Warning: Adult content! Sex and extreme violence.


To a few cheers and a ripple of applause, the guitarists began to play a riff with the drums beating out a slow rhythmic beat. Turning back, Bazial towered over me. He took my hands, pulling me into a standing position. “Dance!” he commanded before returning to his seat at the head of the table.

Those sat around began to pound the board with their hands. I guessed the intention was for me to dance on the table. I began to move, dainty steps between the glasses and bottles to be sure not to break one and step on broken glass. Making my movements appear erotic, suggestive, teasing even, was something that came natural to me. I wanted to put on a good show, even for an audience that revolted me, to make certain they would release me when it was over. I moved my hands over stomach and breasts to arouse my sexual desires. It might only be a show, but if I enjoyed it, so would my viewers.

Knowing where the glassware was on the table, I was able to close my eyes, yet still move safely, until I heard the tinkle of a breakage. Opening my eyes, I realized one of the spectators must have knocked over a wineglass. My feet were close to the jagged shards and pooled red wine on the table. I would need to move with caution. I took a couple of steps back to make room before the sound of more shattering glass came twice from behind. Two more tumblers lay smashed on the table. The grins on the faces of the perpetrators convinced me this was no accident. They wanted me to tread on the glass splinters.

I was horrified to see one of the demonic reptiles lift a bottle and smash it down on the table. Glass fragments were scattered across the surface. It would be impossible to dance without lacerating my feet. I stopped and turned to Lord Bazial. The music was too loud to make myself heard, but I looked at him with a pleading expression.

He too was sneering at me. His mouth opened with what looked like a single word. “DANCE!” The others began to stamp their feet. The chant of “Dance! Dance! Dance!” was audible above the throbbing of drums and guitars.

Something thudded into the wooden tabletop between my feet. A steak-knife protruded less than an inch from my toes. “Dance! Dance! Dance!” The chant rose to a crescendo. The creature beside me also had a steak-knife which he was aiming. I had to jump sideways to prevent him from skewering my foot. Other weapons stabbed at my feet to keep me moving. It was inevitable that eventually I stood on a broken shard. I felt it slice into the flesh under my heel. I could only hope it had not gone in so deeply it would be impossible to remove. Keeping all my weight on the uninjured leg, I leapt high into the air, spreading and flapping the wings. Any small amount of flight would help as I twisted my body into a sideways jump, clearing the heads of the spectators by a good foot.

I landed on my uninjured leg, the jolt sending a spasm of pain through the knee. Falling in a heap, the injured foot beneath me as I kept the sole twisted to the side, my sudden movement must have surprised the seated audience. At first, no one moved. I was able to reach down to pull the jagged splinter free. It was a large piece of glass, cutting through the skin across my heel at an angle. Blood poured from the gash as I removed the foreign body.

Bazial was the first to react. He came around the side of the table, the flash of rage in his eyes scaring me. My anger got the better of me. I hurled the glass at his face. It caught him in the side of the mouth drawing a line of deep ruby blood. I regretted my action in a moment. Several of the creatures threw themselves at me, dragging and pinning me to the ground. The music resounded in a discord and died away as the guitarists must have seen what was happening.

Bazial wiped the cut with the back of his hand, looking with a bemused expression at the blood. “You have a rebellious nature.” He spoke quietly, yet the tone sent a chill through me. “We need to teach you a lesson.” To the two pinning me to the ground he added, “Take her to the back room.”

They dragged me to my feet and hauled me backwards to the wall beyond their table. I remember little of how we got away from the main hall. I could only stare at the red trail of blood I was leaving. The room they took me into was probably an office, although from the way they held me, I could see little other than the wall and door through which we entered. Two metal filing cabinets stood to one side of the door. Like other rooms in the citadel the lighting was dim with a reddish hue. I wondered if the reptilian vision was more tuned to the red light.

The two holding my arms forced me onto my knees while Bazial followed us inside and closed the door. Turning to face me he still had the back of his hand against the cut lip. “Get your ass up in the air. Make like you are a little doggy bitch on heat.”

I did not require further instruction guessing what he intended to do to me.

He was much bigger than I expected, and far larger than any man I had previously been with. There was no gentle insertion to allow my juices to provide a lubricating effect. This was too soon following the burns from electric shock and I was certain the damage was not fully repaired. I felt the cervix rip as he forced his way inside. Unable to stop myself, I squealed like a child from the pain.

A stinging blow to the cheek of my ass from, I guess, the palm of his hand made me gasp for breath. “Quiet! Or I’ll really do something to make you scream.”

Unable to imagine anything worse than what I was going through, nevertheless I stifled further squeals as he thrust again and again into me. It seemed like an age, although probably no more than five minutes before I felt the hot slime of his semen as he ejaculated inside me. As he withdrew, I could see a mixture of a greenish substance with the red of my blood. The smell was similar to stagnant water.

Someone threw a towel at me which I caught. I tried to stand, but my captors still held me in a kneeling position. I had to do the best clean-up job I could while in that position. Feelings of nausea and horror gripped me at the amount of blood I was losing, and which I seemed unable to stop.

While I was thus employed, Bazial left the room, returning to the main hall. If I thought my ordeal was at an end, I was sadly mistaken. The door opened and another demonic creature entered. Memories of the next hour became a nightmare of agony as I lost count of the number of times my body was raped and abused. It reached a point where I felt drunk from the suffering, almost unable to feel a thing. Most of them seemed to be turned on at the idea of causing me pain, usually by striking with their fists to my breasts and stomach, or pulling my wings at angles to which they were not accustomed. The wings were a source of curiosity to many as I felt several of my primary flight feathers torn from the skin.

I do not believe I lost consciousness; perhaps it is only memory of the torment I was unable to retain. I only realized my ordeal must be over when they carried me back to the main hall. I was laid on, what at first appeared to be, a narrow wooden bench, yet it was only about half the width of my back. I dared not move for fear of falling from the beam. Others must have been of the same opinion, as they stretched my arms out to the sides, several pairs of clawed hands holding them in place, while others held my feet together against what appeared to be a wooden block.

Bazial came to stand beside my head. “I found the inspiration for your punishment in an old book in the city library.” He seemed amused. “Something humans devised in the past that I thought might be fitting for an angel. I have to admit, the sadistic nature of humanity knows no boundaries. We can use this to verify whether you really are immortal as you claim.” Dread sent a wave of icy fear through my abdomen. He waved, a summoning gesture to someone stood out of my sight.

As my arms were turned so that the palms faced upwards, I realized there was a wooden cross-beam against which they were held. Something pressed against each of my fore-arms, just above the wrists. Unable to see what they were doing, I waited in terror. Fear of what they might be intending to do made the anguish more intolerable. I heard the thud before my senses registered the searing pain that screamed through one arm. My shriek of agony was drowned by the cheer from my captors. Almost immediately, my other arm exploded with fire. I hardly felt the remaining three or four hammer blows on each side. I seemed to hang suspended in a world of nightmares, unable to tell if this was really happening.

My first thought was that they had cut off my hands. I had no feeling of the fingers, while the wrists seemed to be immersed in a furnace from which I was unable to move. My arms were held outstretched even though it appeared no one was holding them. Two of the demons passed across my sight as if in slow motion. They were carrying large hammers. The thought tumbled in my brain that they were leaving for another job. I almost wanted to laugh at the bizarre image. They stood either side of the beam, raising the hammers to shoulder height. Almost in unison they swung them in an arc. I stared, watching them, as a blast of agony seared up through my legs. I almost forgot the fire raging through my wrists. I could not understand why they were using hammers to chop off my feet.

They stepped back as if to admire their work. Tears of pain filled my eyes yet through the blurred sight my feet were still visible, attached to the ankles. Red gore oozed out from around two metal spikes pinning them to the wood. I was confused as to why they felt it necessary to nail them to the beam. It was not as if I had the strength to get up without help. Turning my head to the side took an infinite amount of courage. I was surprised to see there were no flames licking at my arm. The hand was still in place but more of the red sap oozed from a large metal nail driven through the wrist.

My head and shoulders jolted against the beam as the wall toward which I was looking moved. It took several moments until I concluded that I was the one moving. Someone was raising the beam into a vertical position, and with me attached. It made more sense now; the nails were to prevent me falling, but I could see no reason why my abusers would not let me remain in a prone position. The weight of my body pulled against my shoulders as my head lolled forward, forcing me to straighten my legs for additional support.

I could look down on the heads of every human and reptilian demon in the auditorium. Even Bazial, the tallest one there, was about a foot below the level of my eyes. He was looking up at me as I realized he was speaking.

“I believe this was called crucifixion. Does it hurt?”

My inability to answer seemed to amuse him. “You probably find it a bit painful to speak, do you? Aw! I’m sorry.”

His voice became indiscernible above the guffaws of hilarity from those standing near. He waited until the chortles subsided. “I’m afraid it will only get worse. As you get weaker, you will not be able to stand; thus, the weight of your body will be hanging on your arms, and you will slowly suffocate. The amount of time this takes depends how quickly you weaken, the amount of blood you lose. During historical times, when this form of punishment was popular, they would sometimes end the torment more quickly by smashing the bones in the legs of the victim. Alternatively, they might drive a sword or knife into the body to increase the blood loss.

“You may be pleased to hear that I will not resort to such barbarity, although, by then, you will probably be begging for me to end your suffering. It depends on your willpower. How long will you try to stay alive? Oh! But I forget. You say you are immortal, so how can you die? Perhaps it is your fate to remain in a state of intense agony for eternity. What a hellish thought.” His sardonic chuckle was joined by amused laughter and clapping of hands from the crowding onlookers. He turned to the audience, raising both hands to subdue the applause. “But good people of earth and Sibalbá, let us party on for the night is still young. I will keep you informed of further developments with our angel. Bring more wine! Musicians!” The clapping of hands that endorsed his speech was drowned in the cacophony of amplified distortion as the band increased the volume of their instruments. I shut my eyes.

Numbness froze my arms and legs, deadening the pain in the limbs, but breathing was becoming more difficult. It felt as if a leather strap was being slowly tightened about my chest. Less air seemed to fill my lungs each time I inhaled, so that I had to breathe more rapidly. A red mist drifted in front of my closed eyes and my head felt as if it was spinning. With the amount of blood I had lost during the last few days, it should not be long until death claimed my physical body. I had no idea what would happen then. This dimension being my prison, my spirit could be trapped here for eternity.

The pulsing throb of guitars changed to high pitched shrieks like screaming sirens while intermittent crashes sounded, in my befuddled thoughts, more like explosions than drum rolls. Even with my eyes closed I could sense bright flashes of light alien to the dull red glow to which I had been accustomed. And then I realized the music had stopped, and the screams were from the voices of living beings.