Chapter 7: Conscendo (R-18)

Conscendo awoke on a sacrificial table, pain radiating from the points of impact on the back  of his head and tailbone. Blood, both dried and fresh, stained his pristine garb a sanguine hue.  Darkness threatened the edges of his vision, and the copper scent of spilled life overwhelmed his  nostrils.  

He hadn’t remembered blacking out, but he recognized regaining consciousness all the same.  After all, it wouldn’t be the first or last time he’d had his waking world stolen away. The pounding in his ears receded to the thud of a thousand staves. Dark incantations echoed  against the walls and bodiless screams slid down Conscendo’s spine in a cacophony of orchestral  horror. 

Recalling that he hadn’t been alone, he looked to his right. Bishop Hibram lay dead; body  mangled around a spike protruding from the ground. His face was contorted with agony,  frustration, and—what Conscendo had realized too late—guilt. No matter, Hibram was the least  of his worries. Now he was surrounded by necromancers with starved, reanimated corpses.  Ghostly apparitions that screamed in never-ending pain, and levitating women in tattered dresses  and whose hair flowed as if weightless. Banshees…those he at least remembered from the floor  where he’d met the Bishop. This… this was an entirely new hell. 

He took in his surroundings with slow precision. So long as the necromancers thought him  dead, he had a fighting chance. For what? To continue living? 

Conscendo pushed the thoughts away. He had to keep living. He had to help Margaretha.  That was his life’s work. To save her and repent for his misgivings. At least, that’s what he kept  telling himself. 

What escaped his purview were the eyes watching him in turn. A greater power more twisted  than Wolfchev and more dangerous than Regenschirm Laboratory observed Conscendo with its  omnipotent presence. The high priest’s soul had been ripped to shreds and reunited before. This  was something it could use to its advantage. A body that it could possess. Yes, he was perfect. 

While Conscendo carefully tested his limbs for breaks and tears, he felt a sudden weight  against his skin, pinning him to the table. 

“What…?” he murmured. The word rattled in his head and waves of pain shot through his  teeth.

“Hello, Conscendo.” A woman’s voice. No…not quite a woman. Younger. Regardless, the  voice cradled his thoughts and consumed his flesh. “It’s wonderful to meet you.” Before he could ask how this being knew his name, memories scrolled past his eyes with  dizzying speed. He’d seen his life flash before his eyes before, but this was something different.  Something invasive. She was forcing them out of him and reading it like a text. “Stop it!” he cried. He closed his eyes, wanted to scratch at them out with his fingernails so  he didn’t have to relive all of them again. But he was helpless to the penetration. “Oh, you’ve been naughty, haven’t you?” it laughed, lingering on the image of Conscendo  eating the heart of the one he loved most. “You normans are always so…interesting.” He didn’t know what to say. The high priest was desperate to escape both the weight of his  body and his misgivings. “What do you want?” 

“I want you to understand me. To be of the same mind. Let me care for you, Conscendo.” Care? Did he remember what that word meant? He thought he had cared for Margaretha and  he’d done such horrible things. Had she ever cared for him? The memories of their shared time  together surfaced from the deepest recesses of his mind. And it saw them all. “You would be in far better hands with me. I promise,” it said. 

“Who the hell are you?” Conscendo’s voice cracked.  

Margaretha pulling him from the corpses. Margaretha blindfolding him. Margaretha bringing  a mace down on his head. He was drowning. 

“I am the god of this place. The Abbey God, some call me,” it replied easily. “Don’t you  want to know the musings of a god?” 

“No, I don’t,” Conscendo protested between grit teeth. “Leave me be, Demon.” “Then at least we could be friends?” For a moment, it sounded lost; alone. Conscendo didn’t have time to consider the implications of its tone before he was bombarded  

with more images. The faces of those he murdered flashed one by one. Their brutal ends painted  in perfect clarity. His friend being sacrificed to Hibram. 

“What is it you stand for, Conscendo?” it asked while studying his memories with interest.  “It seems you want to save people, but you’ve hurt far more to get there.” He wanted to object, but a modicum of truth in her statement stopped him. What was it he  was fighting for?

The Valkyrie erasing his memories and granting him a new existence. Recovering them once  again. The searing pain of realization at what he’d done. 

“Stop,” he hissed through his teeth.  

“What was that?” He couldn’t tell if she was mocking him. 

His rasped breaths came from the intense weight on his chest. He couldn’t take it anymore.  There wasn’t a good answer to her question. Who did he think he was, anyway? What good had  he done anyone? “Do what you will. But just stop.” 

“Very well,” it giggled. “Let us begin.” 

The bombardment of memories ceased and Conscendo was offered a momentary respite. He  took a deep breath, and it was the last one he’d know for months. 

He was transported from the table to a holding cell. Cuffs snapped around his wrists and  ankles, binding him to the cold, stone wall. 

“Just a precaution. I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” it explained as if it were standard  procedure. “Nothing can touch you here. Though, they may watch…” 

As if on cue, a dozen eyes peered through the bars of his cell. Their malicious, hungry glow  seeped into his skin. He struggled against his binds and felt fragments of his dignity strip away  by the second. 

“They won’t hurt you, sweet,” the Abbey God whispered in his ear. 

Seven pairs of ethereal hands protruded from the walls, mapping the lines of his body, and  caressing his angular face. Conscendo shivered, immediately associating the incorporeal forms  as demonic and chastising himself for feeling any kind of pleasure from them.  But they were only just beginning. 

“You’re so beautiful,” the Abbey God commented while tracing the curve of his throat. “Let  me love you.” 

Two hands crept to the front of his top and tore it open, bearing his heaving chest. Two more  hands unfastened his pants and unzipped his fly, tearing them away. 

“Wait—” Conscendo protested. The hues of shame flared in his cheeks. A handful of the  necromancers laughed at his nudity. 

“It’ll be okay,” the Abbey God replied. 

Conscendo’s body was no longer his to command.

Another hand gripped his throat, cutting away all but a sliver of air, while its partner forced  two fingers into his mouth. Two more hands pulled at his hips, his bare skin connecting with  stone, and one bent to grasp his erect shaft. The rhythm of the fingers massaging his tongue  matched in time with the pumping of his cock. Conscendo choked back moans of pleasure—it  was so much at once. His fingers balled into white-knuckled fists and his wrists fought against  their binds. 

“You refuse yourself pleasure? Why?” the Abbey God sounded surprised. “There is so much  to receive.” 

Two more fingers parted his backside and slid into the yielding void. Conscendo cried out  against the fingers pressing against the back of his throat. Every orifice was consumed and  moving against him; inside him. His blood ran red-hot and rushed south where he was pushed  closer to climax with every movement. More hands grazed and fondled his thighs, his hips, his  abdomen. The one round his throat tightened and he gasped and coughed. Spit dribbled down his  chin and chest and all he could think about was not giving it what it wanted. Not submitting to a  demon. 

Yet…he already had, hadn’t he? 

“You agreed to this, Conscendo,” it said. Still invisible to him, it nibbled at his earlobe and  its hot breath encompassed his ear. “Give yourself to me.” 

The rough massaging against his prostate set him over the edge. His toes curled with the  orgasm and desperate, carnal sounds escaped his throat. The necromancers laughed; rough,  grating noises that bit into him as harshly as the Abbey God’s words. 

The hands continued. Pleasure turned to over-stimulation and Conscendo wanted to curl  away; disappear in the wall and never feel so defiled again.  

The Abbey God’s true intentions, however, were to rape, violate, and break him until he  served as the perfect vessel. It watched as the hands and fingers continued to prod, press, and  penetrate him without relief. 

Conscendo whined in the lull of his desperate moans, panted and hissed for air against the  digits in his mouth, and he came again against his will. And again. His back arched against the  stone. Energy left him with every peak.  

Lecherous hums from outside the cell rang in his ears. The Abbey God shared in his pleasure  and shared it with the inhabitants of the abbey. He was theirs to enjoy.

And there was so much more to share. 

Conscendo opened his eyes to see a sky of perfect blue. Soft grass lay beneath his arms and  legs and the sun was warm on his skin. 

“Are you sure about this?” A young man only a few years older than Conscendo leaned  above him on both hands. His face was blocked out by the sunlight behind him, blinding the high  priest. 

“Yes,” Conscendo heard himself say. But… his voice was distinctly female. And he hadn’t  intentionally consented. 

“Alright then.” He nodded. 

The grass didn’t just stop at his arms and legs. It brushed against his upper and lower back,  his neck, and his backside. He was naked. And so was his partner. 

No! He wanted to scream, but his lips were claimed by the young man. 

I just want to show you, the Abbey God’s words resonated inside his mind. Conscendo felt his thighs part—no, the young woman’s thighs—and something hard teasing  an opening he’d never had. Knots twisted his stomach and a cold fist clenched his heart. This  wasn’t him. This wasn’t his body. But he was feeling the nervous excitement and her heated core  as if it were his. Was this who he was all along? 

“I love you, Margaretha,” murmured the faceless man. 

Conscendo’s heart skipped. Oh my God. 

“I love you too, Seyren.” 

Seyren entered her in one smooth thrust of his hips. Conscendo experienced their joining as if  it were his own. The scent of Seyren’s musk returned when he leaned in to kiss her. This can’t be happening. This isn’t happening, Conscendo begged. 

See? She never loved you. You can let her go, came the reply.  

“I’m going to move now, okay?” Seyren said against her lips. 

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“All right.” 

This…ngh…this isn’t real! Conscendo’s thoughts were staggered by the tight rhythm  between his thighs. 

I found it inside your heart. It sounded perplexed as if the high priest should very well  remember this moment. Well, a heart at least. 

Margaretha’s heart.

Seyren’s pace quickened. Goosebumps broke across shared flesh. A mild breeze cooled the  thin sheen of sweat building on Margaretha’s skin. Conscendo fought against the pleasure of  feeling another person inside him. 

See how good she feels? Let her go, Conscendo. 

Conscendo’s gasps aligned with hers. His hips responded to every thrust. Margaretha’s  desires to feel Seyren deeper twisted with his own. He couldn’t connect the origin of his thoughts  versus hers anymore. 

I…can’t… 

“Hold back,” Margaretha finished the thought. 

Her body clenched and convulsed around Seyren and his groans harmonized hers. Conscendo writhed inside her, desperately attempting to clear this image, these sensations, that were  imprinted into his mind like a brand. 

She didn’t love me… 

Seyren vanished. The sky turned dark. No longer was he lying on the ground, but he was on  his feet. Nearby, a bonfire sent sparks into the evening sky. Amiable conversation drifted to his  ears. In his arms was a young woman with raven hair and sparkling eyes. She was the most  stunning person he’d ever laid eyes on. 

But… she wasn’t… was she? 

Let me share some of my memories. We can share everything, Conscendo. Just like this. They were dancing around the fire in time with music drifting from a three-person ensemble: a flute, a guitar, and a drum. He’d never remembered being happier. 

“You said you had something to tell me,” she said with a breathtaking smile. I did? Conscendo felt closer to this person than Margaretha. Perhaps it was a biological fit.  Perhaps it was the frenzied desire to experience a scene just like this. 

“So, what is it?” 

He wanted to marry her. That was it. He had to propose. Tonight was the night their  ancestors watched over them, after all. There wouldn’t be a more perfect moment. He’d saved up  enough to buy a ring with twin diamonds that represented their affections. She would love it. 

A blurred frame compromised his vision. She blended into the bonfire, into the surrounding  people. The music ceased from existence with a loud crack from the fire. Conscendo blinked.

When he opened his eyes, he was once again on his back, lying against hard stone. The blue  sky was marred with grey clouds and smoke. He could smell houses burning in the village. A  vulture stood beside his petite frame, chewing away at a clump of gore it had extracted. Pain had  long since given way to despair. There was nothing left. No one left. 

Lifting a hand, he found delicate fingers leading to an elegant wrist. 

A gold band with twin diamonds rested on the ring finger. 

She did everything for him. As I will for you, the Abbey God spoke. 

“Conscendo,” the name escaped the dying girls’ lips, barely above a whisper. Conscendo reeled. It was a trick. This wasn’t him. Or her. Who the hell was he? She? The vulture dipped its head, disappearing into the cavernous abdomen it had ripped apart. 

When it resurfaced, it had found a new, longer piece of entrails to feast upon. Why won’t I die? Why can’t I die?! 

The high priest couldn’t discern her thoughts from his. 

The smoke-ridden sky shifted to pure blue. The scent of fires evaporated, and the houses  returned to pristine condition. Clear water lapped at the sand surrounding the island and gulls  called from overhead. Peace settled around his heart. He took a deep breath of the salty air and  relaxed. A second chance at life. All his transgressions forgotten and forgiven. He would begin  anew. 

He could begin anew. 

He blinked again. 

The sounds of the abbey returned. The stone was cold on his naked back. While the hands  had gone, the glowing eyes outside of the cell remained. Had he returned to his shell? Was this  really his? Which reality was the correct one? 

“Conscendo,” a woman stood before him, hands open at her sides. Long blonde hair swayed  with her hips. The ivory skin of her face and throat was a stark contrast to her black, velvet dress, and green lipstick. She spoke with the Abbey God’s voice and Margaretha Sorin’s body. 

Conscendo quivered beneath the binds. His torn identity struggled to piece together the sense  of self he thought he’d had a handle on. This was just another abused memory, just another trick.  He would wake up again and the hands would resume their ministrations. Anything was better  than seeing Margaretha again. 

“Conscendo, it’s me. I won’t hurt you,” she spoke again.

Conscendo blinked. Nothing changed. He squeezed his eyes tightly closed until tears escaped  the corners. She was still standing there when he reopened them. 

“Who…am I…to you?” he choked on the words. If he couldn’t decipher who he was to  himself, maybe she could answer it for him. 

“Someone I love.” She approached him and released the binds on his wrists and ankles. “Someone I want to share my life with.” 

A new beginning. 

His knees shook with the effort to stand and she guided him to the floor. 

“Will you let me in?” she asked. 

“Yes.” 

She tugged the hem of her dress up around her hips and straddled him at the waist. Despite  everything he’d witnessed and been subjected to, Conscendo found the desire to fuck her  overwhelming. The one thing he could have control of. 

When their hips connected, Conscendo bucked deep inside of her, his fingers digging into her  soft thighs. The pleasure wrought with pain drew a manic laugh from his lips. Yes, he could love  a demon. He couldn’t place himself on a higher pedestal. She’d shown him as much. 

His grip on her legs tightened and he held her in place while he thrust his frustrations,  confusion, and guilt into her body. She was a tight fit and he yearned to take advantage of every  inch of her skin. 

“That’s good,” she moaned, hands exploring the length of his chest. 

Conscendo snatched her wrists and held them at her sides behind her knees. Her back arched  and her eyes closed. Any form of control he could take from her, he did. Her cries rang in his  ears and the heady groans of the onlookers said she was sharing their pleasures once more. 

Conscendo’s fingernails bit deep into her skin with his climax. His breathing hitched and an  adrenaline-fueled high shot through his veins. She allowed him a moment to catch his breath  before slipping her hands away from his grip and leaning forward. 

“I love you.” She claimed his mouth before he could reply. 

She parted his lips with her tongue and dove deep into the back of his throat. Then it kept  going. Thick, viscous liquid dribbled down his throat, into his chest, into his lungs. He couldn’t  breathe. The overflow of the black fluid poured over the corners of his mouth. The sickening snaps of bone and sinew could be heard from any cell in the abbey, and oh so familiar pain  wracked his limbs. 

I can’t breathe! I can’t— 

---

Consciousness returned to Conscendo. He felt rejuvenated, alive. 

“Hello Conscendo,” the Abbey God spoke. 

Yes. Yes, with her, he could do anything.  

Anything he wanted.

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