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Sins of the Father, Vol. 2

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Take a moment. Focus.

Take in their fear, and savor it. Treat it like a rare wine.

And now... breathe in. Taste it.

It tasted sweet and bitter at once…like black cherries coated in decadent dark chocolate. Of stolen innocence and indulgent sins.

It was dense, smooth, smoky, filling my mouth as it clouded my senses.

I craved more, needed more. I was ravenous. My head was a twisted carousel of euphoria and desire.

Bálor was right.

The first taste of a soul is addictive.

The light of Father John Murphy faded from his terrified eyes as I consumed his essence. It was comforting, like he'd been to all of his parishioners, but with a considerable amount of darkness. Nothing terrible, just a fondness for the drink and male escorts.

Bálor, under the guise of Father Finn, beamed with pride once I'd finished, a lion in celebration of his cub's first kill. “Very good! Remember, the first few souls are necessary to consume whole. You'll get a taste for much darker ones, more decadent ones that will make you stronger. How do you feel?”

I couldn't explain it. My nerves sang with the sensation, and I shivered and moaned in pleasure. Rather than put it into words, I pressed my lips to his, sliding our tongues together.

He broke the kiss, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “That's what I thought.”

He fucked me hard against the altar, ankles on his shoulders, drilling me as Father Murphy's corpse grew colder. Our moans and growls were a twisted hymn of desecration in the empty cathedral.


Bálor took me hunting, taught me what to look for and how to capture my prey. I sampled every sin in its purity so I knew one from another. He fed them to me from his mouth, shotgunning every wisp as his fingers teased between my legs.

He showed me the ways of demons, whispered secrets that I paid for with blood, sweat, and every orgasm he forced out of me.

I gave myself kneeling at his feet, soft words of worship from my freshly-fucked throat. Lashes and lacerations decorated my body, tattoos on the temple he laid claim to.

Still, I ached for him and pleaded for more.

Bálor fed me, fed upon me, taking his pleasure from my ruin. His lessons came through torture, violent and sexual.

And I... I was his willing apprentice.


A gift, you are.

Every bit as willing and fucked up as I hoped you could be. So beautifully broken, all for me. It’s no wonder I can’t keep my hands off you.

I have created and broken many demons, but none so wanting to be bent as you. None that have screamed so prettily, or begged for my blade so loudly, or have taken my cock the way you have.

My beautiful little whore is growing into my perfect little demon before my eyes.

You will never leave me. You will never betray me. I’d just as soon destroy you before that happens.

One day, you may grow to set the world ablaze in spectacular fashion. And I will be there.

But make no mistake: you are mine, little one.

Mine.


My dreams were fewer and further between these days. In the rare moments I opted to sleep, my mind wandered to the life I left behind. The life I didn’t miss.

But there was always that one face.

That one pair of soft, forgiving eyes.

It became painful trying to remember the face when I was awake. But as I slept, he was there. His touch, his kisses, his smile.

The electric shock as he slipped something into the core of my being.

A final parting gift, he said, for the final hour.

That time was fast approaching.