an unthinking beast. You are in control, and the master of your own destiny. Look within youself, and you will know this to be true." Breathing shallowly, she did as he said. She felt strangely empty, and a terrible thirst parched her throat and twisted in her gut, but essentially she was the same she'd ever been. The thought of killing an innocent still filled her with revulsion. She relaxed a bit, panting, as her knees trembled. "As I said," the tall man continued. "You have a few options before you, and you must soon make a choice, or have it made for you. You can only exist for so long in this world now without blood." She looked up at him again, fighting to keep her eyes open. "So, you want me to kill Mother Elantine, or... or I go back to - back to-" "No!" he cut her off firmly. "No. Killing her is only one option, sweetheart. If you wish, you can die again. Renounce the One God, and taste a drop of my blood, and you will pass on to your rest without going into... into the Hunger." He grimaced. "I told you, I would not wish that on anyone, not my even my worst enemies." He sighed, and stroked a hand through her dark hair and along her jawline. "But if you want to continue living... yes, you must drink from our enemy there until she is dead. A life for a life. Or, if you still wish to reside with the One God in death... do nothing. The end will not be long in coming." Daria swallowed with some difficulty. "Why?" she whispered, her voice too weak to raise any further. "She is not my enemy." "But she is," he returned softly. "She would consign you to that terrible hunger, and consider it a blessing. Give her the chance, and she will live out the rest of her life doing her best to convince others to feed themselves to it, gaining ghoulish satisfaction in the destruction of their souls. She is an enemy of all life. But you do not have to deal with her. If you wish to pass on in peace I wish you all joy." He hesitated a moment. "Nevertheless... I would venture to guess, sweetheart, that while you have been alive... you have never really lived. And it would be a shame to die without seeing how glorious life can truly be." Daria whimpered and let her head fall forward against his chest. It was hard to think with her mind so muddled with this aching, clutching thirst. The smell of the older nun's blood filled the air, striking a deep chord of hunger that knotted painfully in her belly. In the long silence, Daria thought harder than she ever had before. When she finally opened her eyes and looked up at the tall man, her eyes were resolute. "I choose life," she whispered softly. Conviction rang in her tone. He helped her over to Mother Elantine, who was breathing heavily in panic, her eyes wild. She wrapped her arms around the Mother's neck to stay upright. This close, the smell of the other nun's body was intoxicatingly delicious. Saliva flooded her mouth, and she swallowed convulsively. Her gums and teeth ached. His hand rested on her back, steadying and reassuring her. Daria took a deep breath, the air rasping in her dry throat, and looked directly into the senior nun's horrified eyes. "This might have been a harder decision, but you were always the hardest of the Sisters on us novices," she said quietly. "The contempt in your face, the hatred in your lectures about the outside world... I don't even remember how I came to the convent, meaning unlike some of the other girls, I cannot recall having parents or a different home... all I had was you. We all lived in fear of you. I - I lived in fear of you." She took another deep breath and closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, her expression was feral. Crimson seeped into her eyes, overwhelming their usual stormy grey. "No longer!" she cried fiercely. "I renounce the One God!" With a snarl, she lunged forwards and sank her teeth into the soft skin of the older woman's neck. Her sharp new canines bit deeply into her flesh. The Mother's scream was muffled by her gag. Her heels drummed a staccato rhythm on the floor as muscles clenched spastically in agonized protest. Blood sprayed into Daria's mouth and she gulped it down eagerly, moaning at the back of her throat at the glorious taste. It was so good, rich and warm and utterly nourishing. Strength surged through her in pulsing waves, and the fading world snapped back into sharp clarity once again. All too soon, the flow of liquid slowed to a trickle, and then stopped altogether. Reluctantly, the newly born vampire loosened her jaws and backed away from the Mother's corpse. She wiped a few stray drops of blood that clung to her lips, and sucked lightly on her fingers. Every nerve in her body felt alive, and heady excitement coursed through her veins. When the tall man touched her shoulder, it felt so good she almost purred, arching her back. Her already stiff nipples hardened almost to the point of pain, and an answering throb pulsed in her cunt. She felt his voice in every part of her body, vibrating on her skin, tugging enticingly at her mind. "One of the strength of your new body is its ability to absorb power from the vital essence you consume. The greater the strength of the blood, the more powerful you grow. He caught her up in his arms, and she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, grinding her heated core against the front of his pants with an eager whine. She was half out of her mind with his touch, and wanted more desperately. He looked into her face intently, his eyes shadowed, and stroked her cheek. "My gift to you, sweetheart, so you will have the best chance at surviving this dangerous world. The blood of a Shining One." His hands moved to his neck, and one hard nail opened up a shallow cut as she watched avidly. She felt her tongue dart out involuntarily to wet her lips as dark blood beaded and trickled down. Then he was guiding her forward, and the moment after, she tasted eternity. Mother Elantine's blood had been delicious, but it was nothing compared to this. Dark, rich waves of thick, heady ambrosia slid across her tongue as she suckled gently at the cut, afraid of pulling any harder lest the sensation destroy her. She could sense the heavy blood spreading relentless through her body, marking and reshaping every inch, every cell. A tendril of that dark fire reached down through her belly and touched her soaking sex, and her world exploded into sparks and splashes of vivid light. She let out a plaintive, gasping wail, and would have fallen but for the firm support of his strong arms. He was inside her, he was all around her. He was everything.