Page 84 of The Flesh Remembers
Eleanor arched beneath him, offering herself, pressing closer, sighing against his lips as his body molded to hers, as the last remnants of resistance crumbled.
And then, he took her. Slowly. Beautifully. Ruinously. It was not just sex. It was now the highest form of worship. It was an ending to their story but also a beginning to another.
Every movement sent ripples through reality itself, the ruined church walls groaning, the sky above splitting further with each gasping breath, the remaining worshippers moaning in unconscious response as if still tied to the ritual, still feeling what she felt.
James buried himself inside her, his hands gripping her thighs, his breath ragged, his voice a prayer against her skin.
And Eleanor cried out, her body tightening around him, her soul unravelling, her very existence pouring into his.
There was no longer a distinction between them.
She was his.
And he was hers.
They were one.
They were everything.
They were the abyss made flesh.
Eleanor clung to James as he gently laid her onto the ground, the earth soft beneath them, the scent of spring grass filling the air around them. For an instant, Eleanor closed her eyes, and she was back to that night in the carriage house with the rain pouring outside when she and James had first consummated their love.
The power of their union was unknowable, and if either of them had been merely human, they would not have been able to withstand it. But both were something beyond human now, so the immense power between them engulfed them, twisting within them until they could scream as the energy poured out of them.
James and Eleanor, locked in that union of pure ecstasy, looked into each other's eyes and saw the glowing light of eternity reflected back to themselves. As James thrust within her, the two of them became one mind, one spirit, the energy from their union reflected off their glistening bodies, lighting up the air around them stronger than any lamplight. And when their pleasure finally crested, when the last, shattered gasp of ecstasy left her lips, the world ended.
"They're calling us."
James exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around hers.
“Then let them pray.”
And together, they rose.
James stood before her, not the man she had loved, but also not the monster she had feared. He was something else completely now. Something perfect
Some still twitched, still moaned, still gasped in the endless throes of pleasure that had never ended. Their bodies had been rewritten by worship; their minds forever trapped in the moment of surrender.
Others had been left twisted beyond human recognition, their bodies reshaped into monuments of devotion, their bones carved into the walls, their mouths stretched open in eternal prayer.
And then some still waited. Lord Blackwood was among them. He had survived the abyss, dragged himself out of the wreckage, his body broken, his eyes hollow. Now, he stared at Eleanor, pleading, demanding.
“You don’t have to do this,” he whispered. “You can still stop it. You can still be saved.”
Eleanor laughed softly. Her laugh held no contempt or mockery, but his words sounded small and insignificant. They both knew there was nothing left to save.
She stepped toward James, and the ruins trembled. Lord Blackwood screamed as James stepped closer to him. His eyes seemed to be pure golden light, and they gazed in disgust at the pitiful Blackwood.
“Quiet now,” James said softly, his arms reaching out for Blackwood, his luminescent skin glowing faintly against the darkness of their surroundings.
Blackwood was sobbing now, falling to his knees and begging for his life, for mercy. But James no longer had mercy. He was the unknowable, the eternal and endless. Mercy was a concept that had no meaning to him now.
James’s hands gripped Blackwood by the throat, and he stared intently into Blackwood’s hollowed eyes as he began to squeeze the life out of him.
Final excerpt from the journal of Lord Alastair Blackwood
The world is tearing itself apart.
