Sister Jane Hargraves knew that there was something off with Sister Thalia Jensen from the moment the younger woman had arrived at St. Agatha’s. You see, Sister Jane was a consummate Dominican nun: contemplative, well-versed in the nature of morality, and humble to a fault. At least, she thought she was all of those things. Then Sister Thalia arrived and Sister Jane felt exposed. It was like the Sun had been brought down next to her, casting her actions in naught but shadow.

Rather than being lauded for her piety and humility as she sought to prove them, though, the others began to question Jane. Oh, they never said as much. The catty little bitches never bothered to say much of anything; but it was all Thalia’s fault nonetheless that, suddenly, Jane was not good enough anymore. Thalia was just plain better than her at being humble.

At being pure.

At being virtuous.

And Sister Jane Hargraves seethed at it. How dare she come here and ruin everything that Jane had spent so long building? Jane knew how to please her superiors, and who amongst the clergy deserved whatever gifts Jane could procure, and when to disabuse her fellow sisters of any notions that might upend things. God required the ever-present vigilance of one such as her to stamp out any unruly traces of rebellion.

But it wasn’t enough. Sister Jane Hargraves wasn’t enough for them. No matter what she did, how she fought to retain her place, it all slipped through her hands. Her contacts to ensure the tithes went to Father Thomas and the other priests began asking for more, and then for so much that Jane couldn’t give it. Her subordinate sisters began talking back. Soon enough, Mother Superior began assigning all the good chores to Thalia, instead, after a minor shouting match broke out between Jane and that short-sighted harpy of an Abbess.

It was how Jane ended up in the archives, dusting. In the past, she’d claimed that the dusting aggravated her asthma. It was a white lie. She didn’t have a formal diagnosis, but the dust did make her cough and sneeze up a fit. The same was true now as it was then, though a string of expletives accompanied the cacophony echoing through the cramped, dark corridors beneath St. Agatha’s.

Jane’s eyes bleared, puffy and red and watery, as she navigated one of the manifold tunnels. They were lit only by the bunker lights that’d been installed when St. Agatha’s was built in the early 1940’s. Rather than ask for money to update the archives’ dismal lighting, they’d changed over to using LED bulbs a few years back to save on the expenses.

Though it spoke to the penny-pinching nature of the local Diocese, Jane was happy for it now. The incandescent bulbs they’d replaced ran hot, turning the archives muggy and sweltering — especially so in the summer months. Sister Kathleen had once suggested that it was as close to Hell as a nun could get. To which Jane had noted the doubt that crept into the nun’s voice at the suggestion.

Kathleen had rescinded the statement, but not before Jane had used the statement as pretext to ensure that Kathleen was assigned lavatory duty for the better part of a year. There was nothing unholy about St. Agatha’s. It was a fortress of faith. Her fortress.

Jane turned a corner and found herself in the last of the archival rooms. The archives themselves had never been intended to serve as much. During the height of the war, there was fear that another attack would come at any time — and thus, a bunker was built into St. Agatha’s at the behest of the local government. This space was the clearest remnant of that decision. Though bigger than the corridors, it was barely just so: the room managed only two feet of clearance on either side of the entrance. The sheer volume of “archived” items made it feel smaller, though, as though the walls were pressing in on Jane.

Her thoughts drifted to Sister Kathleen’s words. Maybe she’d been right. Maybe this was Hell. Resigning herself to completing the task, Jane assessed the state of the room. To do it right, this would take days of work; to do it fast, and to do it convincingly enough that a cursory inspection wouldn’t force her to do it right, it would take only a few hours.

So she committed to doing it fast.

As she cleaned the first table, however, she found her gaze drawn to a small, decorative box. It was black, with the Cross embossed on each of its faces. A small latch, sealed with red wax, kept it closed. It stood out from everything else because there was no dust clinging to it. In fact, the more she regarded it, the stranger it became to her. In a perfect square around the box, nothing was dusty. Not a single mote within at least five, maybe six inches.

She picked it up. It looked like something of great import, but if that were the case why was it down in the archives? Anything that was holy or otherwise profound surely would’ve made its way to the reliquary. As she looked closer, there were words in Latin surrounding the latch:

Intus signatum, providentia profana

Latin wasn’t Jane’s strong suit. She left that to others whose grasp of skills more readily applicable to everyday life were lacking. Still, she knew enough to understand the rough translation:

Inside sealed, providence profane

A warning. Below it was a single word, burnt into the wood itself and written in a curling, decorative script:

Belrith

Jane’s eyes fixed on it. It was such a word as to convey no meaning and yet… yet she couldn’t tear her gaze from it. She lingered on it as whole moments passed, one after the next, a strange thought taking shape in her mind. It was silly, after all. Modern-day Catholic thought on the subject of demonology was clear: none of it was real. Oh, certainly there were those who believed they were the subject of curses or possessions, but she’d once met a exorcist who confided in her the truth.

“It is, in its totality, a clever lie meant to touch something real: that there are those whose afflictions can only be healed by spiritual means,” he’d told her. Maybe it was then that she’d lost her faith. She wasn’t certain. She only knew that, as she continued to look at the word, there’d be nothing wrong if she uttered the name out loud.

“Belrith.”

Jane’s breath hitched as a flash of heat tore through her. Her fingers shook and she had to make a real effort to stay upright at all, leaning against a creaking bookcase filled with moldering tomes. In the stillness, all she heard was her breathing. It echoed around the stonework as she tried to calm herself. Demons weren’t real.

It’s what she told herself as she pulled in another, fortifying breath. And then she froze, not breathing at all, when she heard a low, lustful sigh issue forth from the dark. It could not be. Not here. Not on sanctified ground. Even if she believed, which she did not, the rules were clear. Nothing dark or wicked could find its way to a place of holy worship. Those were the rules. That was the promise.

But staring into where the light receded into an endless void, she felt scared.

Small.

Confronted with the scope and scale of something that perhaps would dwarf her earthly concerns.

And in the inky black from where the bunker lights failed to reach, Jane watched the shadows shift. It was a trick. An illusion made by a mind giving into nothing other than religious hysteria. She knew this, and yet she felt an icy hand grip her lungs. Fear. That was just fear. She was just afraid and her mind was playing tricks. That the sigh had given way to breathing was just her mind, bored and demanding stimulation, making her think that something was out there.

No. Not out there.

In here. With her.

Watching. Stalking. Hungry.

The bookshelf she’d leaned against creaked. She dropped the box on the ground in shock.

“I am a woman of faith!” She screamed, going instinctively to block her body. “You will not harm me!”

All that answered back was her own voice, spreading out into the dark. It was a fitting mockery, and it made her cheeks burn with the foolishness of it all. She swore, then, that she would have her revenge on Sister Thalia for putting her here, and on that damn fool of an Abbess who’d sought to curtail and punish Jane’s “abuses”. Abuses. What a ludicrous interpretation of her actions. Even thinking the word made Jane wish there had been a demon in the room with her. Now that the fear was gone, the rage at her ongoing humiliation was back. What she wouldn’t give to have some foul thing to torture in the name of her Lord.

She sighed. She would have to shut that want away. Any more that she did would be seen as another overreaction, and Jane was going to have enough of a time with the box she’d let clatter to the floor in her bout of panic.

It’d been ornate, but the wood itself seemed rather weak. She went to retrieve the box from where she dropped it and noticed that the wax was broken. So, too, was the latch holding the front panel shut. Just her fucking luck. Though she did not say the curse word out loud, she thought it. She’d have to repent for that with Father Thomas, along with all the other curse words that she had vocalized into the dark.

And all of it was Thalia’s doing! If only she had the means for revenge.

As Jane examined the the box for any dents, the panel on the front swung open. Nearly fumbling it as she felt something inside shift, Jane felt her fingers graze something smooth and cool. She paused, then, and moved slowly to set the box down on the bookshelf. Inside was a small glass vial, stoppered with a plain cork sealed in more of that red wax. She withdrew the vial and examined it. It looked intact. At first, it just looked like water. Then she spotted something floating in the center: a small crimson dot. As she looked at it, an idea formed in her mind.

What if I played a prank? Surely whatever this was, it was harmless. And Sister Thalia was such a righteous woman, so good and pure that Jane wasn’t certain even diseases could harm her. The whole convent had come down with a cold the month before, save for Thalia.

Blessed Thalia.

Pure Thalia.

Holy Thalia.

The prank would be easy enough to play. All Jane would need to do is wait until Communion. Yes, that would be funny. She’d slip it into the goblet. Maybe it was a bit sacrilegious, but her savior would forgive such a human foible. It would have no lasting impact on her immortal soul.

And breaking the news to Thalia that she’d ingested something related to a “demon” would surely upset the girl. Putting her in her place was important, after all. It’d disrupted everything. This was a restoration of the divine order. Jane would reclaim her place. And as providence would have it, she was to bear the cup tonight for Mass.

Perhaps there really was a God.

• • •

As her target approached, Sister Jane Hargraves was never more sure of her plan. There stood Sister Thalia, head bowed even as the other nuns spoke in quiet conversation. Penitent and humble beyond a fault. Sister Jane made certain to ensure those ahead of Sister Jane had plenty to sup of Christ’s blood, making sure that only the barest trace remained by the time Sister Thalia raised her head.

Jane faked a cough, blaming her allergies, and turned away from the procession of nuns awaiting the Eucharist. If Jane truly believed that she was defiling the blood of Christ by pouring the contents of the vial into the goblet, she would’ve stopped. She knew that well enough to be unconcerned. What was the harm? This was just some good, even payback.

A prank, meant to teach that smug, holier-than-thou woman what was what.

She turned back to face her target, and gave a wide smile as she offered the cup of salvation to her unwitting victim. “Sister Thalia.”

• • •

Sister Thalia Jensen couldn’t help the way her hands drifted to her sex. She’d tried for days to get them to be less wanton, and yet they could not stop touching of their own accord. She had to concentrate to stop their advance, and even then it was becoming a thing of torment to bring even temporary cessation to her lewd movements. Twice now she’d almost touched herself to… completion. She’d felt her heartbeat quicken, felt herself begin to perspire, and wanted nothing more than to go spilling over the edge into lustful abandon. It would be so easy, after all, to give in. And a victimless sin, save for the irreparable damage to her immortal soul.

And yet, she fought back against the desires that coursed through her. She had taken holy orders to be chaste, she reprimanded herself. It was her place to be a good and demure wife to the Lord, her God. To profane that for something as fleeting as lust would be unthinkable, even if the lust she now felt was anything but fleeting.

It was a damnable specter, looming over her as she went about her daily duties. Just now, she’d been sweeping one of the stone corridors of St. Agatha’s Convent that led out into the sanctuary garden on the grounds. The knowledge that the rest of the convent wasn’t even in this wing of the sprawling, medieval-inspired building wasn’t helping her remain pure. She’d let her mind wander to thoughts of menial tasks she had to do later in the day… only to be rocked back to the present as pleasure jolted through her body.

Her hands, it seemed, had begun getting creative — how else to explain that she’d slotted the broom between her thighs? It took her a moment to will them to drop the wooden pole, and even longer to demand her stubborn appendages to grip her rosary, worn from care and use, tight to her chest in prayer. This would pass.

Tears stung in her eyes as she sought to calm her wicked thoughts, reminding herself that in a scant few hours it would be Mass. Father Thomas would be here soon enough, and she could repent for her vile, libidinous thoughts. She would will it to pass, and God would shine His mercy down upon her again. She would be His bride.

Even from a young age, she understood that this was her calling. Most girls? Well, most girls had dreams and aspirations wreathed in mortal, material satisfaction. Sister Thalia had only ever wanted devotion to something spiritual and everlasting. She’d wanted holiness and worship in the halls of a storied convent like St. Agatha’s.

It stung that not many of her peers had wanted to become a nun. In a day and age of liberation, when a woman could be anything, it seemed as if humility and servitude were watchwords for something “defective”. Maybe that was true, in a way: Thalia hadn’t had many friends growing up.

She’d only known the life of an orphan, having been shuffled off to live in a crumbling wreck of an orphanage before she could even walk. Most people, when Thalia inevitably got close enough to open up, remarked about how terrible it was that Thalia had been made to endure that. Thalia had never seen it anything other than a blessing, as it’d made the notion of having sisters seem second-hand. Natural.

In fact, she’d had plenty of siblings as she’d waited for the “right” family to pick her. But none ever did. Thalia waited, all the same. And waited still, even as girls who Thalia thought of as rude and disrespectful left to live with families. She’d try to stay in touch, but those connections always withered away as the corruptive force of the outside world made her sisters turn their back. They treated her as someone would a pox-ridden beggar, and derided her as a “goody two-shoes”.

Even one of her teachers had called Thalia “sneeringly moralistic”. Thalia was eleven at the time. She didn’t get it, though: didn’t everyone in the world see what was right and what was wrong? Did they not, as she did, understand that Good and Evil were not just terms, but energies that one could nurture? That if they tried real hard and concentrated, they could see the way that energy affected all those around them?

Except… They didn’t.

Whenever Thalia tried to explain these things, people looked at her like she was crazed. She wasn’t. She just couldn’t put into words why she knew someone was off before they’d ever revealed sinister intentions. The instinct just came to her as naturally as breathing.

“Sister Thalia?” Sister Delilah called, and Thalia brightened. Delilah had become the one true friend that Thalia could trust in her short time at the convent. Delilah didn’t treat her different, or make her feel “off” for seeing the world different. “Perhaps I do not see quite what you do,” Delilah had said one evening when Thalia confided in her that she felt wrong and strange for her abilities, “but I believe in you, and feel it, too.”

Thalia had felt the warmth of calm, platonic affection in the moment — the budding of a new friendship that said, “I saw you as you are, and you are okay”. Now, though, Thalia’s head was clouded. Everything was off, and it made her not want to call back to Delilah because her mind wanted to replay that evening. It wanted lecherous things, too. The thought of pulling Delilah close and kissing her, of confessing how perfect she was as Thalia’s hands made careful, precise ministrations intended to make her friend howl with pleasure, intruded. She didn’t Delilah to see her like this, so unabashedly tempted.

“I will see you at Mass, Sister Delilah! I’m afraid I have yet much work to do!” Thalia offered before Delilah could turn the corner to meet her. Delilah’s footsteps paused.

“Very well, sister! I shall see you then!” There was no trace of malice or discontent in words. Thalia was thankful that Delilah was, perhaps, almost as dedicated as herself.

She fidgeted as Father Thomas continued with Mass. She’d only ever seen a glistening, pure aura radiating off the man. He had a demure bearing and gentle eyes that put Thalia at ease. Now, though? There was something in the way he caught her gaze as he delivered the homily.

Leering. Predatory. Wanting of her flesh.

Worse, still, was her reaction to the way his eyes flashed over her body. She felt heat between her thighs. Some part of her thrummed and pulsed, too, though she didn’t know the name of it. Still, she could feel it all too intently. It felt maddeningly hard. Though she was unfamiliar with the feeling, nonetheless Sister Thalia knew it must be lust.

She gripped her rosary beads tighter. She would get through this. It would be okay.

• • •

She still gripped them even as her thighs gripped Father Thomas’ face. She rode him as his tongue explored her. It was clumsy, but it didn’t matter. What was happening now was something she couldn’t control. She wanted to blame him for it. She knew she couldn’t. When she’d stepped into his chambers to speak to him after Mass, he’d seemed distracted. Again she saw the way his gaze flitted over her body. He drank her in as though she were the sacrament.

He didn’t resist as she pushed him to his knees. Nor did he resist as as she hiked up her tunic and shoved his face into her wetness. When her legs gave out and she sagged into him, he didn’t resist being lowered to the floor. Submissive. So, so submissive. Thalia groaned at the thought. It was incredible how much she wanted this to continue. She could imagine it as though someone else were watching: Father Thomas’ tongue tasting her. The way her hands would roam his curves. The way Thalia’s energy would shape and re-mold him into her.

The notion sent a shudder through Thalia. Cumming. She didn’t know where the word sprung from, but as she thought it she knew it was right. She was cumming all over Father Thomas’ face. She clenched and groaned, delicious waves of fluttery, sparking pleasure hitting her one after another. Her hands gripped at the priest’s hair, as she ground her slit into his face. It felt miraculous.

When the feelings subsided, she realized with a start what she’d done. Shame flooded through her. Thalia scrambled to her feet, only then glancing down to see that Father Thomas was… transformed. His body had slight, but nonetheless distinct, curves that weren’t there before. His hair was longer, too. What stood out to Thalia the most, however, was his face.

Gone were the harsh angles. Instead, the person lying there — face slick with Thalia’s wetness — could have been Father Thomas’ sister. She looked blissful, too. One of her hands began to cup at her crotch and it was only then that Thalia noticed just how aroused the woman beneath her was. She unzipped her pants and then suddenly she had her hand pumping up and down the shaft of her penis. Her other hand scooped at the wetness on her face, smearing it into her mouth.

As horrified as Thalia was, she felt her lips trying to curl into a satisfied smirk. Then she caught sight of herself in a mirror. Her aura, the one she’d seen so clearly in so many others, was dark red and pulsing. Despite her best efforts to contain the smirk, the being in the mirror wore it proudly. She winked at Thalia.

Belrith.

Thalia ran.

• • •

Perhaps her prank had worked too well. Even without telling Thalia, the woman seemed… perturbed today. Jane saw her leave the priest’s chambers, staggering and sweating, clutching her tunic in a manner that — if Jane didn’t know Thalia — she’d have described to be “lewd”. Instead, it looked like whatever she’d done had made her somewhat ill.

For a moment, Jane felt scared that she’d done something wrong. But, no! No. She’d looked it up. She’d spent hours researching whether there was any demon named Belrith. She even looked up the container itself. Yes, it was meant to hold demonic essence at bay, but that was bunk. Demons weren’t real.

She’d confirmed this fact.

They weren’t, and yet a frisson of holy terror caused Jane to follow Sister Thalia as the younger woman fled. Maybe she’d truly done something awful to the girl, based on the sobs that echoed off the arched ceilings. Where they were going, Sister Jane wasn’t sure. It was only when Sister Thalia barged through a door that ought to lead to the chapter room that Sister Jane knew something was horribly wrong.

It was the chapter room where Jane had meted out her even handed control of St. Agatha’s, and yet the features of the room were wrong. The glass in the windows was not stained, nor would they have ever considered having something as sacred as stained glass be home to downright pornographic depictions of women in states of complete undress.

Jane reached for the door behind her to flee, only to discover that it was locked. Latched closed and barred with a heavy plank of jet black wood. To Jane’s mounting dread, a set of angular, red runes seemed to burn from within the wood itself. It should be impossible, and yet her fingers ran over where the runes should be only the find the wood smooth to the touch. Yet a warmth radiated from where her fingers grazed over the runes. Sinister, foul heat crept up her arm and slithered down her side to settle between her legs.

At it, Jane moaned. The sound drew Sister Thalia’s attention from where the woman had been doubled over against the meeting table.

“Sister Jane…?” And was it just Jane, or had the light in the room truly deepened as Thalia asked the question?

“Y…yes?”

In a flash, Thalia’s hands clamped around Jane’s shoulders. The younger nun’s expression was crazed: her eyes were wide, perspiration dotting her brow and matting her hair, a pained grimace on her face. “S-something is wrong with me, Sister!”

“Wh—”

Thalia let out a moan and released her, doubling over. She clutched at her crotch. “Please, save me from her.” Her words were a whisper. Jane struggled to breath.

“Fr-from who?”

The moment before Jane attenuated, stretching outward as she held her breath. Then Thalia slowly brought her gaze to meet Jane’s. “Belrith.”

• • •

A wicked, hateful, predatory grin spread over Thalia’s face. “You know, don’t you?”

“No.”

Thalia rose to her full height, then higher yet. Jane should run. She willed her legs to carry her away. This was demonic. Her immortal soul was at risk. Instead, she couldn’t move. It wasn’t fear that kept her pinned, but pride. Logically, she knew that all of this could be explained. Belrith didn’t even show up in the books she’d read about demons.

“You shouldn’t lie to me, Jane,” Thalia said. Her voice had taken on a sultry, smoky timbre that was at odds with her dangerous glint in her eyes. This was an act. It had to be. Jane wouldn’t be so convinced.

“So, what. You found the box? Big deal. It was a single drop of olive oil in some alcohol.”

Thalia drew in a deep breath through her nose, throwing her head back and closing her eyes as she did. She let out a contented sigh as she lowered her head. Then she fixed her gaze on Jane again. “Mmmmm. Exquisite.”

“What?”

“Your pride, Jane. You’re so… bursting with it. I could feel it, even before. Back then it made me sick. Physically. Now, though? God- or well, not God God because I doubt he’d approve, but… Hell, you’re amazing.”

Thalia took a step towards her and Jane caught something swaying underneath Thalia’s habit, just near the blonde nun’s abdomen. Whatever it was, it bunched the fabric as it protruded upward and out. Something about its end made the fabric glisten.

“Oh, you noticed? Don’t worry. It’s an elaborate prank.”

Thalia took another step towards Jane. Yes, it had to be. This had to be an elaborate prank. The fullness of the plan would reveal itself to Jane and then she could defeat it. She kept her eyes trained on that glistening spot.

“Would you like to see it?”

Jane nodded her head. This was an elaborate prank. Thalia’s hands bunched up her tunic and she lifted it. Inch by inch, beautiful tan skin revealed itself. Jane didn’t notice. Her gaze never wavered from the bulge. Had it grown? Thalia stopped.

“Wanna do the honors?”

Jane gulped. Whatever was underneath seemed to twitch with a steady cadence. This was it. All she need do is pull and this charade, this lewd farce would come to an end. It could not be what Jane envisioned lay beneath the humble fabric of Sister Thalia’s tunic. Jane pulled upward.

She was right. It wasn’t what she envisioned. What she saw was even more glorious: girthy, vein bulging, the tip of it leaking precum. With each throb she felt herself get more and more entranced. After all, wasn’t this just part of the prank? She was in on the joke, now, with Sister Thalia.

It was such a funny prank, the way that Sister Thalia’s hand pumped up and down her shaft. Jane giggled. She’d never quite taken her fellow sister for the impish type. Yet here she was, helping her to get one over on the rest of the convent.

“Give me your panties,” huffed Thalia. Jane turned to leave for her room, but Thalia caught her arm. “No. Give me the ones you have. It’s part of the prank.”

Jane’s sense of shame told her she couldn’t do this. Maybe the prank was going too far. She should run to Father Thom—

A bruising, blistering kiss from Thalia terminated her thoughts. She sank into it. Had Thalia’s tongue always been that long and forked? Something about that didn’t make sense, but it was hard to make sense with the way Thalia’s hands cupped Jane’s ass. She’d always felt a little off about her body. She wasn’t thin like Thalia. By comparison, Jane was all wide hips and full breasts and gentle, soft curves.

Still, she couldn’t feel too bad about it as lust burnt away any misgivings she might’ve had. Jane’s hands went to her tunic, attempting to rip it free. If Thalia’s hands felt this good through the thick cotton, how good would they feel against her bare skin? The warmth was incredible. She broke their kiss and Jane saw the way Thalia’s tongue slithered back. When Jane’s cool blue eyes met Thalia’s warm brown, she noted that Thalia’s pupils were different. They’d become cat-like. Inhuman.

“What was I doing…?”

Thalia’s tongue flicked out, grazing down along Jane’s neck. “Your panties.”

Right! What a brilliant prank.

Without further protestation, Jane reached under her tunic and slid free her panties. They were soaked through. Ruined. She wrapped them around Thalia’s cock, grinning. Then Jane pulled off her tunic, baring her naked form to the woman who had been the bane of her existence mere minutes ago. Now, though? Now all these wonderful, lewd pranks were filtering into her mind. She could tell that they were emanating from Thalia. They were just too funny for her to ignore, though.

Thalia resumed her rhythm now. Jane’s eyes didn’t leave her panties, watching them get smeared with slick precum. Jane teased her own wetness as she sank to the floor. Thalia grunted and Jane knew she was close now. So, so close to Thalia letting her in on the best prank of all: her corruption into a demonic cumslut.

“F-fuck!” Thalia groaned as rope after rope after demonic rope of cum deposited in Jane’s panties. Some of it spilled free. Jane surged forward, tongue out, promising herself she wouldn’t waste one single drop of it. She caught what she could in her mouth, the rest painting her neck and her breasts. It was as warm as hellfire where it touched.

Too hot for anything untainted to survive it. Lucky for Jane, she’d felt the ways she’d be sculpted by the mere presence of her Goddess. Huh. When had that happened? Eh. It didn’t matter. The heat felt good. The conflagration of her immortal soul was well under way. She could tell. She swallowed and felt the cum spread out into her, eradicating righteousness and decency and modesty. If it weren’t for the source of the feelings coursing through her, she’d say this was something Holy.

Nonetheless, the fervor that gripped her was no less divine as any she’d felt before. Jane retrieved her defiled panties and slipped them back on. They were vessel, vector, and victory all in one. The torrid radiance that ripped into her was like nothing she’d ever experienced. Whatever was left of her soul became ash, drifting away into the maelstrom of depraved lust overtaking her.

• • •

Mass started three minutes late the following day. Sister Delilah Dove thought it was strange. Stranger, still, was that Sister Thalia was nowhere to be seen. Concern bloomed in Delilah’s heart. She’d heard rumors that her favorite sister was ill. Sister Kathleen had mentioned she’d been off. And with Father Thomas out sick, it only made sense that perhaps Thalia had come down with whatever plagued the poor man.

Nonetheless, the Abbess had agreed to step in. A stern woman in her mid-50s, she acquitted herself in admirable fashion, though her homily had felt theatrical in its delivery — as though she’d waited for this moment for far too long. It was only as Communion was about to begin that Sister Thalia slid into the open seat next to Delilah.

“Sister!” Delilah exclaimed in hushed tones. “You’re late. The Abbess will have words with you.”

“Oh, I don’t think she will. Besides, I’m not to stay. I only stopped in to get you.”

Her row stood to get in line for Communion. Sister Thalia stepped out in the other direction. Delilah glanced at her, then back at the line of sisters.

“I don’t… but the Abbess…”

“Do you trust me?”

This was Sister Thalia. Of course Delilah trusted her. Out of everyone at the convent, only Thalia had seen what Delilah had seen. Delilah only had the most minor gift of it, but she, too, could see the auras that danced around people, just like Thalia. Only Thalia could pick out the good ones from the bad, though. Thalia extended her hand. Delilah felt compelled to take it. Thalia led her away. As they walked, Delilah noticed how soft Thalia’s hand was. They moved deeper, down a set of stairs. Thalia pulled open a door, revealing a room filled with wooden crates, odd knickknacks, and dilapidated furniture. As Thalia drew her within, Delilah noticed how warm Thalia’s hand was. How right it felt in hers. Something deep in her belly fluttered.

“Uhm…Sister Thalia? What…what are we doing here in the archives?”

“Oh, no reason.” Thalia said. “I mean, I guess it’s fitting, y’know? Ending where it began and everything. Thing of it is? Pure coincidence. No, really. Just, like… Jane and I were talking yesterday about how this was going to go down and then we both realized that this was the place that’s furthest from any doors to the outside.”

If Sister Thalia’s hand was warm before, now it scorched Delilah. She pulled back with a gasp. “What’s…Sister, you’re scaring me.”

“I know. And genuinely? I’m sorry. I had to lead you away because you really are like me. The rest of those girls? They’re already corrupted by now. I bet they’re—“

An animalistic yawp, faint through the thick door, nonetheless made Delilah jump. She turned to face it on instinct, backing up. Part of her still trusted Thalia. In hindsight, she found that part the funniest. Thalia took the opening to wrap herself around Delilah.

“Heh. Right on cue.”

It was like being embraced by a furnace. Delilah’s brow broke out in sweat as her body temperature spiked.

“See, it had to be me and you because otherwise, you’d get to escape.”

Delilah tried to break free from Thalia’s grasp, but she couldn’t. Something otherworldly kept her in place. That same force seemed to redirect her attempts to struggle towards Thalia’s wandering hands.

“Wha- what sorcery…? Have you used on me?”

“Sorcer- oh, that’s too good.”

Suddenly Delilah was free. Her continued exertion caused her to tumble the ground. She remained, panting for breath, unable to calm herself. Delilah rolled onto her back and saw Thalia clearly. Her aura glowed hot and red and yet…

“You see it. The stain I carry. Belrith cannot burn it free.” Thalia gestured to a golden circlet wreathing her head.

“It’s not a… a stain. It’s proof! Proof that you’re incorruptible! You’re of them! Of the angels, I know it! You can stop this!”

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” Thalia rolled her eyes. Her dismissal made something wrathful burn hot in Delilah. A second wind surged through her. Full of righteous indignation, she scrambled to her feet and launched herself at Thalia. She pinned the would-be temptress with a strength she didn’t realize she had.

Only then did she realize her mistake. If the touches as she’d struggled away from her friend had left her confused and fuzzy headed, this contact — and the way she straddled the sister she’d come to idolize — was quickly making her mindless altogether. Delilah bucked her hips upward. That helped, clearing her mind.

There was something else, though. It whispered to her that she was pure. That she needn’t fear the contact. It spoke with the authority of the heavens and sounded like the voice she’d heard her whole life. It coaxed her to cant her hips back down. It’d be fine. She’d be okay. She could not burn.

It felt so strange. She lowered her hips and the heat was back. It was so intense. Delilah was certain she’d die from it. That it’d consume her whole. She looked to Thalia.

“It absorbs sin. The stain in us. That ‘holy’ thing? It’s our doom. No matter how corrupted we get, we’ll always need more. And the corruption will never stop because its whole existence is to make us depraved, wanting, needy things.”

Delilah had stopped listening after the first few words. Thalia kept talking, but it didn’t matter. Her body was already in motion, grinding up and down the length of Thalia’s penis. No, not ‘penis’. That was too clinical. Too removed. Not lewd enough to explain the incredible thrill that went through her. Dick. Cock. Fuckrod. Christ, there were so many words for it. She wanted to scream them all. There was a litany to be written just about how many ways Thalia could get some demonic cum in her.

As Thalia prattled on, Delilah ripped free of her tunic. She was wet. So fucking wet and the way that Thalia throbbed for her, she knew this would be incredible. Every inch was caused a lewd hymn to spring from her, every thrust a canticle, belted out in lascivious rhythm. She felt whole and complete as Thalia’s movements became more urgent. She could always turn. Yes. She was in control. Her angelic forebears had safeguarded her. She wrapped herself tighter as she felt the pulse deep within her loins. Cum. Demonic cum. She wanted it within her. She’d take this corruption.

As Thalia deposited her sixth load in Delilah, she watched her sister’s skin began to take on a burning orange hue. Cat-like irises stared back at her. Wings pushed free from her back, replete with ever-smoldering, darkened feathers. Between her legs, her clit surged forth and transformed.

Delilah was saved, alright. Between her legs sat a holy sword. Thalia was a fool. She would use this power to defeat Thalia. And then, with it, she would slay each of the demons inhabiting her sisters.

• • •

Belrith was busy with other things. The life of a chaos demon was, well…one that lived up to the name. Her Affinity for falsehoods and deceit meant that she’d had quite the eye for pranks. And gosh, there was always a trick to be pulled on humans. They never seemed to learn! Not that Belrith was much better. Honestly, she’d totally forgotten that she’d even left the smallest trace of her seed on the steps of a convent. Blink and a few decades pass, y’know? If not for her happening to be in the area, she never would’ve even checked. As she got within a mile of the convent, though, she felt it.

Belrith tensed. Pranks were one thing. This, though, was the kind’ve thing that would rouse suspicion. She’d barely gotten away with convincing that dipshit to run for President a few years ago…or was that the ‘80s? Belrith dismissed the thought. Another downside of being a being of chaos: easy to get distracted. Except there were few things that called more strongly than whatever awaited her within this convent. Belrith flicked her fingers, enrobing herself in runes of concealment.

She pulled the doors open and found…nuns. Just normal nuns. They all seemed to be going about their day. One passed by her and Belrith couldn’t resist checking her out. Despite the loose fit of the habit, Belrith saw the curves underneath. For a moment she got lost in the sway of the nun’s hips. Then the nun stopped and turned.

Belrith broke her gaze and realized that the nun was staring at her. She seemed annoyed. Not at the leering, but at something else. She rolled her dark blue eyes and gestured for Belrith to follow.

“Coming, Sister Jane!” came a voice just over Belrith’s shoulder. Belrith managed to step aside as another nun - this one carrying a large tome - hurried to catch up to Sister Jane. Curious, Belrith followed the pair.

“Did you have any luck, Sister Delilah?”

“No, Sister Jane. I’ve scoured every single tome and there’s just…nothing.”

“Hells. And how’re you doing, Sister?”

“My urges are…in check.”

“Good. We’re so close to figuring this out. Your quick actions brought us back from the brink of depravity.”

Could that be what was going on here? Somehow this whole convent had been tainted by her? But how? Belrith had to know.

The pair pushed into a room rich and suffused with religious iconography. If she didn’t know better, it would’ve been a chapel. Except seated where a priest might be was a woman. She wore a nun’s habit, but her skin was a deep crimson and her fingers terminated in claw-like nails. A demon, just like Belrith. One of those hands guided the head of a woman as it bobbed between her legs. That woman wore what seemed to be the tattered vestments of a priest.

“Have you any updates, sisters?”

“I just returned from another convent,” sister Delilah said. “Unfortunately, despite their willingness to help, I found precious little.”

“And you, Jane?”

“I’m sorry, Thalia. I wish I had better news to give you.”

“That’s most unfortunate to hear. I had wished for better n- better new- ooooh, Thomasina!”

Thalia groaned, spilling her seed into Thomasina’s willing mouth.

“The good ‘Father’s head game is on point today, huh?” Sister Delilah said, her voice suddenly lewd and daring.

“Mmmmm. She never disappoints!” Thalia crooned, running her fingers through the former priest’s hair.

From next to Delilah, it sounded at first like Jane was stifling a sneeze. Then she started laughing. Delilah elbowed her gently.

“Really?!” Delilah chided. “C’mon. Thalia!”

Delilah looked to Thalia, but a smirk had broken out across her face.

It was only then that Belrith felt four pairs of hands grasp her. She attempted to move, but she found herself unable to complete the action. She’d not noticed the binding sigil until it flared to life.

“Hey mom!” Thalia said, rising from her throne.

“M-mom?”

“Well, yeah! I mean, we’re all sisters and you’re responsible for our corruption, so…it’s like we’re your daughters.”

Around her, the corrupted nuns of St. Agatha’s descended on Belrith. They touched and groped.

“W-wait a minute! I’m not-“

“Mommy, don’t you want to love us?” Sister Jane stripped free of her habit and Belrith found herself powerless for a whole separate reason. The woman’s body was a work of art. Her tall frame lent itself to the sumptuous curves now on display. She sauntered forward, lending her hands to the caresses.

“O-okay. Um. This is all super flattering but I’m not, uh…I’m…heh. I get that I’m a demon but we’re not all super kinky and this is…um…”

Belrith swallowed hard. Despite her protestations, it’s like they knew! They’d honed in on the one kink she’d never allowed herself to indulge. It’s not that she had moral hangups about it; quite the opposite, tricking someone into fauxcest was entirely her jam. No, the problem was that it reminded her that her life was one where she could never settle down. She was incapable of it.

Or, she thought she was; but as her ‘daughter’ straddled her, that seemed silly. Jane was a beautiful woman. She’d be lucky to call this woman her child. All of them, actually, would be wonderful vexations for her immortal life. And so, Belrith relented. No longer resisting, she found that only then could she move. She grasped her daughter and sunk her onto her cock.

“Mother! Oh, I- hnnnmm!” Jane gasped as Belrith fucked her relentlessly. The other hands on her body stimulated every inch of Belrith’s form. Far too soon, she’d pulled out and commanded Jane to kneel.

“Receive your mother’s blessing!” It felt better than anything she’d known, painting Jane’s face red with demonic seed. She sat there, sated, for but a moment before she shifted to the side. The rest formed a disorderly queue. Each of her daughters would get their fill. Yes, this was good. This was right. Belrith had enough to give. She would ensure that this den of sin would be well-protected against the Angels that would be certain to disrupt this dark communion of flesh and depravity.

• • •

Tired and spent, Belrith reclined amongst her many daughters. She felt sated. From next to her, Thalia stirred and then stretched. Thalia, she’d learned, was the leader of this convent. The first one who’d been changed by Belrith. Her eldest. Belrith was proud of her for having the courage to do what others could not. It was not so easy to embrace this life.

“Alright, well… this was fun. Thanks, Bel.” Thalia mussed Belrith’s hair.

“Wait, what? ‘Bel’? I thought you said I was your—”

“Oh! That was a prank. Heh. We figured we’d mess with you about the fauxcest stuff. You got way into it…”

Belrith felt shame and embarrassment flush in her cheeks. Of course. Of course she wouldn’t ever be welcome anywhere. She was a chaos demon. She should leave befo—

Thalia kissed her. It was chaste, but filled with true passion nonetheless. “I was just joking, mom! Jeez. Lighten up!”