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[b][u][center]Heaven Damned 8

Adornment

For DuskCypher

By Draconicon[/center][/u][/b]

The ginger-furred cat stood in line with the other Bishops as they lifted and lowered the free weights. Nobody counted out loud; they counted with the beat of their hearts and the throbs of their cocks, and Noah was no exception. He could feel the throb every time that he pulled the weight up to his chest, and his heart went ‘thud-thud’ as he brought the weight back down. Up, down, up, down. Throb-thud-throb-thud.

None of the cats grunted, none of them huffed, none of them made a sound save for the occasional throbbing smack of a cock swinging up to hit someone in the stomach and remind them of the raw need that they were all feeling. Noah was barely aware of it when it happened, and it usually served as a means of abruptly shocking him awake. Particularly when it was his own doing it.

[i]Nnngh…[/i]

He thought that he spoke, but no. It was just a sound in the back of his skull. When had he moved from free weights to planking? He didn’t remember moving out of line, but here he was, pointing straight ahead, his ass cheeks clenched and his tail pulled high over his back to keep them exposed. His eyes were staring straight at the ground, and he could feel the tension running through his cock, pointing it straight forward, parallel to his belly.

[i]When…how…[/i]

The ginger cat tried to hold onto the moment for as long as he could, focusing on the details. Tension in his arms, his legs, his core: his body was as tight as could be, as powerful and focused as…as…

The moment shifted. Another smack, his cock hitting his belly-button, and he realized that he was in a squat, his legs bent, his arms behind his shoulders holding a metal bar set to…how much weight? More than he ever could have lifted before his selection, he was sure. He stared straight ahead, his mouth half-open, his breathing as regular and gentle as could be. This was not stress; this was maintenance.

[i]How long…[/i]

He didn’t know how long he had been part of this. Days? Weeks? At least weeks, perhaps even months. It was impossible to track time on the Monastery of the Flickering Stars. Nobody knew what time it was, or if they did, they were the people that didn’t talk to him. The Bishops had not said one word since they had boarded the ship.

The monks, however, made up for it. Several moved to his sides as he remained in a squat, his legs shaking. One of the bald cats held a drink to his lips, hydrating him, while the others massaged his legs and whispered in his ears.

“You are strong. You can do this.”

“Brother Grimm believes in you. Believe in him and fulfill this task.”

“You are growing stronger, stronger, stronger still. You can do this.”

“Strong cat.”

“Sexy cat.”

“Do it.”

“Do it.”

“Do it.”

And slowly, he did it. He rose up again, a little tremor running through his muscles as he gained his footing once more, and the monks lifted the rod from his shoulders. The other Bishops were in a similar state, sweat running down their bodies. He wondered –

[i]No. Don’t think. Don’t think about –[/i]

#

He was on a massage table. He didn’t know when he had gotten there, but there were no memories between telling himself not to think and arriving. Now, the monks were rubbing him, running their hands over his shoulders, his backs, his legs, his ass –

His cock.

His dick stuck out from the bottom of the table, and while it could have been nothing but a handjob, he could still feel the way that they edged him, teased him, while also working him into a state of further relaxation and empty-headedness. Every time that they stroked down his shaft, every time that they teased it to feel that much firmer, the feeling was accompanied by a strange, warm sensation as they popped a part of his spine, or worked their fingers into his soles, or ran their hands along his shoulders into specific spots that needed to be eased, relaxed, helped into a better state of being.

All he had to do was breathe.

All he had to do was exist.

He mouthed something into the pillow, a word that he barely remembered. ‘Mercy.’ He didn’t know if it was audible or not, but it was there, a memory of a memory, a name that was shrouded in so many different layers that he didn’t know if it was a name or not anymore. All he knew was that it was something important, something that he had to remember. Just as much as he had to remember the word ‘God,’ though even that was fading from him.

[i]Promise…it was…a promise…[/i]

So hard to think with those hands running along his back, though, and along all the rest of his body. He no longer humped into the expert strokes of the monks, however, no longer grinding into their touch. He had lost that urge, that energy. All he could do was lay there as they fed him lust and need and obedience all at the same time. Thoughtless, rushing lusts filled his mind, making it impossible to think of anything but his cock for more than a few seconds at a time, and time rushed on.

He was on his belly, and then, he was in a chair. His legs were extended, a monk at each foot, another at each thigh. Two of them leaned over his shoulders, fondling pecs that were far bigger than they had been when he had arrived. His muscles were thick, hard, shelf-like at his chest, and…and he felt so strong…so virile…so manly.

Every time that he tried to groan or huff, it felt like something stopped him. Nothing there, nothing but the silence of the grave, only broken by the occasional breath that was so regulated, so mechanical, that it almost didn’t feel real.

“You are going to make Brother Grimm so happy. He has wanted something different for a while. Your fur, so soft.”

“Your muscles, so hard.”

“Your cock, so drippy.”

“Heh, very, very drippy,” one of the sphinxes said, groping him and flicking it from side to side. “Oh, he will be happy with that.”

He was barely aware of the world around him as they kept rubbing him. He kept trying to hold onto something, onto the wrongness of this even as he was swallowed up by the need, and –

#

He was in a bath, the hot water up to his nipples, and he stared forward in silence as he and the other Bishops were cleaned together. Here and there, bigger cocks cut through the water, the tips just barely showing through it. Some were cut, some were uncut, but the details were often obscured in the ripples of the water around them.

And in reality, it didn’t matter. Their cocks were for the Brother Grimm, not for each other. All the pleasure that they felt was an expression of the faith of the universe in the Reaper, and that meant that they should only focus on the pleasure that they felt, rather than the pleasure that they might pursue. It was not theirs to start with; they were only caretakers for it.

Noah fought that thought even as the monks kept whispering it into his ears. The constant need, the relentless urge to cum that had never been fulfilled since his arrival, was driving him near to madness. He wasn’t even sure how long he had been in the water, or if it was the first time of the day, or if he had lost more days with the constant shifts in his thinking. Every time he stopped thinking, he…he…

#

He was in the middle of a pile of bodies. His cock was still buried in the ass of another Bishop, another’s head beneath him as he had sat on it in thoughtless need. Noah stared at the ceiling, realizing that he’d lost more time.

He [i]remembered[/i] thinking that the world moved on whenever he stopped thinking, but he hadn’t finished the thought. He’d stopped thinking, and the world [i]had[/i] moved on, leaving him behind and making him have to struggle to catch up. How much time had he lost this time? How many hours, days, weeks had passed with him doing more training, more fucking, more unholy things that God would never forgive him for?

[i]God…God, please, save me from this. Save me from this hell. I cannot fight it for much longer. All I can do…all I can do is…is…[/i]

The Bishops were moving again. A hole around his cock, hands around his waist, a head moving out from behind him to be replaced by a cock. Another pressed against his face, the taste-scent of a shaft that was clean but needy coming to him. None of them ever came, but they always dripped, always oozed, always throbbed for the sake of their master in the stars. And they demanded that he join them. He opened his mouth without thought, allowing it past his lips, and he groaned.

It was the last sound that he would make for some time.

#

The cocks were gone, and a meal was in front of him. Noah couldn’t remember the last meal that he had eaten, but he must have eaten something. After all, he’d never felt as if he were starving, so there must have been something there. Something. Something. Something.

He brought the meat and rice to his lips mechanically, eating quietly and without comment just as the Bishops did. The ginger cat wanted to shake his head, wanted to say something, wanted to disrupt the silence –

But he was tired.

So tired.

So drained.

It was as if everything that the monks made him do just took all the energy out of him. Even the air itself felt dead around him, like it was just there as fuel to keep the body moving rather than giving it the energy to speak, to sing, to dance, to do anything but what it was commanded. His eyes felt heavy, his limbs as well.

[i]Did I…did I exercise again…already?[/i]

He might have, but the tiredness felt deeper than that. It went all the way to the core of him. Even with all the strength that his body had gained over the course of his ‘training,’ he could tell that something else had been taken from him. That soul, that independence that he had offered to his lord, was gone. He barely had the energy to think and remember his own name, let alone anything else.

And his arm moved without thinking, bringing him another bite, all in line with what the other Bishops were doing. Their arms went up, their mouths opened, and they took a bite together. One long row of chewing, followed by many muscular limbs going down at the same time.

Click.

It was so in-sync that everyone’s spoons clicked against their trays at the same time, and the sound was so universal that there wasn't a single dissonant note as it echoed through the otherwise silent chamber. It was disturbing, and beautiful, and wrong, and right all at the same time.

And so it went. Another bite, another –

#

The workout again. He was squatting, standing, squatting, standing. He felt the tension in his body, the feeling of satisfaction as he did what he was told. Up, down, up, down, the constant heat in his thighs, the knowledge that this would drive him to ride cock as much as it would make him stronger –

#

The massage table. On his back. Monks straddling his waist and rubbing his chest. He didn’t cum as they used their tails to tease his cock, keeping it nice and wet, sliming it up with his own pre-cum and with oils that they kept to themselves. His eyes were half-closed, his mouth half-open. If he were any more relaxed, he would have drooled.

[i]Please…[/i]

His prayer went unanswered, incomplete, and he drifted.

#

Orgy.

Meal.

Training.

Massage.

Bath.

His life revolved around five different activities, and more and more, he was less and less conscious for all of them. He didn’t know when one would start and another would end, and he didn’t know how long he spent out of his own head when he was going through it. The only things that remained constant were the urge for pleasure and the bliss of being so near to climax and never quite going over.

Even in his unthinking unawareness, he could feel that. Noah drifted in the seas of bliss and warmth, his eyes rolled back in his sockets and his cock throbbing with constant need. It was an unfamiliar state, something that he had never achieved in his life beneath the Lord God, but it was there nonetheless. He no longer moaned, no longer panted, but he felt it.

Always.

Forever.

It was there, burning away, and it consumed thoughts even as they came up. He drowned in it, his pleasure carrying him further and further from anything resembling rationality. All that he felt, all that he wanted, all that he needed, was the pleasure that came from giving himself to the task at hand. He wanted to train. He wanted to be clean. He wanted…needed…

It was the orgies that were the hardest. Every time that he felt a cock inside of him, every time that he rolled his hips to meet another man’s ass, every time that he felt the pleasure growing from sex, some part of him rose up again. It remembered his pleasure between the thighs of the female that had come to him. It remembered the ideal of serving the Daughter of God, and though it could never win, it could break the surface of the sea of bliss to complain even a little.

It was never enough to stop him, though, and he needed more. More, more, more, more of those holes, more of those mouths, more of those cocks. He enjoyed the oily slide, the grinding and warm huffs of air against his back, his crotch, his legs, his chest. Everything was an option…everything was allowed…

Except thinking.

Except refusing.

He could not stop. The monks and Bishops refused to give him even a moment’s respite. It pushed his mind further and further down, refusing to let him have what he wanted. After all, he belonged to the Brother Grimm now, and that meant that he had to obey.

Obey.

Enjoy.

Indulge.

And above all, he could not think. He could only…believe.

Noah drowned in cock and ass and flesh and fur, the scent of other bodies all around him as he felt cock between his thighs, against his hands, in him. The sucking, wet hole of an untouched man was sliding on his cock as he laid among them, and the wet tease of a tongue against his endlessly churning sac dragged that whimpering, wrong-minded part of him back down to the abyss in the back of his head.

He had to serve.

He must serve.

#

It was a desperate night of darkness when he was able to think again. He was alone, his body wracked with a tiredness that was no longer merely physical, but spiritual. The cat Noah Von Doom was no longer entirely himself. He had lost everything that had made him the studied follower of the Lord God, drained of everything that was vital and life-like. He had nothing of his original thoughts, nothing of his condemnations, save for the name of her and her father.

[i]Mercy…[/i]

Even his lips no longer moved. His voice had gone so long ago, but he had at least managed to move his lips in the past. He couldn’t even do that, now. His body…his body was learning to be silent, to be deaf, to be nothing but pleasure. Walking pleasure embodied in muscle and sweat and flesh and cock. He couldn’t…he couldn’t…

[i]Mercy…[/i]

It was a one-word prayer, filled with all the bleak despair and desperate devotion that he could still force himself to remember. He wanted to cry as he closed his eyes.

[i]Mercy…Mercy…Mercy…[/i]

Mercy to him.

Mercy of death.

Mercy of release.

Mercy of any kind.

He could not put to words what he needed. All he knew was that he could only call out to her and her Father, to the great and holiest of them all. He begged with everything that was left in his skull, and for a pitiful, brief moment, he was given something.

He saw her. He saw the tiger in all her glory, with her white dress gleaming brighter than the stars outside the monastery ship. He could feel her warmth against his face. More than anything, he saw his smile and he heard her promise.

[i]You will be released…soon…[/i]

He sagged into his bed, and slid back to the abyss.

#

Time passed. Muscles grew. Need swelled. From the point of his prayer, he was no longer conscious of anything but the forced pleasure that the monks and Bishops gave him, and he no longer entirely cared that it was coming to him. All that mattered was the image of the tiger in his head, and though he was no longer conscious of holding onto it, it gave him succor and relief from the constant barrage of things that he had considered wrong. It told him, somehow, that whatever happened, he would be forgiven, that this was all part of the plan, and if he could just keep going, he would be rewarded.

And so he kept going.

He grew stronger and stronger, his muscles so large and firm that they became the embodiment of male perfection. His arms were broad, his shoulders strong, and he no longer noticed the strain as he trained, even when the monks added more weight than most could have borne.

The baths and the massage chairs were barely needed, but they eased him down into a state that made the pleasure more all-consuming, impossible to ignore. They edged and nudged him, training his cock, his mouth, his ass to be ready for something at any time. They encouraged him to sink down, to never dwell on anything but his body. He took to the training, and his thoughts faded further.

And the orgies…the orgies never stopped. Oral, anal, handjobs, thigh-sex, and more occurred between them. It didn’t matter what the others wanted. There was no planning, no thinking about it, no talk between them. If someone wanted to do something, then they did it. Every orgy was mindless pleasure, indulging whatever want or whim came up between the different Bishops, and yet, Noah never faced something that the others didn’t want. It was as if their thoughtlessness was also tied into something over them, something that guided them through every experience together.

On and on it went. Day in, day out. There was never any variation, and little by little, Noah started to fold himself into their routine. There were moments when he felt like there was something else pushing down onto his mind, that it was no longer just coincidence when they blended their actions together. There was…

There was something else in the room, something in the Bishops, and something that was slowly becoming a part of him.

He didn’t know how long after his last prayer that the routine changed. All he knew was that one moment, he was aware of the pleasure, and another, he was standing before two crossed scythes. His eyes filled with the image, and he remembered.

He remembered the sight of the scythe tower when he had come to the monastery ship.

He remembered the library of the Brother Grimm back at the colony.

He remembered what he used to be.

It all came back in a rush, and with it came fear that was nearly enough to overwhelm the heat and warmth and need that had been forced on him through the constant training. Almost, almost enough, but not quite, not enough to make him run away. He shook as one of the Bishops stepped forward with a formless black mask in hand, one that was no different than one that all of them wore. It was eyeless, earless, able to stretch to allow the blowjobs that they had all given, but with a tightness that would ensure that it never came loose once it was applied.

It rendered the wearer blind, deaf, and mute. If the training that he had gone through were to wear off even as far as it had now, he would never be able to speak again, would never sense the outside world.

Even as the Bishop approached, all he could see was the endless black inside the mask. He was aware, vaguely, of five other Bishops around him besides the one with the mask, each one chanting something that he couldn’t quite understand.

[i]Back away…fight back…do something![/i]

But his body would not respond. It stood there, staring straight ahead, and as the mask came closer and closer, that same aura that he had felt around the Bishops during every stage of his training grew stronger and stronger. There was something in that mask, something that infused all the real Bishops with whatever kept them quiet, kept them unified, and kept them in the service of the Brother Grimm. As it was finally held over his head, he could feel it at the back of his mind, sucking at his thoughts, draining them once more. It had the ring of death, of a finality that nothing else in the universe could match, of endless ‘life’ lived in pleasure, but with no more sentience, no more consciousness, nothing but endless obedience to the Brother Grimm.

[i]Mercy…[/i]

The mask came down. The strange substance touched the top of his head, and Noah’s eyes went wide. His mouth opened in a final gasp, and his cock sprang upward, smacking off his stomach. The fire of pleasure all but consumed him, the world going blank, then black around him as the mask pressed around his eyes, then his ears. Silence, true, deathly silence fell all around him, leaving him in a bubble of emptiness where there was no sound, no smell, no taste, no sight.

There was only touch.

There was only sensation.

There was only –

[b]Mine.[/b]

There was only his body, and his body was an extension of Brother Grimm.

The mortal mind of the ginger cat was overshadowed by the extension of the Reaper’s aura. It pushed through the mask into his head, too large and too powerful for any mortal to behold without going insane. The feline’s battered, shattered, flattened mind was pushed down, down, down, and the aura of the Reaper reached through him. The last scream of his final thought echoed in his mind –

[i]Mercy![/i]

And then it was gone.

And then he was gone.

All that was left was the body that had once been called Noah, and was now merely another Bishop. The cat stood in place, his cock rising further and further, little veins popping along the side as a purer arousal than anything with thought could ever allow taking form. The cat did not moan, nor pant, nor gasp for breath. There was no sound or tremor of arousal through the body save for the throbbing need that was present between the feline’s legs. There was no need for that, not before the Reaper.

The feline stepped back, away from the Bishop before him, and turned to the others. They were awash in the pleasure together. For the first time, the new Bishop could feel the connection that he had with the others. They were balanced on the edge of the Reaper’s scythe, his blade through the Nephilim Theocracy, his means of staying in touch with everything, and the way that the rest of the universe touched him.

He was Death.

They were Faith.

The cat that had been Noah reached out, and so did the others around him. One by one, they grabbed each other’s cocks, feeling them, fondling them. There was a sense of something more, of lust and faith carried to them by the Bishops all across the theocracy, pushing upward, carried through their need and want and the aura of the Reaper himself.

In death, all were united.

In the void, all were equal.

In the end, there was only one judgment.

It was the great equalizer, and in that moment, there was no denying the pleasure that freedom from thought offered. The seven Bishops thrust their hips in unison, fucking each other’s hands in a way that would have been comical if it wasn’t so perfectly executed, and if there had been anything but the blank emotion and utter silence in the room.

The body had been claimed. A new Bishop had been made.

#

“They’re in place?”

“Hmm?”

God refused to roll his eyes. It was undignified, and it would have implied that he was taking this less seriously than he actually was. Not that there was much worry at this point for the future, he supposed.

“I asked, are they in place?”

“Oh, yes.” Mercy smiled. “All of them are precisely where they need to be. Every single one of our little followers.”

“Good.”

“Mmm, a pity that we had to sacrifice some of them,” his daughter said, looking down at her fingers and shaking her head. “I was almost fond of at least one of them.”

“Could you even say his name?”

“No, but it was never that important, anyway. It was more the way that he said mine. Mmm, Mercy, Mercy, Mercy. It was almost like the word itself gave him pleasure. It certainly gave me plenty of my own.”

Not for the first time, God wondered if there were other parents that had to deal with their children being so odd. For all that the Virtues of Heaven pushed chastity, humility, and other traits that most of the angels understood, it was as if Mercy had sidestepped a number of them for the sake of her own desires. He blamed it on Lilith; if she had been born of his blood and an angel rather than of that God of Hell, he imagined that his daughter would have been far more suitable and properly behaved.

But at the same time, he couldn’t entirely argue with the results. She had called several devoted followers to her, and she had ensured that their souls were beyond the reach of the Eternal Council when it counted.

“Then it seems that we are ready,” God said.

“I suppose now is when you’re going to reveal the whole plan?” Mercy chuckled. “Though I think I know most of it.”

“No, not yet.”

“Oh? Are you afraid, father?”

“No. Not yet, at least,” he said, looking into the distance.

He did not need to use his power to open a portal to the World Begotten to see what was happening there. The attachment that he still had to the world that he had created with Lilith was powerful enough that he had some idea of what happened there. It was so fresh, still, despite millions of years passing since its creation. He could sense many things in it, still, feel it the way that he could feel the angels moving through Heaven if he allowed himself to focus on it. Yes, it was not quite so clear in the World Begotten as it was in Heaven, as that world was not so completely his own, but it was clear enough for him to know what was happening.

The ship was almost to the planet Babylon. When it arrived, it would discharge its passengers to the Brother Grimm, the Reaper of the World Begotten, and perhaps the most powerful of the various creatures that lorded over that Theocracy. He imagined that they would be most welcome by that perverted cat; the master of death seemed to be one of the most lewd of the bunch.

And then…

“They have gone unchallenged for far too long,” God muttered to himself.

“Well, that’s been a choice of yours, hasn’t it?” Mercy asked.

He looked over his shoulder. She was lounging over her chair, sighing as she looked up at the ceiling. His daughter had no care, no modesty in the slightest.

For a split-second, he could almost see the white-furred fox that had birthed her superimposed over her image. He looked away before it could settle in his mind, shaking his head as he waited for the old grief to come up.

To his relief, it did not. He had buried it, nearly completely, and this time, it stayed where he’d put it.

“It was less of a choice and more your mother’s protection,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t forget, once a species gains sentience, they have their own power over their world, and I am only half-responsible for its creation. Their presence limits what I can do; I cannot warp their reality while they are looking. I can only challenge it.

“But that would change if they were all gone. If sentience disappeared, then they would no longer be ‘watching.’ Reality, as it stands, could be rewritten. And without your mother to challenge me this time, I could do this…properly.”

“Mmm. Do let me know when you start. I’d love to take a hand in it myself.”

“If you earn it, daughter. If you earn it.”

“And Jesus?”

“If he can stop mourning and drags himself away from the edge of Heaven, then perhaps he can take part of it. Until then, no.”

God had hoped that removing Lucifer from the equation would have made it easier for him to have [i]some[/i] control of his son, but ever since the archangel had been sent to Hell, Jesus had been nearly inconsolable. The few times that the young tiger stopped crying, it was to come and tell his father that something needed to be done, that the world should be better, or that Heaven should make overtures to Hell to bind them together in some way.

It was rubbish. He ignored every word from his son’s mouth, and instead focused on the grand plan of bringing the World Begotten back to its proper state. Once his plan was properly executed, then they could start thinking about what they would do with Hell. When mortals and the escaped demons were dealt with, then, and only then, could they start planning what to do with Hell…and how to remove the threat that it posed to Heaven.

After all, once then the Nephilim Theocracy was dealt with, they could deal with those that had challenged him in the first place. God doubted that Lucifer could ever reach the heights of true gods, but it would be better to ensure that he never had the chance to find out.

[b][u][center]The End[/center][/u][/b]

Summary: Noah reaches the end of his training, his thoughts driven from his skull and replaced with nothing but physical need.

Tags: M/M, M/M/M, Mind Death, Cat, Feline, Ginger, God, Tiger, Series, Sci-Fi, Plans within Plans, Anal, Oral, Blowjob, Mind Control, Training, Massage, Edging, Chastity, Never Cum,