Hillie was past much by way of clear conscious thought.  Her strength to fight back had been eroded by fatigue, horror, a constant and unnatural level of arousal, and bloodloss. The past thirty six hours  had sapped her like a cold wind would a tomato sapling, and so she sat in the chair, her hips rocking involuntarily to the skillful ministrations of the demon. She felt something slither out from his fingers and deep into her womb which had stopped leaking red, now ready to accept and welcome fresh life. She felt tiny tentacles reach into her womb, and farther, seeking out a ripened egg and pulling it forward, anchoring it in her flesh and she sobbed, the liminal space she was in ushering her out of her past and into her future, she was neither here nor there but somewhere in between. She understood what was to happen and welcomed it.<br/><br/>The visions he gave her of his genesis were so beautiful she wept. Hieronymous Bosch had clearly seen these places, or been visited by this demon himself, as his visions of such dark beauty were reflections of what she saw in the sight given to her by the one who called himself Love.  All these beautiful creatures and him most glorious of all, she watched and felt him claim one after the next, and when she felt the ecstasy of him penetrating that most wanton of all men even as he claimed her dark and fruitless channel she cried out with passion, and found herself spilling over the hand that had once belonged to Pelle. Her hips surged forward wanting him deeper and farther, needing to be absorbed by him.<br/><br/><i>Where are you god? </i>She thought.<i>If you let this take place, dare you even call yourself almighty? How many have died in service to you,</i>she thought bitterly as wave after excruciating wave of pain and mind rending pleasure washed over her<i>, sacrificed to your demons.</i>She reached up and tore the crucifix from her neck and let it slip of her hand. It landed in the coagulating puddle of Daniels final, bloody emissions, face down. She felt the fingers and those searing tentacles curl inside her channels and she lost control again, her heart barely able to keep beating with all these exertions. She felt him remove his digits and cried out with grief and loss, feeling empty and needy, wanting his sacred body back in hers.<br/><br/>There was a god, the demon had  said so, but he didn't care about his human flock, and so she raised her skirt, and tore away all fabric keeping her from him,  welcoming her new master. She spread her stained thighs,  and with a hand opened her lips to summon him home. She looked at the body which had changed, from the slender youth, to something of a beautiful perversion. Pelle was still in that body, but like her corrupted, despoiled, and ruined forever. Would the demon let him come forward to witness him attaining the sacrament of her flesh? Would she see his sweet face as he took her?  She wanted him to. She wanted them both.<br/><br/>She looked into the blackened eyes of her new lord as his cock found its way deep into her body, stretching and claiming her in a way no mortal could claim a woman, and she screamed, her back arching, feet drumming spasmodically on the floor as the pleasure and rending pain threatened to consume her. She felt his fingers slide into her mouth elongate and invade her body, invade her skull, and she cried out its name.<br/><br/>"Krets, my Love, my Lord, I am yours."<br/><br/>And she was right. The name was power<br/><br/>and it was love.