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Ars Goetia – Episode 6 (All-Patrons)
🕑 Added 2023-12-24 17:54:18 +0000 UTCWords Count: 4400
A/N: Religious slandering, be warned.
Magic proves to be a valuable ally in times of need, particularly when one finds themselves coated in bodily fluids some may consider to be unsavory, rushing to a meeting that simply cannot be missed.
With a simple snap of my fingers, I am swiftly restored to cleanliness, striding self-assuredly towards the exit. As I depart, I leave behind a fatigued and disheveled Madelyn lingering on the desk, naked and heaving. It makes for a… Magnificent image, one I mentally store at the back of my mind- Stillwell with her legs spread wide open, dripping with semen I’ve deposited in her earlier; her mouth wide-open, drool and cum mixed in equal parts- ‘Perfectly balanced, as all things should be.’
Although it is unlikely that the purple idiot was referring to it in this context, whatever works.
As I swing the door open, I am met with the sight of the receptionist, a striking brunette who, from what I’ve read in her employee file, secured her position at Vought primarily due to her physical appearance- a doe-eyed beauty that can cool the hearts of an angry mob, what with her rather gentle disposition.
Airlines often prioritize hiring attractive hostesses for similar reasons. It is a common understanding that attractive individuals tend to receive more favorable treatment from others. This is further amplified when these appealing individuals greet guests and clients with their radiant smiles, adding to the overall positive experience.
The woman's gaze falls upon Madelyn, and she visibly blushes, her hands still clutching the clothes that I had requested from her.
With a slightly hesitant tone, she addresses, “Sir…” My hand gently brushes against her face, and then I delicately grasp her chin, tilting her head upwards to meet my gaze.
She appears tense, her heart racing as she places the bag containing the Brand clothes into my arms. Personally, I’m not really fond of those overpriced garments, but since Madelyn has a liking for them and I am responsible for her state of undress, I don't mind occasionally splurging on them.
“Please–” I say, leaning in closer to the receptionist, almost touching lips as I correct. “For someone as lovely as you, either Belial or Jon is acceptable to me. Sir’s better left for the bedroom.” In a hushed tone, I request, pulling her into the office and gesturing towards the weary Madelyn, “Would you mind looking after her for a while? I may have… Overdone it with her.”
My finger scoops up a bit of fluid and press against her lips. Obediently, the receptionist opens her mouth wide, tongue dancing against my digit. “Good girl…” I take a glance at the nameplate on her chest, “Harper, keep this up and there may be rewards for you later. After work, of course.” I clarify, smearing my cum on her chin. “Or do you prefer during?”
I playfully slither under her skirt, causing Harper to gasp at the unfamiliar sensation. If there has been a sadistic delight making Ms. Stillwell, prim and proper and almost motherly as she usually is, work to please me; then this girl makes me want to smoother her in my love until she’s crying and mewling in pleasure, that innocence of her corrupted- tainted forever by my hands.
Harper, although no virgin, leads a rather uneventful life due to her timid nature, which is through no fault of her; more her parents’. Her upbringing in a Christian family evokes intense discomfort within me, as I hold back the tides of nausea.
Harper’s romantic history includes two ex-partners, one male and one female, which came as a surprise. Unfortunately, neither of them showed genuine care for her needs and desires.
In highschool, she was the moderately attractive geek, while her exes held influential social positions as the Queen Bee and Jock respectively. This dynamic, obviously, left little Harper traumatized, leading her to withdraw from social activities and find solace in reading novels while her peers indulged in parties.
Delving deeper into her past, I uncover the reason behind her affiliation with Vought in spite of her introverted nature. Three years ago, Harper’s father was involved in a severe accident that rendered him unable to work for the rest of his life.
In order to support her parents, Harper took it upon herself to find employment, which eventually led her to Vought through a friend’s recommendation. Although I can’t Soul-Gauge memories about people, it is quite clear to me this so-called ‘friend’ had ulterior motives, as her gaze towards Harper was reminiscent of a viper fixated on a rat. Yet, nothing happened to her.
No predatory Boss to take advantage of her timidity like I expected, no bullying colleagues. If I didn’t know any better, I may even believe Yahweh’s really looking out for the girl.
Over time, she became accustomed to the work environment and simply chose to remain employed in Vought due to the attractive salary it provided, and the… Generally professional environment it has… A quick glimpse tells me her former Manager was arrested after a series of allegations was made about him, just less than a week after she’s officially employed.
‘This kind of Luck…’
Could she possibly be the lovechild of a god or some divine entity?
It’s the only explanation that seems to fit, doesn’t it? Winning the lottery is one thing, but being protected from virtually all misfortunes is on a whole different level. The last time she experienced any kind of injury was over two decades ago, when she broke a tooth from a simple fall, and that is the extent of Harper’s misfortune ever since. After her Boss was fired and arrested shortly after, that ‘college friend’ also vanished without a trace.
As I delve deeper into her desires, I discover that Harper has harbored a dream of meeting her Prince Charming for some time.
While I may not fit the archetype she initially envisioned, she also finds the idea of a ‘Dark Knight’ entering her life rather intriguing, which I believe is mostly caused by how… Repressed she is, both romantically and sexually.
Harper’s life has been largely governed by her parents, with the exception being her job.
I strongly believe that if they had their way, Harper would be leading a life as a nun in a remote church somewhere in the outskirts of civilization. It is solely because of her father’s injury that they have allowed her to work in this type of environment. “Bel- Belial~?” Her voice, so gentle one may mistake it for a gust of wind, snaps me out of Soul-Gauge.
I look down to find my hands glued to her, one on her bountiful chest; one up her skirt and hooking her panties away. Quickly, I retract my wandering hands as an idea pops up in my mind, causing her to moan in disappointment.
Harper quickly places her hand over her mouth, attempting to stifle any embarrassing sounds, her body restlessly fidgeting. “Take off your panties.” I order, leaning against the desk, careful not to wake the sleeping Madelyn.
The young receptionist bites her lip, taking a moment to consider the request, but before she can proceed, I intervene. “Do it slowly, and lift up your skirt. I want to see everything.” That seems to be too much for her innocent mind, and a string of incoherent noises escape her lips instead of words. Still, shaky as Harper is, she obeys. Suddenly, my attention is drawn to something peculiar- an ephemeral glimpse of Translucent’s Soul just beyond the door.
With a swift motion of my hands, I command Worthlessness to disable his Invisibility, which results in scream after scream as one of the Seven appears on the floor dressed in nothing but his birthday suit. Additionally, I quickly form a Barrier that effectively blocks all noises from entering or leaving the area. Although it would certainly be amusing to see the man put in his place, it cannot be more interesting than what’s taking place before me.
Methodically, Harper lifts up her black skirt, revealing long- toned legs from the years of walking in heels, alongside a… ‘Is that a Hello Kitty panties?’ I struggle to suppress a burst of laughter bubbling up in my throat, fearing that it would shatter the small amount of courage the woman has managed to muster.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity, she slides the garment off, drenched in what I can only guess is her juices.
Behind it lies a gorgeous pinkish flesh, decorated with a small tuft of brown hair as the cherry on top. “I have yet to do anything…” I approach with a smile, running my hand ‘round her drooling lower-lips. “And look how wet it is.”
“Tha-That’s because of earlier!” Harper protests, stammering and stumbling over her words, as I swiftly snatch the garment from her hand. “S- Sir!”
She lets out a yell, a glimmer of resistance flickering within her, which surprises me given my prior assessment of her memories via Soul-Gauge. However, I refuse to budge. “Consider this your punishment.” I declare firmly.
“F- For what?!”
I smile before igniting the panties, watching in amusement as it bursts into flames, then ashes. “For polluting my sight with such an unappealing piece of clothing.” I remark with satisfaction, slapping her bare ass with enough force to leave a handprint. “I must leave now. Clean Madelyn up, and don’t put something on while I’m away, or I will have to discipline you again.”
Witnessing her teary-eyed expression, I gently plant a kiss on her forehead.
“Behave yourself. Wear something lovely tomorrow, and I’ll make it worth your while." I whisper, offering reassurance. As I prepare to depart, aware of the restlessness amongst the Seven, Harper’s voice rings out, catching my attention. “Sir, how do you suggest I tidy up Ms. Stillwell?”
“Use your intelligence, my dear!” I wave dismissively, before adding with a mischievous smirk, “Or perhaps put that tongue of yours to better use. When Madelyn awakens, inform her you do so at my behest. She will not make it difficult for you.”
‘She better not’, I add in my mind.
What began as mere amusement has now piqued a genuine interest.
Harper Adams, though I can’t quite put my finger on it, feels special.
First, amongst the vast number of Vought employees, she stands out as one of the select few who’ve caught their attention, possessing her own set of confidential files.
Moreover, her uncanny and unusual fortune, which seems to attract danger only to resolve it effortlessly and benefit her, sets the youthful receptionist apart even further.
Once Madelyn wakes up, I should inquire about Harper’s circumstances. Then again, leaving the enigma surrounding her untouched also holds its own appeal. After all, I’ve always had a fondness for captivating mysteries.
— Ars Goetia —
“What’s up, bitches?” I burst into the training room, forcefully kicking open the door to find the Seven, including Translucent, meandering aimlessly like a flock of headless chickens. “Did you miss me?” I ask with a smug grin, throwing the Peace sign while the Supes just stare, their annoyance unhidden.
“You made us wait…”
As Homelander’s eyes flare with intensity, I choose to ignore the implicit threat, carrying on with the charade. “Alright, let me go first… How are you, Belial? How was the traffic? Was there an accident? Were you robbed?!” I barrage him with a series of questions, maintaining a playful tone despite the lingering tension in the air.
“I have a question,” The Deep, the bootleg Aquaman of the Seven, raises his hand, oblivious to the boiling fury of Homelander. All seven pairs of eyes, since the torch-wielding arsonist has (Been forced to) resigned due to his tanking popularity, turn towards him. “Can’t you just fly? Why would you be bothered by traffic?”
Once again, Deep’s low IQ seems to be on full display as he poses his query, oblivious to the tense atmosphere of the room. “Deep…” Even Homelander cannot take it anymore, glaring at the fool. “Shut. Up.”
The Idiotic Deep recoils, nervously fidgeting in place.
The sight would’ve been somewhat endearing if it weren't for the fact that he's a muscular man dressed in a revealing outfit. I let out a sigh of exasperation. “Does he not understand what sarcasm is?”
I quietly murmur, not annoyed but rather entertained. Throughout my experience in hunting Cryptids, I’ve come across numerous foolish individuals—both male and female.
From idle-minded elders who disregard professional advices to overeager teenagers who also like to disregard professional advice. This marks the first time I have encountered a genuinely intellectually impaired man-child.
Not to say I have something against the mentally-disabled, but he doesn’t appear disabled, just… Unwise. Like a sheltered boy who was given everything on a silver platter his entire childhood, and now can’t even tie his shoes right. It is fucking absurd. “The amusing idiot asides, I see you’re all here.” I clap with a bright, sunny smile. “Fantastic, the first lesson is–”
“Hold on!”
A gloved hand rests upon my shoulder, unmistakably Homelander’s. I regard him with a half-lidded stare, already bored with his attempt to show off against someone superior. There is a certain honor in triumphing over something stronger, faster, and more powerful than oneself.
As much as the Hunt had tested and strained my mental fortitude, the exhilaration of finally vanquishing the monsters of lore and legends more than compensated for it. Homelander, in many ways, is one such creature, concealing his true nature beneath a veneer of goodness, akin to the Gods of Old. Yet, I cannot feel any sense of accomplishment in defeating him, as I see him for what he truly is—an insecure child reminiscent of all those teenagers I met along my journey.
“This isn’t over, you horned imbecile,” He thrusts his finger aggressively towards my face. Raising an eyebrow dismissively at his feeble attempt to assert dominance, I say, boredom oozing from my voice. “I beg to differ. Fall in line before I make you, Gillman.”
“You managed to catch me off guard once. ONCE!” He repeats, somehow thinking that screaming makes his belief true. Despite his superiority complex, how Gillman revels in attention and hovers above the ground as if he’s superior to the rest of us, Homelander’s mind is strangely reminiscent of the often-seen mob mentality.
Just like those who believe that being the loudest makes them right, he too believes that his words hold undeniable truth… Until reality inevitably slaps them in the face. I suppose in this situation, I am that slap. “I won’t ask twice.” Grip tightening on my shoulder, Johnny lunges, fist flying as he takes the swing.
As predicted, his technique is abysmal. He winds up his fist too far, leaving himself open and vulnerable.
His wide-legged stance lacks stability, possibly because he has relied on [Flight], rendering traditional stances unnecessary.
But… His greatest flaw lies in his mindset. Anger, though a powerful emotion in its own right, has clouded his judgment. Despite being trapped within his grasp, unable to sidestep, I easily evade his punch ducking underneath it.
In that split second, his grip slips as I swiftly duck. My hands clench into fists, and I waste no time delivering a forceful blow to his solar plexus, following up with an uppercut that sends him staggering backward.
Seizing the opportunity, I spin to gather momentum, straightening my hand into a blade-like shape. With a powerful strike to his neck, he is flung to the side.
“Homelander!” The only one showing any genuine concern for his well-being is Deep. Noir remains silent and composed, Maeve appears somewhat satisfied witnessing his pummeling, A-Train displays fear in his eyes, and Translucent carries on reading a book as if nothing is happening.
It looks like a lesson on teamwork and team-building is required for the rest of the Seven, for the need to work together efficiently seems to have eluded them. “Guess we’ll have to start with fight-training first then.”
I hastily discard the jacket, which was carelessly draped over my shoulders, held together by a solitary golden string at the front. Noir, with his visage concealed by a massive helmet, calmly catches the garment.
It’s perplexing how he manages to appear composed yet perplexed simultaneously, but I don’t dwell on it.
“Hold onto that for me, Noir. I need to teach this kid a lesson.” I state. Though Homelander may be twenty years my senior, his childish behavior warrants a corresponding response. Age doesn’t equate maturity; if one acts like a child, they need to be treated accordingly. “I’ll not use my Clan Traits, nor Magic to make this even. Come at me with everything you’ve got, Gillman.”
As Homelander hisses angrily, he launches himself at me with all his might, but to my mind it is akin to a fat person attempting a marathon. Still, I should have gotten hit, since my body lags behind, but his movements are about as predictable as an open book.
All brawn and no brain, with not a trace of technique. I doubt Homelander even knows what feints are even they took the form of a human and beat him over the head.
Anticipating his charge, I elegantly step aside, evading his attack flawlessly.
Then, seizing the opportunity, I reach out to snatch the American flag he drapes as his cape before forcefully slamming him onto the ground, while also ensuring to pull my punch so the surrounding structure remains intact.
Regardless of how sturdy or reinforced the floor is said to be, I have little faith in manmade constructions when it involves metaphysical abilities and superpowers. Wouldn’t want the Vought Tower to come crumbling apart due to my actions a few days into the job, do I? Next, my forearm seizes his throat, clamping down as his eyes shine.
‘This idiot…’
The sheer audacity of his actions catches me off guard. I hadn’t expected him to be this unhinged, this crazy. Does he even realize that by carrying out this attack, he's putting all of us in danger? The thought of the entire building crumbling down upon us sends chills down my spine.
In a swift motion, I raise my hand and bring it down forcefully, covering his eyes, my fingers digging in his eyeballs and making him pause.
“THINK BEFORE YOU ACT!”
I yell, slamming him down again, and Homelander- dazed- loses the shine in his eyes, thankfully.
I take a deep breath, attempting to calm myself before pressing on. "First lesson,"
I continue, my tone now more measured and firm. "In the the moment, sometimes you are going to be angry… Adrenaline-fueled, and you may try something stupid like he just did.
But, before you do, remember what you have to gain and lose.”
Fully-aware benefits are the only language these people will listen to, I don’t even try to appeal to their Goodness… Their Souls are rotten. Even Noir and Maeve, whom I consider the best within the group, have tainted Souls.
“Impulsive actions can lead to disastrous outcomes, not just for yourself but for everyone involved. I understand Vought has cleaned up your messes since joining the Seven, probably even before, but it can’t shield you forever…” John Gillman, groaning, tries to rise, only to feel my foot resting on his back, forcing the ‘World’s Strongest Man’ on the floor.
Maeve’s eyes practically shine with the same intensity as Gillman when he’s angry, lust oozing out of her pores in a pink mist as she watches us. Oddly enough, I’m almost certain it is not me she finds hot, but the fact that the all-powerful Homelander has been reduced to a mere footstool by me.
“One mistake… A footage… A picture. That is all it will take for you to lose EVERYTHING! If you’re going to play the Hero, act like it. I don’t care what you really think in your head, I don’t give a damn if you see the rabbles your inferior but before you do anything, you are supposed to evaluate the risks first, always. That is what a Hero’s supposed to do. Now–"
My gaze sweeps past the group, “Anyone cares to tell me Gillman’s mistakes?”
Noir, though he doesn't physically raise his hand, exudes an air of intelligence and strategic thinking that sets him apart from the rest of the Seven. Despite the scars I find in his Soul, suggesting some mental instability, I am confident that he has already grasped the situation.
Additionally, considering his muteness, communication through Sign Language may be a challenge for me, as my knowledge in that area is limited to brief glimpses from the news.
The Deep, known for his lack of intellectual prowess, raises his hand, seeking attention. I choose to disregard the pampered white-boy, immediately assuming that his contribution will likely be of little value.
A-Train appears disinterested and detached, as if his mind is somewhere else entirely throughout our encounter.
Maeve, on the other hand, seems to be well aware of the issue at hand, reveling in her teammates' sufferings a bit too much to voice her opinions.
Meanwhile, Translucent, as always, remains elusive and uninvolved.
With a tinge of exasperation, I pinch the bridge of my nose, mentally cursing the situation. Deep's eagerness to participate prompts a silent, ‘Fuck off, Deep.’ In my head. After an uncomfortable silence that stretches for almost a minute, Maeve finally takes pity on me and offers her input. “Homelander fought recklessly, nearly reduced Vought Tower to ruin, lost his cool too early into the fight and got bea– Lost the fight for it?”
I nod, taking the chance to check out her toned legs, as I muse over her answer.
What? I like a little variety. If little Harper represents innocence, Madelyn the hot boss-lady complete with glasses and skimpy skirt, then Maeve’s the jaded Amazoness with thighs one can die for. ‘Wonder what she looks like without that armor?’ I idly wonder, “In layman’s term: He let anger cloud his judgement, and almost caused a disaster not even Vought can cover up. Congrats Maeve, you’re the smartest person in the room… Not including me, of course.”
People are vain, and for a woman whose whole stitch is her sexy appeal, a compliment regarding her intelligence will go a long way. As expected, Maeve smiles, revealing her pearly white teeth as she steps down.
Deep almost looks embarrassed hearing her answer, slowly and silently retracting his arm. None of us pays him any heed. A good teacher can indeed change a person’s life, but I’m not a good teacher… Never claimed to be and never will.
“Since I need to evaluate your personal abilities to come up with a proper training plan, I want each of you to select a partner and engage in a sparring session.”
I declare, snapping my fingers to summon the Chains of Worthlessness. The ethereal restraints emerge from the ground, binding Homelander, who has regained consciousness, firmly to the floor. The Chains possess the ability to neutralize most of his powers, with the exception of Heat-Vision, as its mechanism remains a mystery to me.
Thus, to prevent any disastrous consequences, I proceed to cover his eyes, ensuring that he cannot… Accidentally unleash his Heat-Vision upon the building once more.
“You have five minutes.”
— Ars Goetia —
“Begone, Demon!”
Muriel fights against the restraints that hold her firmly to the bed.
Tears and fear have left unmistakable marks on her face as her own family observes coldly, just watching as the priest pours holy water upon her. In a commanding voice, he exclaims, “Depart from this pitiful woman, for you have consumed her! God's will compels you!”
Muriel’s fear extends far beyond the physical torments she endures.
What truly shatters her is the overwhelming humiliation of being cast aside by her own Congregation, once considered her family. It is the searing pain of witnessing her loved ones betray her, not for any wrongdoing on her part, but due to the afflictions imposed upon her.
In that moment of great anguish, the woman of God instinctively directs her anger towards the Demon, blaming it for her suffering. Yet, as the woman reflects upon the agony caused by the cancerous tumors steadily consuming her just a day ago, a bitter realization takes hold:
The infernal, allegedly sinful and evil Demon has provided solace in ways that her Faith in God seemingly never has.
Within Muriel, a seed of doubt begins to sprout, nourished by a newfound resentment towards the Divine Entity she has faithfully worshipped her entire life.
She questions why, in her darkest moments, God never extended a helping hand, instead allowing a Demon to intervene instead.
The once unwavering faith that defined the woman’s entire existence now trembles in the face of her unanswered prayers, leaving her torn between her previous devotion and the bitter reality of her present circumstances. Not only has God not helped, she’s now suffering in his Name… Again, and she loathes it. Muriel’s whole life has been dedicated to doing good in his Name, yet none of it seems to matter. Her Will broken, she closes her eyes shut to stop the tears as she prays, and prays, and prays…
Then Muriel prays no more, not to God at least.
Instead, she directs her prayer to the Demon who has saved her life,
And unlike God, he responds.
The room bursts into light as a Demonic Sigil appears, hovering in the air.
“Belial…” The priest- the exorcist, stammers, his voice laced with fear as a man confidently steps out of the protective circle.
His hair as light as molten gold, his eyes a captivating, luminous amber. With a casual shrug, the Demon stretches his wings, the crown of horns adorning his head glistening with a subtle greyish glow, while his forked tail flicks back and forth. “You called, love?” He utters, his tone tinged with both curiosity and a touch of mischief as he looks at her.
“Help me…”
She asks tearfully,
“Please, just take me from here. I'm willing to offer you my Soul.” And the Devil extends his hand to her- an act that soothes her heart far more than visions of God with his seemingly limitless judgements of beings who, by his own admittance, are created sinful from birth, and tyrannical way ever have.
