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For a list of all the Devil’s Pact Chapters and other stories click here

This is a revised version of the story that I published on Smashword starting back in 2014. It is rewritten with much-added material. However, I did have to age up some of the characters so no one is underage in this version.

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Click here for Warlock’s Domination, Chapter 6.

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Cast of Characters

Warlocks

Mark Glassner — Mary Sullivan

Sex Slaves “The Sluts”

Alison — Desiree Fitzsimmons — Xiu — Korina— Violet — Lillian — Chastity (deceased) — Karen (Sister Louise Afra) — Jessica St. Pierre — April

Servants

Samnag “Sam” (Holy Vizier) — Dr. Willow WolfTail — 51 (Chief Bodyguard) — Rachel — Leah (Chauffeur) — Jacob — — Monique — Lize — Lynda (Pilot) — Joslyn (Pilot)

The Living Church

Daisy & Rose Cunningham (High Priestesses)

Demons

Lucifer — Lilith — Marduk — Molech

The Cult of Lilith

Lana — Chantelle — Babylon — Crystal — Starlight — Nurse Thamina — Fiona — Tir (monster) — Lamia (Monster) — Cora (monster) — Ziki (monster) — Di (monster) — Emi (monster)

Sisters of Mary Magdalene

Mother Superior Maryām — Archangel Gabriel — Dominion Ramiel (Angel) — Doug Allard — Tina Allard

Brandon Fitzsimmons’s Followers

Ashley — Victorie — Terri — Sherri — Lieutenant-General Arthur Brooks

Other

Antsy (Mark’s Sister) — Alice — Sandy (Mark’s Mother) — Sean (Mary’s Father) — Tiffany (Mary’s Mother, Sister Theodora Mariam) — Shannon (Mary’s Older Sister) — Missy (Mary’s Younger Sister) — George (Shannon’s Fiance)— Damien (Missy’s Boyfriend) — Avialle (Antsy’s Girlfriend) — Agent Noel Heinrich, FBI (Former Slut) — Craig Erikson (Mayor of Seattle)

Chapter One

Night and day, the screams echoed from Brandon’s lair as the dread demon Molech inflicted his burning embrace upon woman after woman, sacrifices for the False God’s ambition.

—The Second Book of Vivian 2:1

Saturday, September 28th, 2013 – Leah Hirsch-Goldstein-Blum – Tacoma, WA

I was alone after Mark told us to run from the crash and the soldiers.

My arms pumped as I raced away from the wrecked limo, my chauffeur’s outfit slicked with blood. I didn’t want to think about that. I had died today, and my God brought me back to life. He healed me after the minigun fire had destroyed the limo and overwhelmed the protective magics imbuing the amulet I wore. It smoked still, burning hot against my skin as I raced across Sprague avenue.

Helicopters roared above. Soldiers’ booted feet echoed. They shouted. Gunfire erupted. Tears fell down my cheeks. This was Tacoma. It wasn’t a warzone, and yet US soldiers attacked us. They were after my God, hunting him down.

I kept running and running. My sides ached. More gunfire erupted. Were they killing my God? Tears fell down my cheeks. My side hurt. I struggled to breathe after running so many blocks down the residential streets. I didn’t even know how far I had run. I was lost. I leaned against a rusting truck, panting, gasping for breath.

I couldn’t stay here. I had to hide. But I was so tired. I had run so far. My legs were leaden. I needed to stay safe. My God told me to run, to save myself.

I fell to my belly and squirmed beneath the truck, the asphalt reeking of oil. I trembled beneath it, wondering how this had happened. The day had started so wonderfully. I was honored to serve Mark and Mary, the gods who had brought such joy and happiness into my life. It was fate that I was hired to be their chauffeur during their visit to New York City last June. They inducted me into their life of wild sex and uninhibited passion. Their divinity was so clear to me in retrospect. The way they could do what they want.

Like claim a bride on her honeymoon.

Rachel was a brunette beauty, so shy and quiet on the outside, but inside was a fun blonde bursting to explode out of her. And I helped her find it. Together, we had a wild weekend with Mark and Mary. And in the process, we fell in love.

Only she was married to Jacob. He had spent their honeymoon in their bridal suite while she partied with me, being gangbanged at clubs and doing all manner of naughty acts. But Rachel, too, had fallen in love. She didn’t want to give me up. So she asked me to join her and Jacob, to be their wife.

After all, Mark and Mary believed in love without boundaries. So what if society said a man could only have one wife? We found joy in our triune union.

And then the Miracle happened. Mark’s divinity was proclaimed to the entire world. We left our home and made a pilgrimage to his side. He chose us, making me his chauffeur again, my spouses his accountants.

Were they in danger? Were they scared for me?

“I love you,” I croaked, picturing Rachel and Jacob. I wanted to live. I wanted to see them again.

But I didn’t know what to do. I was too frightened to move. So I stayed beneath the truck. I was safe here. I kept my face pressed against the oily asphalt, trembling. Helicopters soared overhead as the day dragged on and on. I grew hungry.

I let my stomach growl.

I grew thirsty.

I licked my lips and tried to ignore the burning in the back of my throat.

My bladder grew full.

I could hold it. I would stay here until it was safe. Until my God had triumphed over this new threat. He and my Goddess were powerful. Their words compelled obedience. I prayed to them as I cowered. They could enact miracles.

He had brought me back from the dead after the crash.

Night fell. I stayed where I was. A chill crept into the September air, seeping through the asphalt. I shivered.

And then the soldiers came.

The roar of their vehicle announced them first. A great, throaty growl that echoed through the night. Then it was their heavy boots and their bobbing flashlights. They moved quickly. I watched them from underneath the truck as they swept down the street, knocking on doors. They were searching house by house.

Sometimes, they’d pull a woman out of the house. Sometimes she screamed. Sometimes she trembled and didn’t fight. They came closer and closer to where I was hiding, their vehicle rolling slowly down the road. It was a big, bulky tank thing, a soldier manning a scary machine gun from a turret on top.

“Let’s go!” a man shouted. “Find the women for our Lord.”

“Women?” I whispered. Their flashlights spilled around the truck. I trembled. They couldn’t see me in here. Could they?

“Search everywhere,” a man shouted. “Don’t leave any spots overlooked in the house. Remember His orders.”

“No!” a woman shouted. “Please.”

“That’s my wife,” a man shouted. “What’s she done wrong? This is—”

The crack of gunfire ripped through the night, cutting off the man’s protest. The woman screamed. I trembled, my breath caught. They shot the man. He objected, and they shot him. My heart beat so hard, so fast. I wanted to hyperventilate. I trembled, the soldiers coming closer and closer.

Don’t find me, I thought over and over. Don’t find me.

“Check under the truck,” the man giving orders said.

I let out a squeak of fear. Something inside me snapped. An ancient animal fear consumed me. I rolled out from beneath the truck and raced down the street. I had to get away. I had to escape. Survive. That was what He ordered me to—

“Got you!”

An arm went around my waist, yanking me off my feet. I gasped, shaking as the soldier pulled me down the street. Panic held me. They had captured me. My God’s enemies. Tears fell down my cheeks as I thrashed.

“None of that, slut,” he said, bringing me to the soldiers. “What do you think, LT? She’s a hottie?”

A flashlight shined into my face. “Little dirty. Strip her naked. She looks promising.”

Soldiers grabbed me. They ripped my bloody clothes off. Their hands roamed my body, squeezing my breasts and groping my ass. I shivered, hating it as they leered at me. They laughed and called me derogatory names. Slut. Whore. Skank. Cunt. More.

“Damn, the God’s going to love you,” he laughed. “And if not, maybe he’ll let the company have you. What do you say, slut? Want to be our whore?”

“P-Please,” I sobbed.

“Throw her in the back,” the man they called LT growled. “You can grab her ass later. We have to clear the street.”

“Right, LT,” chuckled a Hispanic man, his hand squeezing my tit.

They dragged me to the back of the tank-like vehicle. The back was open, a tall, burly White soldier standing there watching a group of other naked, frightened women cowering in the back, one sobbing hysterically.

The woman whose husband was shot.

“What’s going on?” I asked after they shoved me into the back.

“They say we’re being taken to the God,” a woman whispered in a hushed voice, an awed voice. “If we’re lucky, he’ll choose us for his harem.”

What would happen if we weren’t lucky? I swallowed the question, not sure I wanted to know the answer. “I can’t be in his harem.” Jacob and Rachel must be worried sick about me. I desperately wanted to see my wife and husband again. “I’m married!”

“They shot my husband,” the sobbing woman moaned. “He tried to stop them from taking me and…”

I hugged the crying woman. “Shh, everything will be alright,” I said. What else was I supposed to say? “I’m Leah.”

“Beatrice.”

I held her as the truck drove slowly through the city. A few more women, some as young as eighteen, were loaded into the back, all naked and most shivering in fear. They were all pretty. In an hour, we were pulling up at the Pierce County Superior Courthouse. The soldiers herded us out. Only this morning, I had dropped off my God here to give his speech.

What happened to him? Had he escaped?

“Nice ass,” a soldier laughed, giving mine a squeeze. I shuddered as his dirty fingers pawed me. “If you’re not chosen for the Harem, I’m gonna requisition you for myself.”

I shuddered in disgust. Other soldiers were molesting the women as they lined us up. I held Beatrice’s hand as we were marched into the jail. We had to navigate the corridors and pass through a half-dozen locked gates before we reached the exercise yard. It was full of nude women. Standing before them was a young man, naked and having his cock sucked by a Latina woman wearing a torn, black dress, her thighs sticky with cum. He eyed us as we were marched before him.

“You can stop, Desiree,” the man ordered.

I was surprised to see Desiree, one of the Gods’ Holy Sluts, blowing this man. She popped her mouth off his cock, looking down at the ground the whole time. Her eyes empty, dead, her cheeks stained with tears. The man grinned, walking towards us, his eyes roaming our naked flesh. He examined us with care, grinning like a hungry wolf. Desiree looked so defeated. I had never seen the vivacious woman look so meek and scared.

What had this monster done to her? I swallowed in fear, glancing at the man. He must be the one who attacked us.

“I am your God, Brandon,” he declared. “Worship me.”

All the women, Beatrice included, changed. My eyes widened. He was like my Gods. He had their powers. Another God, their enemy. But I was unaffected because Mark had gifted me with protection. The women around me fell to their knees, crying out in awe at Brandon. I fell to my knees and tried to sound like them. I couldn’t let Brandon know I wasn’t under his control.

He tapped three women on the shoulder. “You are my concubines. You love me and will do anything to make me happy.” He gave a dismissive wave. “The rest of you, go wait in the exercise yard with the other cunts.”

Neither Beatrice nor I were chosen. Instead, we were herded into the yard with the other women. The women there glanced at a bonfire slowly dying down into coals. There was something in there… Something that looked like…

“Oh, Gods,” I groaned. There was a burned corpse in there.

I looked away.

Brandon gathered his concubines and Desiree, and left, leaving behind a cadre of soldiers to watch us. I shivered, holding onto Beatrice, my eyes searching the women for anyone familiar. I sighed in relief, spotting 51 and 27, two of the bodyguards. I moved towards them, leading Beatrice.

As I neared them, a blood-curdling scream came from inside the prison. The women all jumped.

“What was that?” I asked one of the bodyguards, my heart racing.

51 just shook her head, a look of numb horror on her face. Dried blood streaked from a gash along her ebony forehead. She led the bodyguard. When we evacuated the courthouse, she had been so professional, so calm, and now she looked broken.

“El Diablo,” 27 hissed in terror, her Latina face contorted in fear. I vaguely recalled she was a former LAPD officer, one of the women who had journeyed to the Living Gods and volunteered to join the bodyguard. “He comes. Chooses.”

“Chooses what?” Beatrice asked.

27 motioned at all of the women trapped in the exercise yard.

It wasn’t long before el Diablo came. I screamed in terror when I saw him. A hulking figure, skin black and cracked with glowing red, like cooling lava, strode out of the prison. The air rippled around him, and he reeked of rotten eggs. The women in the courtyard screamed in panic, pressing away from him.

The demon laughed as he strode forward, his mirth crackling like blazing coals. The shouting grew more terrified. Women crushed into me as those at the front tried to get away from the monstrosity. I didn’t blame him. The monster terrified me. I pushed back into 51 as its coal-black eyes swept over us.

“Save me!” I prayed loudly to my Living Gods. “Please, please, come save your faithful servant! Deliver me from this abomination!”

“What’s he doing?” Beatrice demanded.

“Choosing the next sacrifice,” 27 hissed. “That pendejo who calls himself a god made a deal with it. Every half hour, he chooses.”

“Please, no!” a woman screamed, her voice ragged with pain

El Diablo had found his sacrifice. His black fist gripped the slim arm of a young, blonde girl. She screamed and pulled against his smoldering grip. But the monster dragged her into the prison. Her screams echoed out of the building, along with his grunts of pleasure.

Relief flooded me. I wasn’t chosen.

But my relief didn’t last long. After a half-hour, the demon, Molech, returned. Every thirty minutes, a new woman was selected, and we all endured her screams, trembling in terror, praying we weren’t chosen next. By midnight I was numb. I didn’t care about anything except escaping his notice.

I didn’t want to die burning beneath his body.

When the soldier grabbed me and led me off, I was relieved. It didn’t matter to me that he would rape me. I was getting out of the exercise yard. I was getting away from Molech. Three soldiers used me for an hour. I tried to be the best whore for them I could, putting all my years of partying to good use. I forced down the guilt of betraying Jacob and Rachel as I begged the men to fuck me harder and pretended to coo in pleasure as their cocks raped my holes.

I just couldn’t go back to the exercise yard. To Molech.

I realized I would do anything to stay away from him.

When the soldiers were done with me, however, they dragged me kicking and screaming back to the yard, pushing me into the crowd. “Please,” I begged my rapist, their seed dripping down my thighs. I felt so soiled. So filthy. “Please, you can keep fucking me.”

“Why?” one asked, snagging a sobbing redhead. “There are so many other women to enjoy.”

The sun pinked the horizon. Sunday had arrived. Maybe Molech was afraid of the sun. Maybe he wouldn’t come. That delusion quickly fled my thoughts, driven off by mind-numbing terror as he stalked like an earthquake out of the prison.

When he dragged off his newest victim, all I felt was relief. I wasn’t chosen.

Yet.

* * *

Mark Glassner – Tacoma, WA

“No, no!” Mary shrieked. “Mark, please! Help me!”

I strained against the chains, struggling to break the iron links, ignoring the pain in my bruised muscles and the bite of the manacles into the skin of my wrists. I screamed wordlessly in fear and rage. My tongue was gone, cut out on Brandon’s orders. And with my tongue gone, so went all of my power. I couldn’t command people. I couldn’t cast any spells.

My tongue was my power.

Brandon ripped Mary’s dress open, exposing her freckled breasts. A look of hunger crossed the fat man’s face. Mary had come to rescue me and had failed. He had seen through her plan. She was my last hope, and she had failed.

“Ruuhhhh,” I said, unable to shout “run” properly without a tongue.

She turned to run, but Brandon caught her by her long, auburn ponytail and yanked her back.

“No, no!” she cried as she stumbled backward. “Mark, please! You have to save me! Please, please!”

I couldn’t. I pulled on the chains. “Aarrryyy!”

Brandon threw my wife to the ground. She looked so small, so helpless as the breath exploded from her lungs. Then he was on her faster than I thought the fat man could move, pinning her beneath his monstrous bulk. Mary’s cries and whimpers tore my heart apart as I wrenched at the chains, heaving with all my might. I had to save my wife. I poured every bit of strength I possessed, ignoring all the hurts and pain I felt as I strained against my restraints. Nothing else mattered but saving her.

If I had to rip my arm off to save my Mary, then so be it!

“Beeese,” I cried, the word “please” sounding like mush as I heaved at the chain.

I pulled and pulled, my body screaming in pain. But it wasn’t the chain that gave out first; it was my body. I slumped, panting loudly. I failed her. Tears rolled down my cheek as the fat man pumped away atop my wife. Mary’s screams were daggers in my soul.

I failed her!

“Mark,” the chiming, ethereal voice whispered. “Awaken.”

Everything wavered around me: my wife, her rapist, the chains. It dissolved into smoke and blew away as the melodic voice rang out. My wife’s cries vanished and were swept away by the voice.

I blinked as the pain vanished from my battered body. I groaned, my awareness returning to me, and I exhaled in relief.

“Just a nightmare,” I said. I even had a tongue in my dream, my heart laboring. Brandon didn’t have my wife. She hadn’t failed to rescue me. I was asleep on the hard cot back in the jail, my body battered by a day of beatings.

I remembered thinking of Azrael as I fell asleep. I wanted to summon the Angel of Death to my dreams. She was the only one who could teach me how to harness the power of the Gift Tiffany gave me. I had avoided her for months, not wanting to use Heaven’s powers after all the hurt they had caused us.

But now…

I rose and turned to see Azrael standing behind me. The angel’s hair, as red as blood, floated about her fierce face, her skin gleamed as bright as burnished bronze, and she was clad in robes of the purest white. Concern painted her face. Her scarlet eyes strangely soft.

“Hello, Mark,” she greeted, her voice tender.

“I am ready to learn.”

I prepared for her to gloat. If I had bothered to learn about my powers, maybe I wouldn’t have been captured. I knew that the Gift, for men, made them Monks. And unlike Nuns, Monks had combat-oriented powers. So I could have defeated the squad of soldiers who captured me instead of being overwhelmed.

I was such a fool. Arrogant. Thinking I didn’t need Heaven’s powers. That I could defeat any obstacle. And then Brandon arrived with the US Military under his power. He must have put the entirety of Joint-Base Lewis McChord under his mind control powers. There were 10,000 troops stationed thirty minutes from my home, a threat I hadn’t even considered.

I deserved to be berated by the angel. I was an idiot.

But she didn’t berate me. She didn’t gloat or mock. She still had such compassion in her eyes as she spoke: “The Gift manifests differently between men and women. For you, it gives peak physical strength, endurance, and reflexes for a man of your size. You can take more injuries and still function. A man without the Gift surely would have died from the beatings you have sustained. Your powers are geared to fighting the supernatural. Your primary ability is the Chereb prayer.”

“Chereb,” I whispered and jumped in surprise, dropping the gold blade that had appeared in my hand. The moment I released it, the blade vanished into a thousand tiny, golden motes.

“Chereb, as you have noticed, conjures a blade of Celestial Gold, the weapon of an angel. Sharp as a razor, but only capable of harming spiritual bodies,” Azrael explained. “Angels, demons, spirits, monsters, and homunculi cannot withstand this blade.”

“And how will that help free me?” I demanded angrily. “Hell, the son of a bitch ripped my tongue out. I can’t even summon the sword if I wanted to.”

“It won’t,” Azrael answered, a hint of steel chiming in her voice. “But, once you are free, you may need this. The second basic prayer is Choshen. This will gird you in Angelic Armor, which is proof against most spiritual attacks. But it is not invulnerable. It also serves well against mundane attacks.”

I was growing more and more impatient. “Teach me something useful, dammit!”

Her scarlet eyes narrowed in annoyance. “The third basic prayer is all internal. Just imagine your body as healthy and whole as it should be, and you shall be healed. No words need to be spoken. But it takes time, a few minutes, and it will leave you vulnerable.”

“And restrained,” I muttered.

“So bide your time, wait for the opportunity, and seize it,” Azrael hissed, the compassion vanishing in a thunderstorm of fury bursting across her face. “I give you the tools, but you still have to use them. So stop being a petulant child. You cannot afford to be one any longer.”

I flinched, taking a step back. “Sorry.”

“I understand your circumstances are difficult, but remember to be civil. I am your ally, Mark. Even you can be an instrument of the Creator.”

I took a deep breath. I needed to be calm. I needed her help. “How can I create that opportunity?”

“There is one prayer, gifted only to Shamans,” Azrael answered, calming down. “Because I am the Angel of Death, you may pull back the veil and summon help. It is very dangerous; the dead will draw on your life force. I do not know how long you could maintain the summons. A few minutes, a few seconds, but it may give you the opportunity.”

“How?” I asked, frowning. Summoning the dead?

“Tsalmaveth.”

To be continued…

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