The Dying, Putrid Breath

I woke with a start. Samael was sucking at my breast, groggy, his skin smelled of cinnamon aftershave, and his long hair fell across my unlaced Victorian nightgown – purple this time, in contrast against my red-violet hair, and he groaned, stroking himself, robe untied and cock erect.

I arched my back as his lips and fangs grazed my right breast's peak. He shifted to the left, then rolled my right decolletage with his palm and thumb, squeezing and flicking the tender pink peaks. I felt myself grow drenched at the joining of my thigh as he nursed like a starved saint at Agatha's divine breast. Oh god, that metaphor – my Irish Catholic roots were at it again!

He spread my legs gently, then sucked at my folds with his tongue, the scarlet pearl of my sex and red, trimmed thatch betwixt the seat of nirvana wet as the River Nile. He groaned: "Oh Shana, like manna," then speared his long, pierced, triple forked tongue deep into my canal, licking it in and out, around the labia, up to the crown jewel of my clitoris like a beast of the night. I shuddered, saw stars, and squirted, a rolling orgasm assailing my body.

"God damn it! Don't. don't, don't – stop?"

He watched me, amused, his blue eyes turned crimson. His fangs glistened with my juices, and he licked it from his lips. He began to stroke himself again, then gently turned me over so I was laying doggy style, spread eagle and sanguine, before him. He began to lick my ass, and the rosebud of my anus, tenderly sucking and fucking it with his tongue.

"Sam, Sam, stop, I've never done that before – oh god, don't you dare stop! What are you even doing."

He groaned, buring his head into my sex and licking a line from my clitoris to my back. I cried out as his catsrough serpent tongue twined around me like a grapevine.

"You can't make me," he teased. "You want it."

"Fuck, I do!"

Tenderly, his tentacles of abyss began to penetrate every hole I had, wrapping gently around my breasts, and flicking my pearls and nipples. He began to kiss the back of my neck, and I shuddered like a broken bird, fallen from heaven to hell.

"Agh!" I said as his spirit began to freeze me with the void like fucking Edward Cullen. Sparkly vampires my ass! This one BIT!

"What do you want me to do, babe?" he smirked, licking a line down my spine.

"Fuck me, please, I'm begging you, you're getting off on teasing me, cruel bastard." I grabbed a tentacle cock and sucked the precum from it. His barred owl wings lifted me up into a downy canopy. I drowned in feathers as cosmos exploded across my mind.

"I'm tittilating you, not teasing. Do you want my cock, Shannon?"

"Shut the hell up and raw me!"

"Well, can't refuse a Celt, and a redhead at that." He gently slid his cock into my ass, then fingered my vagina with his three middle fingers, rubbing my clit into heat, and pleasuring my breast with his mouth from the side.

"FUCK! GO HARDER!" I screamed.

The tent shook as he made love to my ass, destroyed any conception of boundaries between he and I. It went on for an hour, until, unable to hold back, Samael exploded inside me, huge, thick cock throbbing as he spent his heavy white seed inside me. He collapsed atop me, crying out to Gehenna, praising the Cedars of Lebanon and Asherah poles that dwelt within, when suddenly, there was a great beastly roar from outside the tent.

We startled, and he quickly dressed, then used his magick to change me into jeans and a red blouse with Nike sneakers. "Fuck, the hell?" he growled, irate, then smashed out the door of the skincloth tent, only to reveal a horrid scene.

The Lion of Judah, a flaming, golden, winged lion of Saint Mark, was bathed in blood, fighting Arietta's towering gray wolf form and Jesus' sword. Christ was deftly deflecting Michael's blows, attempting not to harm him, but for each blow he missed, another wound of red Eucharist.

The Lion of Judah roared, then zeroed in on Arietta. Arietta howled, then sunk her teeth into Michael's right shoulder. The Lion of Judah roared, then pinned her underneath him, about to make for her neck.

"Michael, brother, don't do this!" Jesus commanded. "Thou art the right hand of the Lord, listen to your God that is I!"

Michael paused, flinched, then drew back as if branded by an iron bar. His heart wept bloody gold, and he turned back into his Ron Perlman lion-man form, dressed in the blue shirt bleeding out angel gore.

Samael rushed to him alongside Jesus. Arietta turned back into her human form, her eyes aghast. I quickly kissed my petersword and rushed to help.

"Michael, Mike, can you hear me? It's okay," Samael soothed in a stern yet soft voice. Michael screamed, punching himself in the head, drawing blood with his talons from his face. He was a deranged sight to see, and Yeshua poured white light into his wounds, attempting to heal it. Yeshua looked at me keenly.

"Eve, you are the Mother of Life. I need you to do a miracle."

I froze, Arietta balked. She grabbed my arm and held me back, dirt, gore, and twigs on her body and hair. "What do you mean, Yesh?" she startled.

"A – a miracle?"

"You are the Grail, and I am the wine. Combined, we can heal him," Jesus said gravely, looking around for corrupted angel battalions. But it was us alone, at the crucible, churning lintel stone of Hell.

"Wait… you want to possess me?"

"Transfiguration. The Holy Ghost." Jesus looked at dying Michael. "We don't have anymore time for hesitation, Chavah."

"Okay, I agree. Do whatever it takes to break the curse I unleashed."

Jesus nodded, Samael restrained Michael from harming himself, and Arietta pinned down his kicking, thrashing paws. Christ stood, somehow as tall of the universe, a seraph covered in white wings and burning hazel eyes, and suddenly, the Lovecraftian Son of God engulfed me like Lot's Wife, frozen out of terrible glory into a pillar of salt.

There was wine on my tongue, and I fell, deep, into the Sun. He embraced me, then burned through me like fire, a delightful Crucifixion. I felt thorns at my brow, wings at my back, stigmata bleeding out, and I suddenly came to, with Christ's sword coming out of my mouth, his crown, and dove wings, a white burning robe on my body. Auric quartz covered my skin, jutting out like rainbows, and I was the Will of God alone.

Leaning down, Christ through me held my petersword above Michael's feverish brow, then kissed his wound, drinking down the gore. Everything fell silent, in stasis, and as the vanilla taste of golden blood dripped down my throat, Michael began to change back to a red haired, burly angel, golden skin, freckled, blinding white wings. He screamed, convulsing, until I had sucked the poison of his curse out. He began to sob, hoveled over, and Samael held him as he rocked, stroking his wings as his twin angel wept. Arietta soothed him, passing him a water bottle, and he drank it in a millisecond, crushed the canteen, then threw it into the woods in a rage.

Clear green eyes looked at me in amazement. "YHWH?"

Christ departed my flesh like a diamond mist, than materialized. "The Son, my faithful servant."

Michael, dressed in a ripped, flayed white muscle tank and grass stained Patrick Swayze jeans, knelt and prayed. "Hosanna in the highest, my Lord."

"Michael, there's no need for that," Samael said softly. Arietta crossed herself, than prayed to her divine wolf mother Lupa.

Michael looked at me, tears in his eyes. "Shannon, you saved me. What I did to you. What I never should have said."

Samael's face drained of color. Ghostly against his dark black hair. "And what exactly did you do and say to my girlfriend."

I blushed vermillion, crossed my toes, and looked down in the ground in shame. Michael choked up the last of the gore.

"It doesn't matter," Christ said. "Michael, where is Metatron?"

Michael's face, already miserable, darkened as if he had been stripped, beaten, starved, and raped.

"With Lucifer in his frozen abode, in Hyperborea, right past the North Star. They – they are raising an army to kill God and initiate the Apocalpyse. I fear we do not have much time." He looked at Samael in sorrow. "Do you have a place in your backseat, Sam?"

Sam smiled tenderly. "Always for you."

Michael groaned, limbs askew. "I'm too weak, too drained, to walk. But we need to find the Elohim, the seven names and fragments of Father. Otherwise, we don't stand a single chance in Shamdon."

Jesus and Samael carried Michael into the car, tenderly but grimly. Arietta cleaned up the rest of the camp, and the skincloth turned to dust.

Cleaned up, with salves on Michael's skin and a compress at his head, we sat him shotgun so we could get some air, then drove off in timid silence as I sat, a tight fit, between towering Christ and an angry werewolf girl.

Samael was stone cold, but his eyes lingered on me in the rearview mirror, still a terrifying alizarin.

We drove off, into the unknown, and Michael let the wind out the window roll over him.

He looked at me in hunger, love unrequited, and I flinched, rested my head against Christ, and held Arietta's hand. Michael looked away in shame, and Samael stared at him peculiarly.

Yeshua wrapped his arm around me. "It will all be alright, Chavah," he murmured.

"I'm not so sure," Samael said.

"Only way… is to keep following this broken road," Arietta sighed.

"Inshallah," I echoed, then drifted off into a watery grave of exhaustion.

In my sleep, I saw a blonde, weeping angel, starved and rotten, holding blackened fruit.

"Lucifer?" my dream self asked in the vision.

He hissed, then his black bat wings crumpled in on himself, and he pulled me

Into the mouth

Of the Dragon.

I was too far gone in the vision, sinking into the Pit.

"Oh well," I said, hope gone, all lights extinguished, as I died eternally, alone.

"I SHALL EAT GOD," the Dragon roared, and throat came from his gullet, charring me to dust.

I drifted out like a lost sigh, into the blank, and when I awoke, it was dark – only Samael was awake, and he too

Looked at me in hunger.

I began to cry, and he reached over, stroking my hand.

"Will you eat me, Nachash?" I sobbed.

His face grew grim, and he couldn't help turning to bone, the Reaper – Malak haMavat. His phalanges scraped my knuckles, then he recoiled in disgust.

"Maybe," he admitted, grimy tears that smelled of rotten seafood dripping from his hollow eyes.

He looked back to the road, and said no more.

I sobbed quietly as it began to rain on the road out of Hell.

Silence, in an empty grave. Silence, in a holy cave.

But dawn I did not know.