Page 3 of Altar of Flesh

But it wasn’t wholly true. I wanted Asmodeus. I wanted to see the true form of the Prince of Lust, to revel in the horror of its demonic flesh, to be rendered its whore. And so when I next called to Malphas, I said, “I am Asmodeus’ creature! But for this moment, I could be yours!”

As I said it, I was engulfed in cloud and fog. It dispersed slowly, and when it did, I could see that the path had abruptly stopped.

I halted before I cautiously crept closer to the edge. Stone crunched beneath my feet, and pebbles cascaded over the side. Nothing sat at the bottom of it except a descent into the depths of Hell, a pit of nothingness as far as my human eyes could ascertain. I glanced up. In the distance, covered by low-hanging clouds, the tower stood ominous and groaning. The wind whistled across the structure, whipping its façade, and thesound that echoed out sounded bat-like—a screeching that had me shivering.

I remembered my nakedness as Adam and Eve had, and the cold pelted down upon me. Shivering, I gripped myself and said, “Malphas, President of Hell! Hear my plea!”

Again, that screeching sounded and delayed the wind struck me. I almost lost my footing and slid in the grainy dirt.

I looked up at the tower. “Malphas!” I cried again, and then, from the shadowy distance, something emerged.

It took time for me to comprehend them. They appeared to be little more than amorphous blobs bobbing on the horizon. But as they got closer, they resolved.

Four creatures howled in mid-air, their stout bodies held aloft by leathery wings. Their back legs were goat-like, and their were arms small and useless. They had wild grins on their faces as they flew towards me, and I thought:these are imps.

I’ll admit to being afraid. In the end, all I really wanted was a desperate, filling fuck. I would offer myself to Malphas gladly—but I did not want to be touched by these strange creatures. As they resolved and I saw what lay between their legs—thick members that leaked and twitched—my mind and my body revolted against one another. What happened in my stomach seemed to happen at the sight of any cock; an opening in the pit of my core, and my morals and my standards were gone. Clouded by arousal and desire, I was only half committed to running. But run I did. I turned with a gasp. Across that thin and dangerous path, feet slapping against the warm stone, I ran until my lungs burned.

But they were quicker than I could ever be. I heard their wings beating, the wind pounding in my ears, and as I half-turned to see my assailants, one dashed out at me.

The first one grabbed at my arm and lifted it high. The socket ached as it pulled against my shoulder, and I screamed,scrabbling to get away. Alone, the creature was strong enough to heft me just slightly off the ground. Its hands and feet were without claws, but the pressure of its grip still made my body ache; all my weight hung from my shoulder, and I feared it would pop out. When the other three joined the first imp in carrying me, I became weightless. They lifted me, and my feet kicked for purchase, meeting nothing but sharp, cool air. Every beat of their wings bobbed us closer to the tower, and I hoped this was a greeting party of sorts—that Malphas had heard me.

“Where are you taking me?” I shouted, but they did not reply to me. I was unsure if they could even speak. For minutes, I let myself be carried, arms outstretched in a pose echoing crucifixion, and when I asked again, “Where are you taking me?” one imp screeched in annoyance and walloped me on the head.

2

CHAPTER TWO

Iwoke on cold, black marble, in a room of cathedral arches and sprawling majesty. The only light burned from snarling braziers, and in the fog of wakefulness and low-light, I relied not on sight, but scent. A stench like sulphur and sex pervaded the room despite its high ceilings. As my eyes adjusted, I saw that my impish captors lingered in the rafts above as little more than stout, gargoyle-like shadows. They chittered occasionally to one another, but none made any attempts to swoop at me, not even when I pressed up on my knees and looked about.

I was bruised. Annoyed. I was as willing as any human could have hoped to be in this place, and my eagerness had yet to be rewarded. My nakedness felt so akin to vulnerability, and with the frigid marble biting my knees, the first creeping fog of regret began to edge into my mind.

The room itself was austere and inhuman. The far wall had clearly been made from the same stone I had seen in the distant city. It dripped sleek black down to the marble as if the stone had been melted and cooled like magma. Beneath this melting affair of stone, a cluster of jagged rocks gathered into something resembling a chair. A throne.

Then, shooting out from either side came semi-circle seating, a far distance up this great wall. From my low vantage, I could see no way to climb them. Vaguely, it resembled a courtroom, with these stands high up and out of reach. Or perhaps Rome’s Colosseum, with an audience gathered to watch my bloody demise. As my eyes settled, I became aware of shadows in the seats, bright eyes watching me. More imps.

“What?” I croaked out. I sat pathetic and small with my hands covering my limp cock, feeling more alone than ever. The sound of my voice spooked the imps, who all began to roar. I shrunk back timidly, watching them jump and whoop in the stands. Above me, the four-winged imps who had carried me here dove down. They dashed forward towards the braziers and, one by one, lit the ends of their tails with fire. The scent of burning flesh filled my nostrils. Instinctively, my body curled in on itself. But they did not fly towards me.

Instead, they took position, forming a kind of circle in the air. Their tails dropped down like hanging lanterns and, from this new light, I could see something had been carved on the ground.

A sigil.

I was no master of the dark arts. I had fumbled my way into Hell, groping at my body and flesh. In the strange carving, I could only recognise the feeling in my gut whenever something occult occurred. My eyes burned. I clenched my fist. Old habits made my mouth run dry at the sight.

“What am I to do?”

My voice came out still hoarse. I wet my lips and asked the question again. Nothing was said, but from the dark stands, something whistled towards me. I flinched just as a dagger splintered the marble, its hilt wobbling from the force of the precise throw. My body moved to pick it up, but my mind was on Asmodeus; on the way I had drawn blood from myself that night, coated my cock with it, fucked up into the sticky palm of my hand chanting its name.Come to me,I had thought.

And now I was crawling to the Prince of Lust. But to get to it, I had to face this trial first.

I pushed my body forward and pressed my hand over the sigil, feeling the grooves beneath my fingertips. They werethankfully shallow, and as the imps waited for me, I picked up the dagger, raised my arm over the carving, and slit open the palm of my hand.

Barely any blood fell. I squeezed out the drops I could, and as I watched them fall, I thought:this will take too long. Add to this my humanness and the fact I could still feel pain, and my commitment began to waver in the long minutes it took for my blood to coat the sigil.

Then, hypnotic and deep, I heard the rumble of my new God in the depths of my mind, urging me onward.

Come to me, little priest. Prove your worth.

Emboldened by the voice of Asmodeus, I took the sharp dagger and dragged it over my forearm, splitting deep in the skin. Blood flowed more freely. I grit my teeth, bore it, and cried out, “Malphas, President of Hell! I summon thee! I want thee!”

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