Anime Deathmatch
Established: 2025-03-21
Chat room: #Anime_DM
- No holds barred
- Extreme violence
- Blood
- Broken bones
- Death
The perfect place for everyone that wants to have Anime style Characters fight each other but only one is allowed to leave the arena
76 members
6 stories
1 photos
0 files
Unholy Dance (Part 1)
Starring
Nyrassa: "My~ my~" I whisper, leaning in so close that my lips nearly brush the delicate shell of angel's ear, the words become a venomous caress meant for her and her alone. "Now it's my time to play with you~ Se-ra-phi-na~" I draw back just enough to admire the canvas of her suffering. A single, perfect tear has traced a clean path through the grime and blood on her delicate cheek, following the elegant line of a cut I have inscribed moments before with the obsidian nail of my index finger. I let my tongue slide from between my lips... And with a languid, deliberate slowness, I run it along the length of the cut, savoring the metallic zing of her essence, the shudder of revulsion that wracked her entire body. It is a vintage beyond compare - a heady, potent draught of divinity, spiced with the unique, intoxicating flavor of her personal torment. "Mmmmm... delicious~" A low, pleasurable hum vibrates in my throat as I savor the drop. "Angelic blood is truly one of my favorite drinks. It has such a... poignant finish~" I lift my gaze, my own eyes pools of molten crimson, and for a brief moment lock them with her tormented irises. The brilliant light that had once shone with such self-righteous fury is now dimmed, clouded with a pain she has never imagined.
Nyrassa: With a beat of my leathery wings, I push back, rising into the cavernous space of the nave to admire my handiwork in full. The air in the half-collapsed cathedral is thick with the scent of ozone, shattered marble, and the coppery tang of spilled divinity. Dust motes dance in the slanted beams of moonlight that pierce the ruined vaulted ceiling. The shattered stained-glass windows, depicting her kind in various acts of glory, now lay as glittering dust on the floor. In the center of the devastation, she is my masterpiece. The four sigils of my making, pulsating with a violent amethyst light, pin her to the remnants of a great, fallen cross. "This position suits you much better, little light~" I muse, my voice dripping with false sweetness as I gaze upon the crucified angel.
Nyrassa: The once-pristine white and gold of her raiment is all but gone, reduced to scorched ribbons and tattered cloth. I has been... meticulous. Only the most private areas remain covered, a deliberate act of cruel postponement, a promise of further desecration to come. Her body is a canvas of suffering. Lacerations, burns from my hellfire, and deep, brutal bruises map a history of our violent dance. Her life's essence flows in rivulets down her skin, dripping with a soft, rhythmic plink... plink... plink onto the stone below, forming a small, sacred puddle. Her magnificent wings, once a symbol of grace, are now a testament to her fall. They twitch in broken, spasmodic rhythms, their pristine feathers matted and stained crimson, the primary bones beneath snapped and jutting at horrifying, unnatural angles. And her halo - that infuriating circle of golden light that has announced her arrival with such blinding arrogance - now flickers weakly above her head, a guttering candle on the verge of being snuffed out. The sight makes the corners of my lips curl into a genuine, malicious smirk.
Seraphina: A ragged, wet cough tears from my lips, a spray of crimson dotting the dusty air between us. Every breath is a shard of glass in my lungs, a desperate, heaving effort that sends a fresh wave of agony. The dark energy holding me to the cross sears like frozen fire, its ethereal spikes digging into my wrists and ankles with a vicious, physical weight that ground bone against ancient, splintered wood. "You... You monster!" I choke out, the word a mere whisper of defiance. "Your victory here is meaningless! It is a hollow echo in a canyon of coming retribution!" I spat, my gray eyes are blazing with the storm of my conviction. "Our purifying light will not be denied! It will not be a death of fire and ash, but of absolute, utter negation! It will scour you from the tapestry of existence until there is not a single, cursed atom of you left to taint this universe!" As the echo of my words fades, the full, crushing reality of my situation rushes back in. My whole body is a map of pain, a symphony of suffering where every nerve ending screamed in unison. As my head lolls forward in exhaustion, a flicker of movement beyond broken stained-glass window catches the very edge of my vision. Someone is approaching.
Battle_Angel_Minerva: The call as deafening as it was weak. As sharp as shooting star cutting through the night sky even as it fizzles out. It was unmistakable. So remiscent of distant cries she once blocked out with her sweet songs. That was lifetimes ago though. Now she is the soldier and that plea is the siren song beckoning Minerva to certain danger. Trepidation fills her soul and makes her mortal heart flutter and quicken as she rushes her way down a narrow alleyway, splashing through an oil glazed puddle til shadow drapes over her.. Then retreats, pushed back by a wave of bright, effeminate pink light. Wings Cocoon the battle angel, twitching to life in ripples before they unfurl in all their radiant magnificence!
Battle_Angel_Minerva: Feathers bristle with a single stroke which sends Minerva rising towards the heavens she came from and high above the city lights. If only it was a call to come home rather than... to battle? Azure eyes narrow as she steels her will and casts her gaze into the distance. It doesn't take long to soar over skyscrapers, glittering bill boards praising greed, hate and sin. Distasteful as this all is, instinctively, Minerva knows she needs to keep going, following that prayer to a quieter, darker place. A spire rises above it all, gleaming in moonlight. From the outside, the cathedral holds it's pristine vaneer. Stain Glass and Elaborate stone's have endured as long as her order yet... Something is off here. She can sense it from the tip of her toes to crest of her brilliant halo.
Battle_Angel_Minerva: This is a sacred place. Where she should feel safe, where she should feel strong and draw power from. On this pale, cold night there's little of that, just murmoured voices carrying through the heavy double doors. Still, she dare not sully this place by kicking the doors open. It's with respect, that her gloved hands and gentle fingers coil around the handle and draw creaking groan from the old hinges. Candle light... No... Brimstone spills out and casts her frame in stark silhouette; Petite, Elegant and still, as if frozen by deaths grim kiss. The scene in front of her chills her very soul. A sister impaled in indignity. A story written in fire and blood but.. she has remind herself.. Unfinished
Battle_Angel_Minerva: "Their are old books and forbidden songs!" She announces, surprised by the shrill amplification carrying her voice. Minerva's full wing span unfolds imposingly as she moves forward, stepping over shattered pews, each careful step clicking on marble. Most important, it draws attention from the grinning demoness. "We recite them in whispers. For it is a cold terrible place that's reserved for those that desecrate our Holy Halls!". She's still moving, coming into radiant view, pink silk skirts rippling around her thighs, virgin white satin almost glowing. A wand materialises in the Angel's right hand, which she points at Nyrassa. "So I will implore you once. Release her and leave this place"
Battle_Angel_Minerva: 
Nyrassa: The groan of the ancient, heavy oak doors makes my dark heart beat faster. This sound is the herald of new toys, new hymns of despair to be composed in this grand, desecrated cathedral. Slowly, I turn my head and my smirk stretches into a huge, predatory grin. My breath catches for a moment in my throat. I can't believe it. Another one. Another gleaming, pristine dove foolishly flying into my web. What spectacular luck! My gaze, sharp and hungry, devours you in an instant. It sweeps over the impossible snow-white of your wings, each feather a testament to a purity that makes my teeth ache. It traces the cascade of your long, pink hair, a color so soft and innocent it's practically begging to be stained. Then it drops to your white and pink attire, so pure it seems to reject the very concept of sin. And oh, my imagination... it ignites.
Nyrassa: I envision the glorious contrast of grime and blood on that white silk. I can already see the mud caking those immaculate wings, hear the sharp crack of a bone giving way, feel the exquisite vibration of your screams echoing in this very hall. I picture the way that long, pink hair would look matted with sweat and tears, how those wide, righteous eyes would widen further in shock, then narrow in pain, and finally, gloriously, glaze over with the dawning horror of utter helplessness. I am composing the symphony of your ruin, the crescendo of your pleas, the final, whispered note of your broken spirit begging for a mercy I will never grant. The sheer, visceral anticipation of it is a drug, and I swallow loudly, the sound obscenely loud in the space.
Nyrassa: And then I hear your command - it is so absurd, so naively righteous, that it shatters the tense anticipation, replacing it with something far more volatile. A deafening laugh rips from my throat, a raw, cacophonous sound that echoes off the vaulted ceilings. My eyes, glistening with manic amusement, dart from you to Seraphina, crucified on the cross. "Release her?" I parrot, the words dripping with mockery. In the blink of an eye, the air itself seems to coalesce in my right palm, and a small, wickedly serrated dagger materializes as if spun from shadow and malice. I don't even look as my arm whips towards her. There's a sharp whirr, a flash of dark metal, and a resonant THUD that makes the very pews shudder. The blade buries itself deep into the aged wood directly above Seraphina's head, quivering with the force of the impact. A few splinters of sacred wood drift down like blasphemous snow.
Nyrassa: "I don't think so~" I purr as I turn fully towards you. I rise, hovering in the center of the nave, allowing you to enjoy the full, unadulterated view of my form. My outfit, a second skin of woven shadow and obsidian lace, makes no attempt to conceal the lush curves of my body. Instead, it artfully frames and emphasizes the swell of my hips, the cleavage of my breasts, the column of my throat, hinting at every sensual line and hollow, a testament to every sin I have ever embodied or inspired. "You'll have to do it by force, little angel~"
Nyrassa: 
Seraphina: Agony bleeds the strength from my limbs, my voice a raw scrape in my throat. "Mina..." I wheeze, fighting to draw the air needed to speak. "Be... careful..." My own defeat is the proof of my warning, a testament written in the bruises blooming across my skin and the weapon lying broken a few feet away. I gather the last dregs of my will. "She is... strong." The demoness doesn't even grant me a glance of contempt. Her entire being, her predatory focus, is reserved for you.
Battle_Angel_Minerva: Even Minerva understands that a threaten of violence is like flame for a moth to a demoness who thrives on it. But there's always hope. Hope and duty have long been her guiding lights. Perhaps it was the same for Sera, leading her right onto that cross. The though brings a wretched feeling tip toeing over her paper smooth skin like an inspect picking it's spot. The laughter echoing around these halls in hyena like symphony only adds to the ominious feeling weighing so heavy in her heart. She can barely bring those bright, vivid eyes to look at Seraphina's ruined body and snapped wingspan.
Battle_Angel_Minerva: "N-Noo!". Kitten heels clip on marble as she rushes forward a few steps, reaching out with an open hand as if she could draw that dagger from your hand. She stops a few feet closer to you on that deep thud, her body tensing, eyes narrowing into tight slits, as if your drove it into her stermum rather than... Thankfully, just the wood above the despondent angel, a grim testiment to your power and malice... And simple, crude leverage. You could hide behind that broken body, barely clinging to her failure, her agony... and her hope in battle maiden stood before you, silks rippling gently around her thighs, stray hair curling across her brow.
Battle_Angel_Minerva: Crystal blue eyes watch you rise, bold and predatory. Those rows of hungry teeth almost salivating for Minerva's innocent, brave spirt, her soft yielding flesh... even perhaps... very soul. Peach lips curl inward, forming a tight line etched across her jaw to mask the swell of emotion within her. You exude mortal desires she has little understanding or experience of.. even if she feels them in this choatic realm. Dark lace and dominance, sadism and a hunger that makes her want to take to flight.
Battle_Angel_Minerva: Duty, on the other hand binds Minerva here. To Stop Sera's fate.. Or to share it. Her chest lifts, bringing tension to her ornate bodice as she takes a deep, tense breathe and channels celestial power form her very core. Gemstones shimmer with Pink ethereal energy as she snaps her wand to the side, then sweeps it around her in a wide circle, drawing tracers of light around her pirouetting frame. "So be it. If you wish for Heaven's Wrath then I shall deliver it you in waves!", She brings the wand up and swipe it down, pointed toward you. Tracers of Pink light pulse from it and weave through the air in formation toward your black, hateful heart!
Nyrassa: A smirk plays upon my lips as I eye the sacred instrument in your hand. "What is this? A child's toy~?" I tease, my voice a low, mocking purr that echoes faintly in the vast, hollowed space of the cathedral. But even as the taunt leaves my lips, my every sense is razor-focused. I could already feel it - that nasty, pure energy beginning to condense around you, a gathering storm of divine wrath coalescing at the tip of your weapon. The very air grows heavy with its promise, humming with a power meant to scour and purify creatures of my kind. And I am ready for it. The world erupts in a blinding, rosy hue. A lances of searing pink light, capable of burning the shadow from a stone, shoot forward to where I was just a heartbeat before. But I am no longer there.
Nyrassa: The moment the light illuminates the sorrowful faces of the stone saints in their alcoves, I am already moving. My great, membranous wings snap open to their full width, and with a single, powerful thrust, I become a blur. To an untrained eye, it might have seem like a teleport - a vanishing and a reappearance. But your angelic gaze is no mortal sight. You clearly track the fluid, inhuman motion, perceiving that I am not cheating space, but simply fly with a speed that defies belief, moving to the left in the time it takes a heart to beat. This evasive burst is merely the prelude - without a moment's hesitation, without even seeming to draw a breath, I change trajectory and shoot straight toward you. The wind of my own passage tears at me, whipping my long, dark hair into a wild, streaming banner. Each powerful beat of my wings is a piston firing, a thunderous whump that hammers the air and propels me forward in a terrifyingly straight line, bringing closer the moment when I smash into you at full speed. "Come closer, little dove~"
Battle_Angel_Minerva: Minerva has been taught to expect the wicked to try and infect her pure heart with fear and doubt. She simply has to block that out. Such an easy ask when training with her sisters but now, when that mocking purr see's to chorus from the lips of every saint flanking the ruinous hall? They've already seen one angel fall and suffer horrifically for her failure. Sera's wounded and weak body lingers in the periphery as a grim testament to one possible future for the Pink Paladin.
Battle_Angel_Minerva: After unleashing those weaving bolts, Mina twirls her baton around her body like a band leader would to wow a crowd and stills it behind her, ready to swing. She draws her majestic wing spam back meeting behind her and ready and she extends her free hand in front of her, palm facing forward as a bulwark to whatever is coming. Her knee's bend, bringing tension and latent energy, like a pair of coiled springs. She must be ready, for as much at it reminds her of sparing sessions in heavens glow when you take to flight and move with inhuman speed. A change in angel then it comes, like a shark for blood in the water. But Mina is ready, those wings snap outward and forward, creating an opposing gust or dust, debris and sheer force that makes a wall where she just stood.
Battle_Angel_Minerva: Now it's for you to track a shooting, celestial body, catching in pouring moonlight at the peak of her ascent. Beams of radiant light dance across her halo'd mane, her wings at full span in all the resplendent glory. That cool light dances over ornate gold trims and shimmering gem stones, almost leading your gaze to a flitting glimpse of the bottom of her one piece bodice before she skirt settles. "Such.... feral hunger... You truly are a simple beast... I can sense it like I sense a winters breeze or the smell of rain". She draws her arm across her body. "Such base creatures are simple to best!". Another snap of those wings sings another gust down at you, intent on keeping you off balance while she rushes at you, swinging out in a wide arche with that steel wand in hope of landing an early advantage!
Nyrassa: I'm so close now that the grand, sweeping image of you fractures into a million perfect, unbearable details. I can see each individual feather on your magnificent wings, the way the primaries ruffle at the tips from the wind coming from my own flight. I can see the fine, determined line of your mouth, the faint crease of concentration between your brows, the way the light catches a few strands of hair that have escaped the disciplined order of the rest. I can already feel the impact, the satisfying crunch of our bodies meeting... And then you vanish.
Nyrassa: Not vanish, no - you erupt upwards. A geyser of pure, incandescent motion. The downdraft from your sudden ascent is a physical insult, a hot, gritty wind that slams into me, forcing a flinch I can't suppress. I feel the dust and tiny debris pepper my face, grating against my skin. With a furious snap of my own wings, I beat against the turbulent air, pushing through the vortex you left in your wake to follow the shimmering trail of your ascent. Even as I escape the worst of the whirlwinds, my eyes are still narrowed to slits - not from the dust, but from you. Your figure is a shard of the sun, a core of unbearable brightness wreathed in a nauseating halo of light. And I realize, with a jolt of pure disgust, that the closer I get, the more it sickens me. It's a light that seeks to scour, to purify, to expose every shadow I cherish. I fight through the glare, my vision adjusting, pupils contracting to pinpricks, just in time to see you pivot. And head straight for me. "Oh, so you want to play~?" I purr, the sound a low growl laced with venomous glee. "Fiiine~ I'll show you what it means to play with fire~"
Nyrassa: We become two comets on a collision course, the space between us vanishing for the second time. I can see the resolve in your eyes, the flawless execution of your form. But just as I commit to the clash, the air betrays me. A rogue gust, a consequence of your aerobatics, slams into me like a physical blow. My wings buckle, my form shudders, and for a heart-stopping second, my guard falters. I recover instantly, a snarl tearing from my throat, but that single, stolen moment is all you need. My head whips up to see your wand already in its terminal arc... BAAASHHH!!
Nyrassa: I jerk my head down and to the right, turning my face away. The blow meant for my skull instead connects with the dense, volcanic curl of my left horn. A shockwave of pure concussive energy reverberates through the obsidian-like structure, a deafening chime of impact that travels down the bone, rattling my teeth. A spiderweb of fine cracks might be spreading across the horn's surface, but it holds, it can withstand the judgment of heaven. As the last echo of the impact shudders through me, I strike back. My right hand, tipped with claws like shards of onyx, shoots upward in a brutal, ascending slash. I aim to carve through the light, to cut your left side open from the curve of your hip all the way up to the joint of your shoulder - a vicious strike to repay the blinding light and the ringing in my head.
Battle_Angel_Minerva: Like opposing magnets, we're drawn together into a dance as inevitable as it is deadly. For millennia Minerva was shield from this, most grim aspect of her existence, but it was always there, on heavens horizon, in the triumphs she trumpeted and in the screams she heard her sisters sing. Just like she heard Sera's desperate plea. Just getting closer to her partner in this Unholy Dance makes her skin crawl and bristle with goosebumps as is shadow, laced with malice, lust and cruelty itself were lapping at her soft, porcelain flesh.
Battle_Angel_Minerva: As her winds erupt in all their bright, impervious glory, Minvera looks right into the ravenous fire in your eyes. Past it, to the insatiable voids that would consume her pain, her despair.. Her very life and even... her soul and her heart beat flutters and sends a wave of intense mortal sensations through her body. In this vessel, after all, she is flesh, bone and rich, sweet blood. She is fear, adrenaline and raw animal instinct. A shrill battle cry rings, pitched like a chorus of opera singers followed by heavy precussion, shuddering down your horn with righteously fury!
Battle_Angel_Minerva: A surge of satisfaction fills her with hope. Surely the battle with Sera has taken some toll. She can't have paid so dearly in pain, life blood and anguish for nought. Can she? "You should have quit this game while you were still ahead. But that is your folly is it not?". Her body's still pivotting, sending her silken hair dancing exuberantly around her glowing halo. A Godess in motion, fluid graceful and femine. Even the flare of her lifting skirt exaggerates the image of power of agility you've felt first hand. And then... Comes the rebuttal...
Battle_Angel_Minerva: "aaaiIIIRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEE!!!" In that onimous flash, your claws find purchase, snagging at the tip of her hip and climbing with a sharp *shrillllSSSHH!!" The Battle Angels airbourne pivot changes the path of the slice, like paper moving under a quill tip. It opens a slice in her bodice revealing an angry red scratch igniting across a pure, prime canvas like a lit fuse, igniting sharp, searing hot pain. Minerva throws her head back, her doll like features contorted in a picture of pain. She's never felt such a sensation rack through her flesh, forcing her body to arch as if offering her bountiful body to heavens themselves. Her torso twists and turns almost independant of the ballerina spin you caught her in.
Battle_Angel_Minerva: The response is almost instant. One wing ripples, feathers britling as it snaps to her side and shifts the angel of her pirouette. The other stays full extended, flexed rigid. It's like a velvet coated anvil swinging from a high angle to swat you with an almost full body impact and send you hurtling back down the destruction and debri left from devastation you wrought on her sister!
Nyrassa: The sound of the slash, that wet, precise rip through flesh, doesn't just reach my ears - it vibrates in my very bones, a heady, intoxicating wine that floods my system. I can feel it, the moment my claws meet resistance - the delicate, papery give of your pale skin before sinking into the warmer, firmer tissue beneath. The sensation of your lifeblood, hot and slick, welling up around the bases of my claws is a tactile ecstasy. It makes my heart hammer against my ribs not in exertion, but in a pure, undiluted sadistic bliss. And your voice... your accompanying, screaming voice, which usually sings hymns to the heavens, is now composing a profane aria just for me. It doesn't repulse me - it awakens the darkest, most slumbering desires within the core of my being. I want to hear it again! I want to orchestrate a chorus of your agony, a thousand times over!
Nyrassa: These consuming thoughts are a whirlpool, pulling me under so completely that the moment I complete the cut, retracting my claws from the furrow I've carved, I am lost. The warm spray of crimson droplets that mists the air from the tips of my freed claws catches the dim cathedral light like fleeting rubies. In that perfect aftermath, I even close my eyes for a moment, savoring the phantom echo of the slash. And in that moment of blissful vulnerability, you strike. "Shi~" My eyes snap open just in time to see the expanse of your mighty wing filling my entire vision - a wall of pristine, powerful feathers. It slams into me not with a punch, but with the impersonal, overwhelming force of a tidal wave. My breath is stolen from my lungs as I am hurled backwards, my body flying horizontally, the world becoming a nauseating blur of stained glass and stone arches. But I fight the momentum, forcing my own dark, leathery wings to snap open to their full, terrifying width. The strain is immediate, a burning protest in the membranes and bones as they catch the air, slowing my catastrophic flight from a cannon shot to a wrecking ball's swing.
Nyrassa: But it is not enough. My back meets the cathedral wall with a loud THUUUDDDD! The ancient stone groans in protest. A spiderweb of fine cracks radiates out from the point where my spine met unyielding granite, the stone cratering around me, holding me in a brutal embrace. A shockwave of pain erupts first in my wings, then it cascades through my spine, my ribs, my very core - a comprehensive, body-wide announcement of damage. Yet, as I hang there, I notice something else woven into the fabric of the pain. Something... pleasant. A thrumming, electric warmth, a tantalizing, alluring thread. It ignites the dry tinder of my battle-lust, a thrill I hadn't realized I was starving for. A fine dust of shattered stone and plaster drifts down around me as I cough slightly before peeling myself from the wall's new impression, fragments of rock clattering to the floor. "Not bad, dove~" A slow, dark smirk spreads across my lips, my eyes finding yours across the desecrated nave. "But that's not enough~" I roll my shoulders, the motion sending fresh, welcome sparks of sensation through my body as I eagerly await what you will do next.
Battle_Angel_Minerva: The contact feels neat, solid and, to her surprise, empowering. Even if your hate filled essence feels so distateful against her virgin white feathers, and the brush of your curves so galling, though thankfully fleeting. Minerva holds her position while you sour back and all to breifly become enveloped in a plume of dust and plaster. It allows her time to glance toward Sera's body, hopefully still clinging to life. Her essence still seems to be.... here, though silent. There's time for a fiery sting of your claws to rise to the forefront of her consciousness, a crimson track coiling her flaring hip and gently arched back. She reaches around, wrapping an arm under the shelf of her bosum and with a hiss and a sharp flinch, tests her fingers on the cuts. "Heavens!"
Battle_Angel_Minerva: Claret stains the fingertips of her gloves, redder than the lips of whore from hell, yet laced with shimmers of moisture catching the techcolour light pouring in from above. Moisture and something else, sparkles that hint at her ephemeral, divine mortality. A painful curiousity to the angel but to you? Nectar? An aperitif before the feast of her soul!? Ever sinew in her body screams for her to take to flight and flee, from her toes, craddled in ornate over the knee boots, to her shimmering halo. But to do so... Just what fate would that condemn to?
Battle_Angel_Minerva: *Condemn Sera to*
Battle_Angel_Minerva: Minerva closes her eyes and takes a wincing, pained breath, resigning herself to continue this dance until the very last note has been sung. When she opens them, her partner is stood in the clear, waiting, no bristling with sinful anticipation. Best not let her down. The Pink Dove folds her wings around her body, hiding her movement and her intent for a second. They open with a gust and a snap of her wand. Again pulses of bright pink light emerge, part, weave and coil toward the demoness. If they find their mark that'll her a bonus but their real purpose is to distract while Mina advances, swooping low with one arm still coiled around her, the other spinnng her weapon like a makeshit shaft swipe at you in wide crescents!
Seraphina: The sounds of battle echo inside my skull, each impact a hammer against the anvil of my consciousness. The world swims in and out of focus, a nauseating carousel of blurred stone and lurid torchlight. My limbs feel detached, useless, as if my bones had been replaced with brittle glass and my muscles with sodden wool. My body, once a vessel of strength, now feels terrifyingly hollow, a porcelain doll cracked from within, threatening to crumble into a thousand pieces at the slightest touch. I force my eyelids to stay open, blinking away the haze of pain until the scene before me sharpens into a terrifying ballet. Two streaks of violent motion, moving with a speed that defies mortal limits. One is a maelstrom of shadow and malice, a form that seems to drink the light from the very room. The other is a darting, radiant blur, a familiar silhouette that makes my heart clench with a desperate mixture of hope and terror.
Seraphina: Their dance is a deadly illusion, too fast for my wounded senses to truly follow. But then, a concussive blast of force, silent to my ringing ears, sends the darker form hurtling backward until it slams into the wall. And in that frozen, crystalline moment of impact, I see it clearly. My angelic sister was able to send the demonic spawn flying! But at the same time a cold horror grips my heart at the sight of her wound. Yet, my spirit latches onto her presence like a lifeline. I hope that where I have been broken, she will endure. I hope that where I was defeated, she will prevail!
Nyrassa: A subtle shift in the air, a minute tightening around your eyes - I catch it all. The briefest flicker of uncertainty that darts across the canvas of your pure, determined face. It's a silent admission, a crack in the foundation, and the sight of it pulls a low, amused chuckle from my throat. "What's this?" I muse, my voice a silken taunt that cuts through the charged space between us. "The desire to flee stirs within you, little bird? That instinct to take wing and vanish into the safety of the sky?" I tilt my head, a predator feigning curiosity. "You should listen to it... Go on~ Fly away~" I let the offer hang in the air for a heartbeat, before shattering it. "But know this" I continue, my tone dropping into a glacial calm that is far more threatening than any shout. "I won't even chase you. No... I'll simply ensure that no matter how far you fly, the wind will carry nothing but the sound of your sister's screams to your ears. You will hear her, from hundreds of kilometers away, as clearly as if she were standing right beside you~"
Nyrassa: With that, I press the soles of my boots firmly against the crater I'd just created in the wall. The moment your will hardens, a storm of incandescent energy erupts from your wand... And I push off. The wall groans behind me as I become a blur of motion, a shadow against the hail of your magic. I fly, my wings snapping open to catch the air, allowing me to dart and weave with an unnatural grace. The world narrows to the trajectories of your projectiles. I feel the searing heat of one as it grazes my shoulder, another scoring a line of fire across my thigh. The pain is a distant, trivial thing, a mere annoyance I acknowledge and discard. My entire being is absorbed in you, in the beautiful, frantic dance of your defiance.
Nyrassa: As you advance, I have to deal with your wide crescent attacks. Using my wings as rudders, I jerk violently to one side, evading the first crescent. I twist mid-air, the second one slicing through the space my torso had occupied a split second before. A third comes, and I drop, tucking my wings to plummet before snapping them open to arrest my fall. All the while, I'm watching, studying the rhythm of your attacks, trying to find the slight tremor of exhaustion beginning to creep into your form. It's a symphony of violence, and I am listening for the first faltering note. And then, I hear it. The next crescent is a fraction of a second slower, its arc a hair less precise. A wide, predatory grin splits my features. "It seems this toy has become a burden~" CLAAANNG!! This time I don't evade your blow, instead, I meet it head-on. The claws sheathing my left hand snap up, intercepting your attack with a shower of brilliant, angry sparks. The impact jars up my arm, but it also shatters your balance, creating the opening I need. In the same motion, my right hand lashes out like a viper. The talons gleam with intent, aimed at the wrist clutching your wand!
Battle_Angel_Minerva: Illuminous tracers linger in the air along with the scent of ozone and charred flesh. Just lingering tastes, of how awful goodness must be to one like you. But it doesn't stop you rushing headlong into the Minerva's assault, somehow dancing like shadows around her strobing attacks. Contrary to everything she'd come to expect, she can see the brimestone in your eyes, feel it flicker warm hues over her china doll complexion and ripple over the cool pools of her eyes. But only for a second. Then your little more than a whisp of shock rippling around the crest her comet like descent. The Dove's committed to meeting you, beating you at your own bloodsport. For she knows your right. Just as Sera's pleas reached her, the bound beauties lifting hopes inspire her to keep moving. Tumbling left when you slip right. Snapping her full span out to catch when you drop. Her skirt whips up in a flutter of peach silks when you drop low. Those horns right there, hair lined cracked and ready, surely to shatter as easily as your lies! The crescent cuts downward in a steep arch. "AaaiiiIEEEEEEEEEEE!"
Battle_Angel_Minerva: They're are homilies hidden in that high note. Theory clashes with practise. Motions with strength. Intention with repeated frustration and the constant creep of doubt that comes with it. Expectations based on eons of effervescent ease tangle in the limitation that come with this most bountiful of mortal coils. Such a forbidden fruit.. If only you can reach up and... *CLAAAAAAANG!"
Battle_Angel_Minerva: A grunt parts her cherry blossomed lips, revealing twin roughs pearl whites, grinding from the dull impact rippling through her air. Beads of sweat shimmer in shifting light, speckled across her skin, as if trying to distract you from your aim. Minerva sees it when your body shifts and talons move. If not for the wounds running around her side, marked so vividly with a streaks of scarlet staining her bodice, then perhaps she'd be able to reach out and capture your arm. Perhaps... And perhaps Sera could have prevailed over you and she wouldn't have to listen to shrill cry of her saviour, hissing in pain as your talon slices through Mina's glove and across her wrist!
Battle_Angel_Minerva: Her hand opens up. The wand flies out, clanking and rattling across the floor. Is it the open percussion to a new verse? Or simply a beat dropping? Pink silk lifts in tumbling waves, flaring out like a brilliant streamer even as blood strays into the air in tiny teardrops. She's twisting away in a blur of colour, turning her back. And with a snap of her hips, flick of her pleats and thrust to her boot, instinctively... Crudely trying to throw you back with brutish donkey kick!
Nyrassa: A mocking giggle escapes my lips. "Here we go~" I purr, the sound dripping with venomous delight. My eyes are locked on you, savoring every micro-expression of pain as your grip fails and that irksome wand, the source of so much of your insufferable light, plummets into the air below. "Let's see what trifling tricks you can muster without it~" My voice is a low, malicious caress, a promise of imminent pain. I raise my hand, dark energy crackling around my clawed fingers, poised to deliver the next blow. But you refuse to be defeated so easily! In a move born of pure, desperate instinct, you suddenly twist your body to the side. It's a foolish, reckless maneuver, offering me your unprotected back. "What a desperate move!" The thought flashes through my mind while my predatory gaze instinctively drops, lingering for a split second on the magnificent, now fully exposed, architecture of your wings. I see them fully - every pristine feather, the powerful musculature, the delicate, almost vulnerable-looking point where the divine limbs fuse with the flesh of your shoulder blades. A sudden, intrusive curiosity sparks within me. I wonder... how strong are those anchors? How much force would it take to- "Uuurgghhhh!!"
Nyrassa: My brutal reverie is shattered as your body coils and unleashes its stored energy. Your legs piston out like twin springs, the heels of your boots connecting with a sickening thud right into my belly. Instinct honed over centuries takes over - I instantly tense the formidable muscle of my demonic abdomen, turning my midsection into a wall of living iron. Even so, the impact is tremendous. The air is violently expelled from my lungs, escaping my lips in a loud hiss.
Nyrassa: The sheer force of your kick was calculated to send me flying, to buy you precious seconds. Had I been completely unprepared, it might have worked. But I am no novice to battle. My membranous wings were already spread wide for balance, and they now acted as powerful air-brakes, resisting the push. More importantly, as I staggered back, my hands - acting on a reflex faster than thought - shot out and clamped like vice-grips around your ankles, right over your boots. You didn't create distance - you tethered us together. I used my own backward momentum to pull you with me, our bodies now locked in a violently intimate dance for the short, stumbling distance my wings couldn't completely negate.
Nyrassa: The moment I stabilize in the air, I look at you, my breath returning in a hot, ragged growl. A fresh, cruel smile plays upon my lips. "Now it's my turn~" I whisper, the promise in my voice more terrifying than any shout. My hands slide down a little lower, gripping you by your boots, and I violently extend my arms in opposite directions, spreading your legs wide with irresistible force. Your skirt is rendered useless, offering me an unobstructed view, as my eyes deliberately drag over your exposed panties. "What a nice view~" I coo, pivoting my hip and sharply throwing out my right leg in a brutal, upward arc. My hardened shin slams down with crushing force right between your spread legs, the impact is of such savage, focused power that your entire body is jackknifed upward! The force is so absolute that your feet are wrenched cleanly from your boots, leaving them as useless trophies in my hands!
Battle_Angel_Minerva: For most sinners, it'd be the sight of that little pink skirt, struggling to remain modest as she spins in the air. The promise of supple flesh and fresh silks underneath that would hold captivated eyes. Yet not for you. Pink curls tumbling down across her paper pale flesh, where shoulder blades meet and meld, almost flawlessly into those radiant feathers. Each ripple across her bloom hinting at the muscle and thin bone hidden underneath moving. Little wonder you don't see her foot flashing toward you til they're contacting with a firm thud across your stomach.
Battle_Angel_Minerva: Not the soft give she was expecting, but the pink princess can spring off the wall of muscle, her back arched, bringing the red streaks into view. as she tilts her body, a hiss parts her lips from the peel and recling of her bodice, stained crimson in staligmites of blood riviting down that ice white fabric. Her wings open into full majestic spread to catch her vaulting uplift. Only the row of saints flanking the isle aren't being forced to look up at a glorious, tactical ascent. They stay, eye level and solemn face, stood as they are, on their marble pillars.
Battle_Angel_Minerva: That's the moment when she becomes aware pressure through her thick leather boots. Of the vice like grip you've snagged on her ankles. That's when her wing's flutter, not with ease or grace, but in frantic episodes, like an ensnared doves! Your whisper chills like a banshee's scream, bringing goosebumps to the surface of her flesh. It draws a look over her shoulder, pasted stray bangs and right into those twin embers, flickering with glee and malice. "oh no!". Shock and muscle straining pain flash across her open mouthed face in one sudden jerk followed by a rosy flush that almost matches the French Cut panties half cover her rear, leading the eye as the taper into a thin peach sheen between her flexing thighs. Those wing bat again, drawing her horizontal at 90 degrees to you, but they can't carry her to safety.
Battle_Angel_Minerva: "Nono.. do... don't dare you!". Mina's shaking her head, hurting streaks of sweet bubblegum this way and that as she squirms and wiggles it keeps you admiring the view just a second longer before your shin strikes sharp and hard across the gusset of those pretty little panties. "aaaAAIIIIIEEEOOOOHHHHHHH!!!". The explosion ripples though her pelvis, it snaps through her spine so fast it ravages her mind almost as brutally as her poor, crushed flower. In a heartbeat everything slows down for Mina. The church swirls around her as her body snaps up as if offering her heaving bosom the heavens themselves. As moonlight beams down like a spotlight, her thighs squeeze tight together, her hips roll forward and her arms hang useless at her sides. "Uuughhh gggaaa.... m... m.... h.... how.... cou.... y...." She stammers between weak little squeaks of agony. Each trembling pulsate of radiating pain. All while her wings adjust to hold her in the air. All while you watch your prey lingering in the air...
Nyrassa: "HHHAAAAHHAAAAHAAAAA!" My head tilts back, the maniacal laughter tearing from my throat, raw and unrestrained. The sight that fueled it is a masterpiece: you scream in pain after the brutal impact of my kick, suspended in a helpless arc in the air. "Your pussy clearly wasn't ready for this, hehe~ But I've only just begun~" I coo, the manic edge softening into a predatory purr. My gaze then drifts downward, to my own hands. There, held in a possessive grip, are the spoils of my strike. Your boots. I had torn them from you so easily, a mere prelude. The leather is still warm. A slow, wicked smile spreads across my lips.
Nyrassa: "What do we have here~?" I muse aloud, my voice a low chuckle. I raise my right hand, holding the boot aloft like a sommelier inspecting a rare vintage. Slowly, deliberately, I bring the opening close to my face. I close my eyes, shutting out everything but this moment, this conquest. Then, I inhale. The scent hits me, a potent, intimate wave that is uniquely you. It isn't just sweat or leather - it is the essence of your foot, captured and concentrated within its confines. The warmth of your skin, the ghost of a long day, the subtle, sweet fragrance of your innocence - all of it swirls together into an intoxicating perfume. "Mmmmm" I murmur, the sound a hum of deep, perverse satisfaction against the boot's collar. "It smells so nice... so pure..." I draw in another, deeper breath, savoring the complexity. "So... innocent..." The words are a profane violation, turning a simple, personal scent into something sacred that I'm now defiling. Then, just as quickly as the moment of intimacy began, it ends. The reverence vanishes from my face, replaced by cold indifference. I pull the boot away from my face and, with a casual, almost bored wave of my hands, I fling both boots in opposite directions.
Nyrassa: "They can keep your wand company" I state flatly, my eyes returning to your still writhing in pain figure even before the sound of boots hitting the cathedral floor can be heard. "It's time to find out how you smell in other places~" I purr, the promise in my voice as intimate as it is threatening. My powerful wings, dark as a starless night, spread out and flap once, instantly taking me into the air behind you. My right arm is the first point of contact. It doesn't grab or claw - it... slithers. It moves with a boneless, serpentine grace over the slope of your right shoulder, savoring every inch of your bare skin. I feel the corded muscle of your neck beneath my forearm as my limb continues its insidious journey, coiling around your throat with the deliberate pressure of a constrictor.
Nyrassa: Simultaneously, the rest of my body molds itself to yours, erasing every inch of space between us. You feel the soft, crushing weight of my lush breasts press firmly into your back, settling right at the vulnerable base of your wings - a deliberate, taunting pressure on the source of your flight ability. My pelvis grinds against the firm curve of your buttocks, anchoring my lower body to yours. Then, my legs join the embrace. They slide up the outside of your thighs, not with a kick, but with the same sinuous intent as my arm, before coiling around your waist like possessive pythons. My boots cross neatly, locking tight just below your stomach, completing the full-body prison. By now, my right arm is a completed band of locked muscle and intent around your throat. The final piece awaits. My left arm, which had been hanging ready, now comes into its role. I bend it at the elbow, bringing my left forearm up beside your head, the crook of it resting just left of your ear. With a calm, definitive finality, I clamp my right wrist into the crook of my left elbow. The structure is complete... The rear naked choke is... sealed~
Nyrassa: Your long pink hair covers my entire view. A compulsion, primal and irresistible, grips me. I lean in, my own breath stilling for a moment before I bury my face in that silken riot of pink. The scent that floods my senses is intoxicating, forcing a low, involuntary sound of pleasure to rumble in my chest as I inhale deeply, committing your essence to memory. "Ohhhh, even better~" I whisper, the words are less for you and more for my own pleasure, a verbal savoring of the moment. Drunk on your scent, I shift my weight. My body presses flush against yours, eliminating any last sliver of space between us. In doing so, I securely pin the delicate bones of your wings between us. I feel the subtle strain of the feathers, the frantic flutter of trapped muscle against my torso. Simultaneously, I increase the pressure of my forearm against your neck, a deliberate, calculated constriction.
Nyrassa: "And you have such a gorgeous body~" I purr, my lips brushing the shell of your ear. "I wonder how much it can endure~" As I speak, the sleek, powerful length of my tail, which has been swaying with lazy anticipation, begins to move with purpose. It slithers slowly to the left and forward, until its wickedly sharp, glistening tip wiggles tantalizingly before your eyes - a dark, hypnotic metronome. I let you stare at it before lowering it. The tip traces a cold, deliberate line down your sternum to the valley between your breasts. There, it stops. I apply the slightest pressure, not enough to break the skin, but enough for you to feel its lethal potential as a single, teasing poke.
Battle_Angel_Minerva: Some where, in the midst of all that swirling, mocking laughter that echos and compounds through the vast spacious cathedral, Minerva can also hear, or perhaps feel Sera's hopes fading back into weak, deflated suffering. Thunder rumbles ominously over head, while a flash of lightening turns the whole scene bone white or a sinking heart beat. Everything seems to shift so quickly and yet, stay still, frozening by that bone chilling cackle. You have time to savour the sight, the soft feel of that virgin white leather give in your hand. Her scent, her sweat... as gentle and sweat as her very essence. Perhaps that's why all the undoubted skill and power has still left her like this, blood stained down her side and back, slashes around the wrist that once held her duellists weapon. It lies useless, soon joined with those boots.
Battle_Angel_Minerva: Even in that cooing tone, the pink dove can hear it a feral, ruthless hunger that'll never be sated. Even as you savour the scents, the purity.. THe innocence that tingles through her body mind... even her very soul. Yet she is not so naive, not to understand the temptations and weaknesses within this oppulent armour of flesh and bone. Your words make her skin crawl and her feather rise on edge. All while gloved hands sweep down, pressing and prying her inner thighs apart just a little. Enough to clutch into soft pleats and cup her veiled petals, as if that will still the waves of pain still rolling through her in wave after rising wave. "uuunnnggg... awwhh..m...my purity.... my innocence.... my heart.... Is... my St-str-strength!". She chokes past a lump in throat, a knot in her stomach. It's a strange, nausetting sensation that's been with her since she steps inside this blasphemy... It, Minerva realises, is fear.. No something stronger, cold, chilling dread!
Battle_Angel_Minerva: That heat's contrasted by hot rage, lust and malice. Your very essence in ascendance. As bold as those vile, violating words. She feels your pressence carried on a flick of dark leather, before she can open her eyes fully and react. It might be pleasant, at least at first. That forbidden kiss of your breasts, cushioning into her wings, your hips meeting the plush swell of her heart shaped rear. An embrace. These plutonic comforts are shared amoung celestial sisters. Only your skin against her's sets her nerves on end, the cushion of your chest soon builds into a crush on her wing base. Each flicker ripples across your bosom as her wing shift, and curl inward. Yet without movement in there base, all her feathers do is frame the body being slowly, almost sensuously ensnared. "nooooooooo". The Battle Angel's gloved hands slap and claw, first at your thighs, nipping into her sides and settled atop her flaring hips and pretty pink skirt. Then at the snaking arm trapping her arm, her neck. You lock in both arms so tight you can feel her pulse travelling with panicked speed, every gasp and whispered protest. "you... ca... I.. won't... let y-... Oh God!"
Battle_Angel_Minerva: A squeeze, a twist.. That's all it would take to crack open that voluptious shell. You take her breath away, leaving her cherry pink lips gaping silently, while she can feel you savour the sweet, heady mix of rose blossom curls and feels the sour brimstone breath dance gleefully over her goosebumped skin. Each breath full of intent. She struggles, throwing her weight side to side with a soft friction of silk and leather. SHe throws her elbow back, all with the furry of canary in a Cobra's maw. A little more pressure takes away her leverage and pins her wings tight. You're supporting her weight right now, even as you squeeze the air and fight out of her. Slow, sensiously slow.. Blue eyes glaze and fade, drool stringing down her chin.. drifting... fading.. mouth silent protests til, with a flick, your tail appears, dancing hypnotically in front of her... "Nnnggg.....se.....ra......"
Battle_Angel_Minerva: Focus returns, sharp as the tip of that weapon. Your words are clear again, lick across her ear in a way that makes her wince and cringe. Thats before it dips, pushes and delves into the soft, fleshy valley of rising cleavage and points into her stermum. A whim and a flick could pierce her and bring death so swift. But you want her to endure... ALl the things Sera has suffered? More? You feel a shiver ripples through her. A sinking feeling swelling within and threatening to drain all... There's heat between her thighs she realises through the haze and swirl of panic.. Wet, rolling heat spitting her inner thighs, hissing and splashing audilbly bellow as her panties sink and stink. Such shame with all less. The little pink princess is pissing her panties!!
Nyrassa: "Oh yes, that's it... keep struggling, little dove~ Keep... struggling~ I LOVE it!! Aaahhh~" Every desperate scratch you drag across my thighs, every weak dig of your nails into my arms - it's nothing but music. A frantic, pitiful rhythm that only feeds the fire inside me. You think you're fighting for freedom? You're only giving me permission to tighten my world around you. I can feel it - the subtle give of your windpipe, the way my hand is now molded so perfectly, so fatally, to the delicate architecture of your neck. Then, I shift. The relentless vise of my thighs around your waist relaxes, leaving you suspended for one breathless, disoriented moment by my arms alone. Just long enough for you to feel the true depth of your helplessness. But I am not letting you go - I reclaim you... but differently.
Nyrassa: With a predator's deliberate grace, I slide my legs back. They glide down from your waist, over the curve of your hips. My touch is almost intimate, a lover's caress in a killer's embrace. I tuck my knees behind you, and then, with careful, insidious pressure, I slide my legs between yours, right under the swell of your buttocks. My calves and shins become invasive guides, sliding with slow, undeniable friction along your inner thighs - a territory now conquered. I continue the downward path, my limbs slithering along the trembling fronts of your legs until my shins lock snugly behind your calves, a perfect, inescapable bracket. Now, my legs are wrapped around yours like two great serpents, coiled and possessive. With a slow, firm pressure, I push... and your legs are forced apart. That last, instinctive attempt to press your thighs together for some shred of security? Gone. You're spread open now, anchored only by my grip on your neck and this new, intimate entanglement. Every tremor that runs through you, every weakening kick against my snake-like hold, travels straight through me. You're completely exposed, completely controlled, and in that exact moment... I notice something else.
Nyrassa: The sensation registers where my legs press against your inner thighs. It is not the cool, ethereal dew of celestial exertion, but the unmistakable, salt-tinged heat of mortal frailty. Plink... plink-plink... I can also distinguish a soft, rhythmic dripping... My gaze, almost dismissive, follows the sound. There, in the intimate space between your now-spread legs, the light catches on the remnants of your lost control. A tiny, pathetic waterfall, now reduced to a final, shameful trickle, which formed a shiny spot on the floor below. A slow, serpentine smile curls my lips. "My~ My~" I coo, the syllables dripping with false sympathy. "Did our little angel wet herself~?" I let the question hang, allowing the persistent drip to provide its own crude answer. "How... utterly pathetic." My chuckle is a low rumble. "The one on the cross, the one you were meant to save... she held her grace even in agony. She never permitted herself such a... mortal disgrace." I continue as my gaze travels slowly, deliberately, from the evidence of your shame towards the magnificent, tortured figure of Seraphina, still radiating defiant grace upon her crucifix.
Nyrassa: With a lazy, powerful beat of my wings, I begin to rotate us slowly in the air. It is a revolving display, a deliberate presentation. I maneuver you until your wide, shimmering eyes are locked directly on Seraphina's pain-ravaged visage. I force that visual connection, ensuring your gaze meets her enduring one, so her silent suffering is the only thing that fills your world. "See?" I whisper into your ear, my breath hot against your skin. "She knew how to suffer properly." As I speak, the spaded tip of my tail dips lower. It aligns itself with the pink crystal embedded in the center of your dress, right below your breasts. The muscles in my back and tail coil with taut, explosive potential. And then... THHHRRRRUUUSSSSST!
Nyrassa: I drive my tail forward with the speed of a cracking whip. The air itself screams in its wake. But the strike is not aimed at your flesh. It is a masterpiece of malicious precision. The tip lasers in, unerring, towards the gem. CRACK!! The sound is not deep, but high and sharp, like shattering sugar glass. The pink crystal erupts into a cloud of glittering dust and tiny shards. The impact is perfectly calculated - the force transfers into the gemstone and only the gemstone, your skin remains unbroken, your sternum unharmed. Just as swiftly as it struck, the tail whips back, leaving only the void where the gem had just been. THRUST! The second strike is even faster, this time it is aimed lower, at the second, smaller pink crystal that rests near your pubis. Pshhh-ink! It shatters even more easily than the first, with a sound like dissolving ice.
Nyrassa: Now that the crystals are gone, I can move on to the next step. I pull the tail back and then guide it with meticulous control into the space between your legs, which are parted by the press of my own. There is a faint, almost imperceptible snick as the tip finds and hooks the delicate fabric of your skirt at its very center. Then, I begin to lift. The motion is agonizingly slow, a vertical ascent of relentless intent. The fabric, taut against your body, offers a soft, sighing resistance before it surrenders. A thin, precise line of cool air follows the tip's path as it splits the skirt open from hem to waist. The sound is not a tear, but a clean, continuous whisper of parting threads. The tail does not pause. It continues its upward journey, over the plane of your stomach. Here, I adjust the pressure, just so. The tip bites - not deep, but enough to leave a shallow, stinging line on your skin. Higher still. Over the gentle rise of your ribs, the valley between. The fabric of your bodice, once whole, now yields just as the skirt did, parting with the same hushed submission. The tip comes to its final rest, poised in the hollow of your cleavage, a silent full stop to the sentence it has written.
Nyrassa: Then, with the same fluid grace, I pull the tail back. Were it not for the fact that I am pressing you so firmly against me - my body a cage of unyielding support - the two halves of your dress, now completely severed from neckline to hem, would fall away in a defeated slide to the floor. But they do not. They are held. Trapped in the tight embrace that binds us together, the ruined garment remains clamped between the heat of your body and mine. It is a secret we now share, a collapsed ruin held up only by the pressure of our contact. You are, and are not, exposed. The evidence of the violence done is hidden in plain sight, held in place by the very presence that authored it.
Battle_Angel_Minerva: Your whispers pour into Minerva's ear in all their cool, inky bleakness, sending mind and soul spiralling into despair while you coo with approval. What else could you feel right now but joy, with the body snared so close you can feel her rear cushion into you with a rustle of dishelved mesh skirts against the sleazy squeak of black leather. Or the feel on those silken gloved hands clasping and pawing your unwavering grasp. Fluff-soft feathers rippling against your skin so close you can feel each one. And feel something else.. An ethereal pulse that sours this experience at least some. Mortal and immortal coils exist at different rythems, different circulations.
Battle_Angel_Minerva: A trickle of drool spills over the ensnared angel's lips, carried to a choked cough, while her eyes roll back and turn to the heavens in search of some sort of salivation. But there's just the stream of moonlight, washing over and illuminating her plight for all the saints, surely weeping for another gentle, unprepared soul. If there's any peril... any challange then surely it's resist a snap, or a flex or a flick of that tale tip that would signal a kind of mercy. Mina can still feel that point, present and constraining. But now she also feels her weight drop, jerking her body and jarring corded sinew against your arms. "guuukkk!!". She spits, as those legs start kicking for something... anything to support her...
Battle_Angel_Minerva: That support, when it comes, feels smooth, soft and sensous against her creamy skin. It feels.. utterly terrible. Shame wells for the moisture you'll find as your legs slide around and claim each inch of virgin territory without real resistance. Yes the dove flutters, she flexes and she kicks. Yes she shifts and squirms and flutters. You can feel her head shake, flicking pink bangs here or there. But deep down even she knows this is a folly. A mortal's reflex response and feigning hope for her soul. Soon, those thighs pry apart, opening just enough for you to identify the source of moisture and the shame churning through her, making her wilt into your clutches like a thristy, starved flower...
Battle_Angel_Minerva: Your voice is still there, filling the songstress' choked silence, infecting her mind and cutting deep like a smooth blade as sharp as fangs flashing with menace and glee. Such an innocent mind could never have perceived the ruthlessly insidious tactics you use with such almost seductive grace. Even if she still had her wand, what good would her violin like strokes and elegent dance do when you can sap her beleif, her self worth... All so easily that she's here, pressed so close she can feel every heady breath, every shift and slide, just as a mouse feels a serpents slow crush. Forced to partner your lead in a intimate, slow and awful dance as you turn us, in languid pirouette to face her sister on the cross.
Battle_Angel_Minerva: Firm steel meets dow in the headlights fear in that shared moment between two doves. Just a Minerva felt Sera's pleas... Her hopes.. Her very essence. Now she can feel the dispair building between those resolute eyes. Dispair for her fate and... disappointment in the failure squirming before her. Mina can see the broken wings, tarnished halo. Each cut and streak of caked blood. Ever bruise, like a note of chorus you're slowly building toward repeating... Something ignites within her... Anger? Resent? For the angel that called her to share in this deadly hymm?
Battle_Angel_Minerva: The hold of Sera's gaze is quickly becoming as unbearable as the choke she's still meakly flapping at, keeping her flitting between the realm of drea and nightmare. One hand slips away and her head lulls back onto your shoulder, eyes wandering into your fiery embers. She can feel the tip of that spear tip toe it's way lower just as you can feel tension stilling your wriggling quarry. "nk.... nk.... d....." Her lips mouth just as your thurst into that precious, heaven forged stone! "HHHRrrglllleeeeeee!"
Battle_Angel_Minerva: How could you... know!? Its a nexus point for the flow of magical energy through her succulent frame. A Raw Nerve you've just shattered into glass and a fizzing blossom of untapped power! Her body arches violently, thrusting her chest forwards as her eyes roll back into vacant white voids... And then, that energy whips back, like a band snapping crackling through her. A current forging a new path way through her violently, convulsing body! Her tits shake and bounce, as if moving to catch the string of frothy drool tailing down from her chin. Her legs quiver and hips slap against yours in lewd shudders. Yet you hold her, still trapped... "Urk.. grkk.. Nrrkkkk!"
Battle_Angel_Minerva: When while that vibrant pink energy hisses and sears through flesh and bone, your tail lands again. RIght on her waist with another sharp crack and shatter. This time the current sparks outward. Down her legs, across her sides... Like an electric current holding her prison to her own spasming muscle. The energy finds other gems. On her arms, her sides, even the collar that seems so much like heaven's cruel jest right now. You can see tear drops of energy rising off her twitching wings like steam, her halo flickering momentarily before lighting up again, as if power surge just passed through her system.... Yet it leaves Minerva heavy when the shudders pass. Her head droops forward, leaving her watching as your tail moves again...
Battle_Angel_Minerva: "ggaaagkkkk!" A veil of coiled pink masks what your doing almost as much as it masks her face from her watching sister. But she feels that slither and slow, careful path your tail takes. A shiver as it whisps over her peachy panties. A pulse of tensiont hrough her stomach as it that would give her lifting skirt somewhere to retreat to rather than simply, opening up like stage curtains of her piss soaked silks, moulded to hidden petals so scandalously. "nnnnn".... On it goes, pulling, ripping and parting her bodice. Revealing inch after inch of those sensious silks. Til they hang, dependant on you. Til you can see the angel wing brazaire supporting her plush, heavy breasts...
Nyrassa: As your head slips onto my shoulder, our eyes finally meet. It is not a meeting of equals, but a predator patiently observing her captured prey. My own eyes, glowing with a steady, infernal crimson, do not just watch the suffering in yours. They savor it. They dissect every minute tremor of your iris, every flicker of desperate hope that dies before it can fully form, every dilation of your pupil as a fresh wave of pain washes over you. And then, when the gemstones are destroyed, I see it. Your whole body convulses against me, a beautiful, shuddering seizure of release and ruin. The sight is so profoundly satisfying that a sharp, pleasurable thrill lances through me. I feel the sting of my own teeth as I bite down on my lower lip, the coppery taste of blood a perfect punctuation to the moment.
Nyrassa: Leaning in, my cheek brushing against the cooling sweat on your temple, I let my lips find the delicate shell of your ear. First, just the ghost of a touch, then a slow, teasing graze of my teeth, a lover's promise twisted into a predator's warning. "Shhh~" I murmur, the sound a vibration against your skin, hot and intimate. My breath, fever-warm, caresses the damp curve of your ear as I shape the words that are both a promise and a lie. "It will be over soon..." I pause, letting the ambiguity hang in the charged air between us before I finish, my voice dropping to a silken, malicious purr. "For one of us~". Then I finally turn my gaze to Seraphina. "Look, Seraphina" I taunt, my voice dripping with theatrical pity. "Look what will happen to your savior~" I say, feeling how the bird in my hands is finding it harder and harder to breathe.
Seraphina: A cold, razor-sharp dread, more profound than any pain my own wounds could produce, lances through my heart. My eyes stretch wide, drinking in a horror that threatened to unravel my very soul. The question echoes not in my mind, but in the hollow, breaking chamber of my chest: will my sister really die at the hands of this monster while trying to save me? A choked sob hitches in my throat as I watch the scene unfold, every detail etching itself into my memory with cruel clarity. "N-no! S-stop it!" My voice is a broken thing, scraped raw from screaming and despair. "Let her GO!" The plea is useless, a child's whimper against the thunderous injustice of the scene. But suddenly, seeing my savior in such a hopeless situation and hearing such horrific words from the demon, a new resolve, hard and desperate, solidifies within me. "N-NO! THE LIGHT MUST PREVAIL!" The declaration is a roar, shredding my vocal cords. Agony becomes a fuel. Gritting my teeth until I taste blood, I summon every atom of will. With a grinding effort that feels like tearing my own muscles from bone, I twist my mangled right arm, still pinned to the cross, until my bloodied, trembling palm faces you both. And the last remnants of my magic begin to concentrate in it...
Nyrassa: I stare into Seraphina's eyes, savoring the delicious cocktail of terror and despair swirling within them - a vintage I have cultivated with careful cruelty. It sustains me, sharpens the edges of my triumph. But then, something shifts. The familiar flavors sour and transmute. A new, bitter note rises to the forefront: defiance. What an annoying bitch! The thought is a snarl in my mind, my amusement curdling into immediate, scalding irritation. My observation is confirmed not a heartbeat later. Through the haze of my own gloating, I see it - a faint, stubborn glimmer sputtering to life in her bloodied palm. "Foolish angel! You're gonna hit your sis..." The faltering light in her hand solidifies, condenses, and launches. It is not a sunbeam, but a needle of desperate luminance. It cuts through the space between us, not as bright as it was during our battle, until finds its mark on my prey's right side. I brace for the scream, for the sizzle of celestial magic on celestial flesh. But it does not come. There is no wound, no cry of pain. The light simply... passes through her. It washes over her like harmless sunlight, seemingly even giving her strength, before catching up with me... "AAAaaaa!!" I scream from the burning pain in my right side and my grip instantly weakens. The force of the spell throws me off my prey, removing the support for her torn dress.
Nyrassa: I grimace in pain, holding myself in the air and clamping my left hand over the injury, pressing hard against the violation. The metallic scent of my own blood fills the air, and a warm, sickening stickiness instantly coats my palm, seeping between my fingers. The pain is a white-hot brand, but it is instantly buried beneath a rising tide of pure, unadulterated fury. My vision swims, not with tears of pain, but with a crimson haze of rage. It floods my eyes, narrowing my gaze to a razor-sharp point of hatred directed at the cross. "You fucking bird!" The roar tears from my throat, raw and guttural, a sound that seems to shake the very air around me. It's not just a shout - it's a vow of violence given voice. "Don't you dare interfere while I play with my prey!!" My attention snaps back to the pink one. And I see it - the released energy that had been writhing around her like a storm suddenly smooths and settles. It's your doing. That spell of yours. That only fuels my rage!
Nyrassa: Breathing through gritted teeth, I focus inward. Dark energy, cool and obedient, answers my call. It threads down my arm, pooling into the palm still pressed to my side. The sensation is not healing, not truly, but a profound and immediate suppression. The fiery agony recedes, buried under a glacial, numb calm. The bleeding slows to a seep. It's a stopgap, a temporary seal bought with shadow. All the better. Now I can focus. My attention returns to Seraphina. "It's time to make sure you never use that hand again!" I growl, the promise dripping with a cruel, surgical malice. I raise my right hand and a sinister, pulsating purple light ignites around my fingers, crawling up my wrist like ethereal violet flames. Responding to the summoning, the dagger I had earlier embedded in the cross quivers. With a sharp, grating shhhk, it wrenches itself free from the wood. It hangs there, suspended in mid-air, drops of congealed shadow drip from its blade, falling like tiny voids against the floor below.
Nyrassa: Like a maestro before a symphony of ruin, I glide my right hand to the left - a fluid, imperious command. The dagger, an extension of my will suspended in the air, obeys instantly. It streaks on a line of invisible force, halting with a quivering precision just before Seraphina's palm, the very hand from which that nasty light had so recently erupted. The blade hangs there, a poised and hungry shard of darkness, its point aimed at the center of angel's open palm. Without hesitation, my fingers curl inward, slow and deliberate at first, then crushing into a white-knuckled fist. The response is instantaneous. STAB! With a wet, percussive thunk, the dagger launches forward and buries itself to the hilt in her flesh. I unclench my fist, and the blade wrenches itself free with a sickening slurp, trailing a single, perfect arc of crimson as it retreats through the air. But not to rest. Only to reset. I clench again. STAB! Another puncture, a hair's breadth from the first. A twin well of red blossoms. And again. Stab! Her palm is a ruined mosaic of piercing wounds now. The rhythm takes hold, a grim and pounding staccato. Stab, stab, stab... No longer targeted, but rampant - stabby stabby stab! - each impact a punctuation mark in a sentence of pain I am writing across her body.
Nyrassa: My guiding hand rises, and the dagger ascends with it, following the pale road of her arm. From the meat of her palm to the delicate bones of her wrist. The vulnerable inside of her forearm. The tougher fascia of her elbow, which yields with a gruesome, popping resistance. Each plunge is deep, vengeful, a full commitment to the hilt. I feel each impact through the psychic tether, a jarring feedback of flesh and grating bone. Higher still. The slope of her upper arm offers little resistance. Finally, I arrive at the summit: the curve of her shoulder, where arm meets torso. One last, brutal thrust sends the blade deep into the deltoid, a final, anchoring spike of torment. The dagger halts there, vibrating with pent-up energy. My gaze, clouded by a red haze of pure rage, lifts from the mutilated arm to her neck. I guide the blade with a twitch of my finger, it now hovers beside the column of her throat. The air crackles with the promise of the killing stroke as I'm ready to swing my hand to the right in a single, terminal arc, and slit her throat.
To be continued...
Published: 2026-01-01, viewed 0 times.
Comments disabled.