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[Poem]

Before the throng I soon will stand,
Then forced to kneel with both hands bound.
There I shall wait until as planned
They hear the awful slicing sound.

What brought me here, you dare to ask?
What makes them do this awful thing?
I'm here for failing at his task;
I'm here for questioning the king.

An oath was taken, it was broken,
All of us were to forget
That such a claim was ever spoken
Lest a challenge we regret.

But know his rule is of the earth,
His power weak to the divine.
He overestimates his worth
His sentence nothing next to Thine.

My oath was to uphold His truth,
Against all who would test its might
I knew from when I was a youth
That power did not make you right.

I stood before the king and court
And told him of his oath before.
"Your fealty", he did retort,
"To I who run your life means more!

"Tis I who with a single word,
Can choose your future -- death or life.
And yet what is this I have heard
Of sympathy for my ex-wife?"

"Your Highness," I had calmly stated
As I stood before the crown,
"This charade shall not be aided
By my ministry renown.

"When you spoke upon the altar,
You pledged love and loyalty;
Just because your eyes have faltered
Means not from that pledge you're free.

"I have counseled by your side
Every time you deigned to ask.
You know I would never hide
Or shirk from any royal task.

"But here my conscience and my mission
Cannot help but intersect.
I don't support your blind ambition
When from my God you would defect!"

Anger poured out from the throne;
Integrity in him doth wilt.
"Since your treason is now known,
I hereby proclaim your guilt!"

My future does not give me worry,
For I can't control my fate.
It is sealed inside the fury
Of an ego run by hate.

Man has now declared it treason,
Put the sentence on my head.
I go to where there is no season;
I go to where there is no dread.

Here inside my final room
I face tonight my final rest.
Before you lay me in the tomb,
I write down this last request...

O man in Black, a hood for cover,
Swear you'll treat me like no other.
As I give my neck to you,
May your blade be swift and true.
Send me to the Judge of All,
He whose Kingdom shall not fall.
And as your king protects his pride,
I ask that I not leave his side.
So in his room display my head
And let him then enjoy his bed.

I was sitting in the library stacks, perusing one of my favorite volumes, when Douglas McCloud walked in. Doug was quite wealthy, and reasonably healthy, especially for a man in his late sixties.

Despite his hardy constitution, however, Doug was well aware of his age, and had become more so in the past few years. This led him, as it leads many men in that phase of life, to consider his final destination, and seek answers about where his last steps would lead him.

Of all the options advertised, Doug liked reincarnation best. Other theories involved everything simply ending, or a life of ethereal bliss that sounded far too trite for him to accept. None of that nonsense, thank you very much -- only reincarnation would do, for Mr. Douglas McCloud.

Indeed, it was his belief in this concept that led him to the library that day. Doug hadn't arrived to seek further knowledge of the beyond, however. He'd come to send a message, to himself. Or rather, the self he would be when he returned for his next helping of mortal existence.

It was a feat that he believed he could pull off, thanks to his possession of a substantial amount of currency. No, not money, though he also had plenty of that to spare. Doug had also shifted a substantial portion of his assets to the currency used in the reincarnation business: karma.

Doug liked the idea of karma. It was mathematical, like economics, and economics were something he understood very well. Do more good than bad, and ultimately, you get a proportional upgrade on your next go-round. This appealed to him more than other methods of retiring one's moral mortgages. He'd always resented the idea that he should have to feel bad about about things he'd done, or enact some sort of transformation in himself, in order to account for his mistakes. What good did that do for anyone, anyway?

As he saw it, if he embraced the idea of karma, he didn't need to feel bad. He just needed to pay a fine to the Universe for his misdeeds, and move on. Moreover, as he saw it this gave him much more freedom and flexibility, since the morality of any individual action mattered very little compared to the totality of his karma summed up when he ceased his mortal operations -- and his considerable resources would allow him to impact that total dramatically.

For example, his fondness for attractive young women, both those who traded privately, and those who offered their charms for sale directly on the open market, would have been seen as a vice by most, or least as rather excessive. But, as he saw it, he did nothing in his interactions with one or two dozen women per year that wouldn't be utterly karmically obliterated by the one or two dozen women's shelters he funded, which aided many thousands of women during that same year.

His dearly departed wife might not have seen it that way, he had to admit, but then, she'd known of his proclivities, and she'd still stayed with him until her death, so even she must have realized that he did her far more good than he did harm.

The one thing that bothered him was starting over from square one -- he'd earned a lot of important skills, through hard experience. Even now, if he had to start over from nothing, he felt confident he could parlay those skills into a comfortable retirement, in only a few years. His reincarnated self, however, though he could expect to have the benefit of more favorable circumstances as a result of his good karma, would lack all of that valuable knowledge.

There was nothing he could do about it, directly -- all the sources he'd read agreed on that, sadly. But, with enough good karma, his reincarnation should be more inherently enlightened, which should in turn lead him to seek more knowledge about the universe and his place in it. Doug hoped that this search would lead his future self here, to the library's peerless selection of rare books on religion and philosophy. Inside the most obscure of these volumes, Doug would conceal notes with important information his future self would need to know, and invaluable life lessons gained from Doug's own experience.

It would be an extremely lucky coincidence if his future self found these notes, obviously, since this future-Doug wouldn't remember putting them there for him to find. But Doug felt that with the amount of good karma he was accumulating for his next life, extremely good luck was something his future self was practically guaranteed.

When he went to place his first note, however, he found something he didn't expect: there was already something pressed between the pages of the rare, esoteric volume. An ancient, yellowed envelope, signed "To my future incarnation -- J.D. Rockefeller"

To his amazement, Douglas found that the letter from the past that seemed to be meant for him, it described the successful businessman he'd become, and expressed confidence that he would possess the wisdom -- and the luck -- to both find and comprehend the letter left by his past incarnation, the famous tycoon John David Rockefeller. And like the letter Doug had planned to leave in the very same old book, it contained instructions and ideas from a man of the past to his future incarnation -- some of which he wouldn't have thought of, nor even dared considered.

He wasn't completely credulous, of course. He'd think it over, and later he'd quietly hire a team of discrete experts to authenticate the less supernatural parts of the letter. It was, they would conclude, Rockefeller's handwriting, for a start. But the part that established the letter's bona fides also mentioned secrets of the old oil baron that could still be, and later were, authenticated. They were things that only Rockefeller himself could possibly have known.

But that night, still wide-eyed in wonder and excitement, he'd just fled from the library, taking the wondrous letter with him. I smiled, as I watched him go.

Of course, handwriting can be forged, if you have the skill. As for the secrets in the letter, well you could also know them if you were there when they were hidden away.

And I had been there, with Rockefeller -- him, and a lot of other men and women, over the years. Sometimes, while I'm hanging about, I make a suggestion or two. And sometimes, they listen. But I'm always close by.

I'll stick especially close to Doug, from now on, as he follows the instructions I've given him. And when his time comes, I'll be the one to show him out, and escort him to his destination.

I hope he likes surprises.

I sit in my holding cell, waiting for my trial. It's in a few days. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Someone set off a bomb which destroyed several buildings and killed hundreds. I rushed over to help the survivors. Thing is, one of my powers is to cause explosions, and my nemesis happened to be in the area. People assumed I got tired of chasing the villain and tried to take him out permanently.

I could have run, but I want to make a statement. I don't want to just run and hide. I'm confronting this. It doesn't mean I'm not terrified.

My cell door opens. A guy in a guard's outfit stands in front of me. Except he isn't a guard. He's my nemesis. "What are you doing, Derick? You could be in a lot of trouble!" Most supers treat their identities like Schrödinger's cat, but Derick and I have a bit of a friendly relationship. Yes I'm always trying to drag his ass to jail, but neither of us want the other seriously hurt.

"We both know you being here is BS, Valerie. I'm getting you out. I'll deal with the consequences."

I shake my head. "No. The law has decided to trial me, so I'm going through with it."

"Val, the law will do its damn best to find you guilty! I know we've never really seen eye-to-eye, but I won't let you be mistreated! I'm springing ya!" He goes to grab my arm.

I forcefully shove him away. "Derick, listen. I know you don't care much for the law. But busting me out will just make BOTH of us look bad. If you want to help me, be present at my trial. Vouch for me. If I'm found guilty, then that will simply prove you right. You can pressure the courts. Get people to rally behind you. I can't do anything. But you can. It's up to you."

Derick looks at me thoughtfully, then leaves. I just lie back down on my stone bed. I hope justice prevails...

DAY OF TRIAL

I'm marched to my stand. The manacles on my wrists and ankles are tight and uncomfortable. Guards are either side of me, each holding onto an arm. I'm locked into my stand, at the mercy of the court. The judge clears his throat. "Hero Beacon, you are charged with the crimes of vandalism, terrorism and murder. How do you plead?"

"No... not guilty, your honour." I look back at the audience. Many eyes filled with fear, anger or sadness. I stare at my hands.

"Are you sure? I'll do you a courtesy and tell you what's at stake. There are dozens of reports stating that an explosion was heard, then when the dust and debris cleared you were standing right in the centre. It is well-known that you can cause explosions, and it's also reported that Skydive was in the area, a clear motive. If you confess now, I can at least spare you your death."

"Your honour, I am, first and foremost, a hero. I'd NEVER do anything to put anyone's life in danger. I, too, heard the explosion and went over to investigate and check for survivors. Another known power of mine is regeneration, which I can share with other people. I didn't know Skydive was there until after the fact. The explosion must have been from a bomb. I maintain, your honour, that I am not guilty." My body is shaking and crumbling, the stand being my support. I can feel fury coming from all around.

"Your honour" the prosecution says, "she claims that she just 'happened to be there'. But we must consider that she's NEVER just hanging around - she's ALWAYS doing something. Is she to suggest that she just so coincidentally had business there?"

I begin to realise I'm fighting a losing battle. Suddenly I hear the courtroom doors burst open, and Derick is right there. "YOUR HONOUR! THIS TRIAL IS A FARCE AND BUILT ON NOTHING BUT LIES AND DECEIT! I DEMAND TO PRESENT MY EVIDENCE!"

The whole courtroom gasps, and the judge slams his gavel. "ORDER! ORDER!" He turns to Derick. "Skydive, you don't have any business being here."

"Neither does Beacon. As everyone knows, I've dedicated my life to fighting against the court system. Now I have my chance to prove why. I WILL be heard, or I will tear this whole building apart!"

"You understand you're helping your enemy, right, Skydive? Not to mention attempted murderer."

Derick scoffs at the prosecutor. "I'm simply fighting for what I believe in. If Beacon were legitimately a criminal, I'd be singing to the high heavens. But as it stands, a group of terrorists wanted to frame her. I did some investigating. I found this." He dumps a plastic bag onto the prosecutor's bench.

The prosecutor opens the bag to examine the contents. "This appears to have been a bomb..."

Derick nods. "Think about it, Mr Prosecutor. An explosion goes off, what is the most likely reason? To be more specific, what has caused explosions during wars?"

"Well, bombs have been used widely in his..." the man trails off.

"Your honour, I have documents of bribery from the terrorist group, that the police will get a LOT of cash if they assume any explosion comes from whomever is at the scene of the crime. I also have a witness statement from a man who asked Beacon for help with his son, who was going to die without surgery but the family couldn't afford surgery. According to him, he was getting worried when she didn't arrive, so he decided to find out why. Then he saw the news. He didn't want to believe what happened, but it's not like he could SAY anything. After all, he wasn't a witness." I watch Derick smirk, as the prosecutor's face falls and the judge looks horrified.

Derick then turns to the courtroom. "Ladies and gentlemen, Beacon has been your hero for a long time. She has helped you all, stood up for justice, and been the nicest person I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. For empty words and false guesses to lead to a situation like THIS... this injustice is what I fight against! Am I really the villain here? I want to encourage you all, today, to fight for what's RIGHT, not believe whatever nonsense is spoonfed to you. DEFEND YOUR HERO! SET THE BEACON FREE!"

The courtroom is silent for a moment. Then a voice shouts "SET THE BEACON FREE!" A few people begin to join in. Before long, the whole courtroom is chanting.

"SET THE BEACON FREE! SET THE BEACON FREE! SET THE BEACON FREE!"

The judge slams his gavel several times. "ORDER IN MY COURT!" He turns to Derick. I'm fighting to hold back tears. He really did it. He stood up for justice... without being a villain...

"In light of all this new evidence, I have no choice but to grant full pardon to Beacon. Guards, release her."

I'm let off the stand, my manacles are removed. I rush up to hug Derick. "Thank you."

Derick hugs me back. "You were right... I wasn't handling things how I should... I need to change that..." he lets go, marches over to the guards, and places the manacles on himself. "I can't speak up for justice, then run from everything I've done." He looks at the judge, a smile on his face. "I was ready to surrender, if you chose let Beacon go. It's time I face what I've done."

Surprised but undeterred, the judge nods. "Very well. Skydive, you've been accused of reckless endangerment, theft and vandalism. How do you plead?"

"Your honour, I am guilty on all accounts of all crimes. I've looked into what Beacon has written about my exploits. Unlike the law, she was honest in every statement. Everything submitted to the police by her is true. I trust any... additions will be ignored?"

The judge thinks for a moment, then nods. "I'll ensure that your sentence is fair. 40 years. If anything is off, I'll make sure that is reduced."

"Thank you, your honour." He turns to me and whispers "Thank you, Valerie." He's then escorted away, being taken to the prison for superhumans.

"No... thank you... Derick..."

___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Thank you for reading! More stories here!

Damn got really close to the Egg.

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(Obligatory on mobile disclaimer)

"I see I have Mrs. Johannesburg here, did I read that correctly?" I ask as I adjust my pointlessly thin glasses on the bridge of my snout. Unsurprisingly, the benefits for this job suck ass.

"Yes sir, one of the only people... Err, creatures to ever do so," the elderly woman says with a soft chuckle as she sits on the rickety wooden stool placed in front of my desk.

I skim her file one more time before shutting it with a sigh. I don't get paid enough for this.

"Mrs. Johannesburg, you've lived an exemplary life! Single mother for 20 years, a loving grandmother, devote christian your entire life... You even defended a mosque from bigotry! Not to mention decades of volunteer work and fundraising. Ma'am if I might be so bold, you absolutely deserve to be in heaven."

"Oh yes dearie, I'm aware."

I gawk at her for a moment before I can regain my composure.

"Then why the hell did you want to be transferred here? You know this is the "bad" place, right?"

Mrs. Johannesburg laughs softly again. Her calm demeanor flashes briefly into something more sinister, but it's gone far too quickly for me to analyze anything. When she meets my gaze, her mouth is twisted into a sickly sweet smile. Her eyes, though... they look flat, empty, and dark, a look only the most heartless of demons can muster. I inadvertently shudder.

There is residual laughter in her voice as she answers, "Every Sunday for as long as I can remember, people have been trying to sell the idea of heaven to me. They said if I was a good girl and I did everything right, that one day I'd get to live in paradise with my late husband, but when I got there I was told he'd been sent here. Well mister, I've been nothing but good, and I want the paradise that was promised to me."

Ahh, so that's what it is...

"I understand that this must be hard for you, but unfortunately there's nothing I can do. If he was sent here, I don't have the authority to reverse tha-"

Mrs. Johannesburg's peal of wicked laughter stops me cold. It's the kind of laugh with no humor, just pure unadulterated malice.

"Oh no sir, you misunderstood me! The night he died that man ran out on me, and I promised him that should we ever meet again, I'd make his life a living hell. Since I never got my opportunity in life, I'd like to follow through with my threat in his afterlife."

Damn... These are the types that get slotted for the pearly gates? I guess the big G doesn't care about intent after all. I shrug, pick up my landline, and put in Satan's extension.

"Hey boss... Yea sorry, but I have a weird one for ya... Can we allow saints in here to torture people?... Oh, we can!? Oh well, that's great I'll let her know!"

I run my hand over the smooth scales on my scalp and give Mrs. Johannesburg a sheepish smile. "So I guess you're not the first to ask! Could've fooled me! Ahahaha! You just need an escort on your first trip through the rings. Satan said he's sending a personal friend, Saint Olga of Kiev, to come guide you. You can wait at the benches at the end of the hall. I hope you enjoy you stay!"

He fucked a Daemonette of Slaanesh in the Warp, now they co-parent... Daemonettes aren't really the marrying kind.

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Thank ya, especially if you know what it's from.

This one hit me somewhere emotionally and I really appreciate your talent.

I love the story and I really appreciate that Alex uses they/them pronouns. I think this is the first time I've read a piece of fiction where it's included so organically. You also managed to create a believable and complex friendship in only a few paragraphs.

“Let’s grab a beer and forget that never happened” is such a good line

[deleted]

"Gentlemen," Reinhardt said. "We are not in Normandy any more."

The other members of the tank crew chuckled. "Tell us something we don't know!" Michael shouted.

Reinhardt raised his hand, quieting the men down. "We are not in Normandy," he said, "But we are still soldiers. We have been summoned to this place by the Shining Prince Arios. It is our duty to fight for the Bright Elves of the Ivory Kingdom, just as we would have fought for our Fatherland. Now, my friends, we will ride together. On our steed of steel, let us crush the degenerate hordes of the Cave-Dwellers and bring the light of reason and civilization to this world!"

The five SS Panzertruppen rose to their feet, shouting. Quickly, they boarded their Tiger tank. Diesel engine roaring to life, they charged into battle, the shining armies of blue-eyed, golden-haired elves riding beside them on white steeds.

Up ahead, Reinhardt could see the fortifications of the Dwarves: tall walls of stone and wood, proof against any catapult or trebuchet. "Hans!" he shouted. "Load high explosive!"

Hans had been Reinhardt's loader throughout the North Africa campaign: he had the heavy shell loaded and ready before Reinhardt had finished giving the order. "Aim for the gates!" he shouted. "FIRE!" He gave Albrecht a hard kick to the shoulder, and the gunner slammed the trigger. The 88mm roared, and the Dwarven gates buckled with the impact of the mighty tank cannon.

Reinhardt ducked back into the turret as Dwarven crossbow bolts pinged against the Tiger's armor. "Load a second round and fire again!" he shouted.

It was then that a loud roaring sound echoed through the hot, sweaty confines of the Tiger tank. Reinhardt saw Hans screaming in pain as flames washed across him. He could see fire. . . FIRE! licking across the ammunition stores. Impossible! The dwarves don't have anything that can penetrate our armor!

Panic and terror gave him strength. He pulled himself out of the hatch just as a second explosion rocked the invincible Tiger tank, cracking through its soft underbelly and causing flames to shoot from every port and vent.

Reinhardt collapsed to the ground and began crawling away from the burning tank. As he did, he was halted by the distinctive sound of a Thompson submachinegun being cocked.

"Hello there, Fritz," said the American. Reinhardt looked up into the face of a grinning American Ranger holding a Thompson submachinegun. Standing behind him were two others: one with an M1 Garand rifle, the other with a bazooka lazily resting across his shoulder.

It was then that Reinhardt realized he wasn't the only one who'd been summoned from the hedgerows of Normandy.

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Cool.

Ok I was thinking about that /u meant that and searched saw it

Heard about that storyline

“Miss Vincent, your two o’clock is here.”

“Thank you, Trish. Send them in.”

I glanced at my watch. Only two o’clock? I thought to myself. The dull silver second hand seemed to move ever so slowly around the steel-blue face of my Fossil watch. I sigh. At least this is the last one of the week.

The air seems to become uneasy, almost foreboding. The lights dim and return to full power every couple seconds. I press the small brass button on the intercom.

“Trish, this one has insurance this time, right?”

“No, Miss Vincent. They actually paid cash up front!”

Cash up front? That makes things much easier. I sit back and smile. It’s always good to know my reputation alone can bring in the dough.

The air in my office has now grown cold and an eerie, otherworldly light seems to be coming through under my door. It grows brighter. A faint shriek, like a thousand tortured souls a hundred miles away echos down the hall. Without warning, my polished mahogany door flies open, hurtling towards the wall but hitting the couch cushion I had places behind it in anticipation of this. I click my stainless steel ballpoint pen and jot a few notes in my pad.

From the hallway (at the moment such a dark blood red that it appeared black) a shadowy figure loomed. An unholy smell of rotten eggs and burning flesh permeated the room.

“Please, enter. Make yourself comfortable.” I calmly but assertively say. I sit up straight in my large leather chair, projecting as much confidence and poise as I can muster.

Through the door floated a young-looking woman, head thrown back, mouth open in a silent scream. Her legs hung limp but her arms struck straight out, only lower so she could float through the doorway. Her wrists made an almost unnatural angle to her forearms and her back seemed twisted despite being straight. Nothing I haven’t seen a hundred times before. I motioned towards my plush green couch and my stone bench on the opposite side of the office. “Whichever one you choose.”

As my patient floated in, the lights all dimmed to almost nothing and the distant wailing grew louder. I watched her float in between the couch and bench, unsure of which to rest upon.

I cracked a tiny smirk. “There is no wrong decision. You may even stay…up there if you like.” It’s important in situations like this to acknowledge the abnormal but not to judge. I watched as my patient slowly turned towards the stone bench, floated several feet above it and then almost fold in half and twist as they landed on in with a thud. Shes going to feel that one tomorrow I thought as I winced internally.

“Alright, what would you like to talk about?!” I shouted over the haunting wails.

My patient just stared at me, eyes like black pools of crude oil.

“You know what I do and I’m here to help! How can I be of service?!”

The cries of the damned quieted ever so slightly.

“You can refer to me as Evelyn or Evie if Miss Vincent seems too formal!”

Some light returns to the room.

“What can I call you? It says in your file that your host’s name is Jessica Louis so I can go with Jessica or Jess or-“

”NO!”

The lights went out and the scream came back louder than before. My patient twisted on the stone bench. I clicked my pen and wrote in my pad: Identity? This one should be an easy one to close out the week. I pause a few moments, letting this little fit play out. I check my watch. 2:05. Ugh.

I shift in my chair as I watch the possessed woman flop frantically. Every now and then she stops, chest heaving, face grimacing before resuming her contortions.

“Ok, I won’t call you Jessica! What would you prefer?!”

The noise subsides and light once again slowly returns. That horrid smell remained, however.

My patient’s head cocked at an uneasy angle and a low, scratchy voice filled the room.

”I…am…BONECRUSHER!”

Well, that’s a fake name I think as I furiously scribble some more notes.

“And what brings you here today, Bonecrusher?”

A few more moments pass, Jessica/Bonecrusher’s soulless eyes staring blankly at me. I weigh a few plans of attack before choosing one. I can’t be too aggressive or they’ll shut down. Too passive and they’ll leave or try to take me out. I glance quickly downward to ensure the ring of salt around my chair remained unbroken. It has.

“You know, a vessel tells a lot about the demon that has possessed it. A lot of different things that I’m sure most won’t apply to you, so why don’t we start with how you met your vessel?”

This seemed to catch them off-guard. A look of confusion flashed across Jessica’s face as Bonecrusher weighed their options. Will they answer truthfully? Do they actually want help?

”She came…to me…years ago…”

The deep, demonic voice seemed to soften, grow a little more clear with each word.

“This is fairly common, especially among vulnerable young women. Was this during a seance?”

The smallest smile crept across Jessica’s void-eyed face.

”An offering!”

Click. Scribble scribble.

“An offering? Of what? To whom?”

”My…husband…”

I briefly let my guard down and showed a look of surprise. Husband? I’ve never encountered marital troubles before. Honestly, I didn’t even know demons paired beyond making more demons or just to satisfy some carnal urges. I furiously put down some more notes. My brain was now 100% engaged by this new challenge.

“What was being offered?” I asked, unsure I wanted to know the answer.

”Her…virginity…” A wide grin swept Jessica’s face.

“And how did this make you feel?” My hand flew across my notepad, I was in new territory.

There was a short pause. Jessica’s head snapped straight up.

”JEALOUS!”

I guess demons aren’t so different than us humans.

”I come home and see him…and her…and him taking her every possible way…ways he never had me…”

Yes, yes, this all makes sense. I’ll have to write a new book on the similarities between human and demon psychology I think as I fill page after page of notes.

”And I realize…why is it always HIM that gets summoned! Where are…those summoning Des’Ryd?!”

Des’Ryd! We’ve got a name. I finish writing some notes and look up.

“So you feel cheated not because your man is with another woman, but because your name isn’t called upon to satisfy a human or two.”

”YESSS!” Des’Ryd bellows. The lights pulse with more light than they can handle and one explodes. I have to remember to switch to LEDs some time.

“And you felt the need to possess Jessica to exact revenge upon the most recent temptress of your hus-“

”NOOO! NO! I took her…to show I could do it BETTER!”

I stare at her. Not revenge, but some kind of…competition?

”For centuries women called upon him…begged for him…for centuries he obliged…but now…men beg for me!”

“Men…perform rituals to have intercourse with you?”

”Even better!” A dark smile crosses her face once again. ”They…pay me lots of money to even gaze upon my form!”

“So you’re a nude model?”

”Ranked number one on several photo apps…top ten on many video sites…”

“Greed. Lust. It all fits. But of all your husband’s…partners, why her?”

A look of sadness fell upon Jessica’s face. ”I…felt her desires…but lack of ambition…”

Ok this was definitely one of the strangest cases. Sort of a loner girl to top of the world porn star. Usually demons possess and commit heinous crimes, leaving their host scarred for life. I mean, this will surely leave Jessica pretty messed up, but imagine waking up from a dream knowing you’ve been seen nude by millions of perverts. I wrote down a few more notes.

“Do you think you’ve proven your point to your husband?”

A toothy grin met me and her eyes flashed almost grey. ”I’ve slept with many men…many women…made this vessel rich…but there is still one last thing I must do…”

“And what is that?”

Jessica/Des’Ryd rose up from the bench and walked to the middle of my office. It is time…for Desireé Ryder’s ultimate feat…” She drew a pentagram and summoned some candles, lighting them with a snap of her fingers. ”You haven’t said much…but your…perspective let me know it was time…” With a flick of her wrist, her clothes flew off.

”Master of the flesh…I call unto you…feed my desire…make me whole…”

A portal opened and out stepped an incredibly tall, muscular, handsome man.

”Hello…dear…” Giggled Des’Ryd. ”I hope…you’re ready to meet…your match…”

I can’t, in the interest of patient confidentiality, go into detail. But what transpired is something I don’t think I can ever unsee.

Was reading it and I was getting a familiar vibe, ofc it's old AO with another masterpiece, well done

You made me cry. In a good way. Well done.

part 3?