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  1. Warning: This story contains blood, gore, death, violence, and Witches. I am not going to put a trigger warning for every bit of violence in the story, but I'll still give out trigger warnings for really heinous things. This whole story has a violence/blood/gore trigger warning. It's not my usual sweet, kind, loving, romantic fare. It's a dystopia. Chapter One The moon hung full and bloated above the city skyline. It was late August and the silvery light was washed out in the thick haze and noise and steady burn of the citylights, but Rachel didn't need blackness or moonlight to finish her job. She was a consummate professional in that regard - get in, get it done, get out without a trace. She was a mystery, the boogeyman for monsters, and in her world the best way to banish monsters was to be a worse one. There. Finally, movement in the window. Rachel shifted slightly, one eye pressed to her scope and chewed her lower lip in quiet contemplation. Sarah Trippoli had a schedule, a routine - stupid for a mob boss, but Sarah had grown decadent and lazy in her old age - one that Rachel had full intentions of taking advantage of. She'd drop her keys in the bowl by the door, kick off the Manolo Blahniks, shimmy out of her bra, and let her hair down. Literally. Her white hair would cascade over her shoulders, she'd breathe a visible sigh of relief, and the White Witch of Winchester would cross her penthouse to turn on her gas fireplace, flip on some jazz, and pour herself the first glass of sherry before ordering her nightly meal. Rachel tensed all her muscles and then released them in order as Sarah moved through her routine. She slowed her heartbeat, relaxed as deeply as she could, and blinked slowly through her scope. When her finger squeezed the trigger it was as it always was - Rachel wasn't Rachel anymore, she was the infamous Witchhunter, and her job was nearly done. When Sarah toppled, Rachel should have been up and out - breaking down her rifle and escaping. Strip off the mottled black clothing, stuff it into the garbage bag with her hat and shoes, ready to dump in the donation bin at the end of the alley. Beneath, she had a much more unassuming outfit, something a human who wasn’t part of the Resistance would wear - a slinky silver shirt and a red skirt that was currently rolled up around her waist above the skintight black pants like a belt. She'd drop it, slip on the sandals she had laying beside her on the tarpaper roof, and shake out her own red hair. She'd stash her gun at the drop point and vanish into the crowd. She’d walk casually, blending in with all the others who lived under the thumb of the Witches. Like any other job. Like every other job. Except she hesitated for a bare second longer than normal, her eye pressed to the scope. The Witch dropped. Fine. Dandy. Normal. But then a flash, a light turning on. Two windows over. Sarah had the penthouse and she lived alone. Oh shit, is there someone there?! A maid? Fuck! Witches broke apart about two hours after death. All that was ever left was ash and grease. Rachel was always extremely careful about timing her jobs so that the Witch in question was alone and would be for the rest of the night. Otherwise everyone and their Familiar would be scrambling over the body, trying to figure out what was going on, who did it, etc. Messy, in other words. "Fuck," Rachel breathed, holding a hand to her forehead as she watched. Oh god, I fucked up bad. Bad-bad-super-bad. Faye was confused by the sound in the other room - it was a bang and a thump. Something in the back of her mind, what was left of her mind, told her that it was a bad sound, a scary sound, that she should run... but the thought was fuzzy and distant. The red glow that held her leash to the wall had disappeared, letting the thin chain drop to the ground the same way it did when she was released. She waddled over to the door, the crinkle of every step destroying the silence of the empty room as she pushed the switch up the same way the white-haired woman did. The lights came on with the same magic they always did, filling the room with the brightness of daylight even though the sun had long set. Faye remembered the sun vaguely, that it made her skin feel warm just by being in its light, not the same as the magic light of this place. Her leash made a soft scratching sound as it dragged on the floor, the rings on her cuffs tinkling as she pushed the door open. "Owner?" she called softly. "Mommy?" She wasn't sure which word she was supposed to use here, the rules were all so confusing. There was a draft in the room, a chill, and the hairs on her arms stood up as her nipples grew pointy and hard. It was uncomfortable but she wasn't sure what she was supposed to do about it. The woman whose face occupied nearly every memory she had lay lifeless on the ground, blood seeping from a hole in her forehead. That wasn't supposed to be there, she was sure of it. Faye felt her bladder release into the waiting padding taped around her. Her Owner liked that, praised her for it. Faye hoped that it would help her get up. The Whisper thrilled at her lack of control and she felt a wave of pleasure rush through her body as the diaper grew warm around her. She walked as best she could to her Mommy, falling to her knees beside her, nudging her gently. This woman, her Owner, her Mommy, was her entire life. Every moment was either spent in the box, or the cage, or the dark room... except when she was with her Owner. Learning. Feeling. "I exist only to serve you," she said quietly, gently shaking her Owner. "How may I serve you?" Why was she asleep now? She stuck to her allowed words, she had learned quickly that her Owner did not appreciate deviation. As she watched the blood creep across the floor, licking at her knees, she felt some of the woman's magic let go... the muddled and murky memory of meeting her Owner for the first time came to her. She had been a servant of some kind, offering food... she had been wearing clothes then, so it was different than now, but she had apparently always been a servant. How she had come home with her Owner, though she couldn't remember why, she just remembered that she had always been unable to refuse the woman. She remembered the knife cutting away her clothes. Remembered her own blood being spilled as the magic took hold and hollowed out a place inside her soul, a place where the Whisper now lived, a part of her. Nothing existed before serving Mommy that night, and the memories that followed were a mix of intense, mind-bending pleasure and terrifying, agonizing pain. Pleasure when she pleased her Mommy, pain when she angered her Owner. She knew she was stupid, her Owner had told her that so many times. But she knew that she was sweet, her Mommy had told her that just as many. The Whisper loved both the pleasure and the pain. Even in the agony, she felt its joy... but nothing made it - and thus her - feel as good as serving, following her Owner's wishes, being her Owner's toy. "Owner," she whispered to the rapidly cooling corpse, not understanding why she didn't respond the way she always did, "I want to please you. How may I please you?" Rachel looked around the scope, just to make sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her before looking through it again, watching the small blonde girl. She moved tentatively, timidly, but she walked straight for the White Witch’s corpse. It didn’t make sense. Sarah had never had a familiar. Not in seventy years of torturing and killing, of kidnapping and abusing. But there she was, sure enough. A tiny blonde thing, wearing a collar and leash, cuffs, a diaper and nothing else. Brand new, or she wouldn't need the leash. How did I fuck up this job so bad, she moaned inwardly. Of course, it wasn't entirely her fault - the Winchester Witch-bitch had been vocally disdainful of Familiars for decades. Any Witch who needed a Familiar was a lesser Witch - Sarah's opinion had been well known. This, of course, ignored the fact that many Witches kidnapped or purchased Familiars for reasons other than power, but so far as the vicious mob boss had been concerned, power was the end-all, be-all. Problem was... Familiars were helpless. Most of the time they were enslaved humans magically turned Little - it made them easier to control and abuse and hollow out. Others were natural born Littles - nobody was sure when Littles had first started appearing in the human population - they were mostly human, just smaller, more naturally docile. They had big eyes and big hearts and they rarely grew above four feet. A Little being born to a family was a bittersweet event - they almost never remained free through adulthood… more often than not they were sold to the Witches by the family. It could be seen as a blessing. Though Rachel didn’t see it that way. On very rare occasion, Rachel had seen a Familiar from the Other Place - the incubi, the succubi, the cherubs and ishim - but they were expensive and difficult to control, few Witches could deal with it. They were powerful, sure - Rachel had a scar on her left leg from a fight with a succubus - but challenging for any but the most experienced of Mages. If the Familiar Rachel spied through her scope had been one of those she could've happily packed up and left, not giving the Familiar a second thought. A powerful Familiar would eventually figure out a way out of its own bondage without a Witch constantly checking in and keeping them in line. A Little, however... Groaning, Rachel rose to her knees and began breaking down her rifle. She'd have to figure out a way to sneak into the highest security building in the fucking city, get up to the penthouse without a key, somehow break open undoubtedly warded door, and then... steal the Familiar? Rescue her? And then what? Deliver her to Oliver and his crew - or someone else who could take care of her, Rachel supposed. There was hope for a rescued Familiar, depending on how bad the damage was. They could live normal-ish lives… in hiding. If this girl had been fully human once, there was no hope of undoing the transformation, but as long as she was still new... The Familiar was kneeling over the dead body, a heartbreakingly confused expression on her face. Yep. Definitely new. Still new enough that she had some sense of self left, at least. A better Familiar - one who'd been ground into unthinking obedience already - wouldn't have left their room. Wouldn’t have turned on a light. Wouldn't have moved without the Witch's say-so. Would've died of dehydration before shifting an iota. What the Witches did to those poor souls was unforgivable. "Damn it all to hell," Rachel cursed and shimmied her skirt down, dropping her “street” clothes into the donation bag rather than her stealth outfit. This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. If she had any fucking sense she'd let the girl starve. Why in the fuck was she risking her neck to rescue... No. She knew why. "I'm an idiot," Rachel sighed and finished changing. Oh well, if I get caught I had a good run, right? All I have to do is get past two dozen lesser Witches, goons, and assembled assholes and then figure out a way to kidnap a Familiar who may or may not be suicidal. Sure. No problem. Easy peasy.
  2. Hey guys. This is my first attempt at a story. Not sure how exactly it's gonna turn out. But I figured there was only one way to learn how to write stories & that's by writing. Any constructive feedback you can give will be welcome & appreciated. So then, without further ado… Angel Hunter Chapter I 5:37am Ugh! Why am I awake at Five-thirty in the Goddamned morning on my day off? Normally I sleep like a rock on Saturday. Was it something I ate? Well, best not to dwell on it I guess. Maybe I'll make up for it by staying in bed an extra hour or so. “Arise, mortal.” Now if I didn't know any better, I'd think I just heard someone say “Arise, mortal” right next to me. But that's just plain ridiculous! I must still be dreaming. Yeah, that would explain why I'm awake so- “GET UP!” I shot up in my bed and looked towards the source of the command. What I saw defied all logical explanation. Standing there in my doorway was the form of a woman. Her body was pitch-black from head to toe. But what caused my blood to run cold with terror was her glowing red eyes staring me down. There's a demon in my bedroom. “Fear not. I do not wish you harm.” Well that takes a load off of my mind. But it does beg the question: why is there a demon in my bedroom? “I am here because I require your assistance.” So she can read minds too? “Yes I can.” “Stop reading my mind!” I immediately clamped my hand over my mouth. I just yelled at a demon in my bedroom! I was fully expecting her--I mean It--to pounce on me and tear me to pieces for lashing out. But it just stood there staring at me. Her head cocked slightly as if she found my outburst intriguing rather than infuriating. We just stared at each other for another long, terror-filled moment before she spoke again. “Well? If you wish to speak your mind then do so. I do not have all night!” Huh? Oh! Right. I told her to stop reading my mind so she's waiting for me to speak. Are demons normally this accommodating? “uh, what are you doing here?” I asked with more than a little trepidation. “I need you to look after my host.” Well, that answered one question. And raised about a dozen more. “Your host?” She sauntered into the room and only then did I realize how much she reminded me of the Enchantress from that Suicide Squad movie. Not sure if that makes her more or less terrifying. “This body belongs to a woman named Julia. When I release her she will be too weak to move or speak. I could just leave her in an alley somewhere, but I think you would agree that this is a much better solution. Unless, of course, you wish to see harm come to an innocent woman?” “what? No! Of course not! It's just,” it's just that this situation is completely insane! It's just that I'm not in the habit of helping demons! Come on, say something! “Why me?” She stepped up in front of me. I tried not to react but my body had other plans. I instinctively leaned back & shut my eyes tight as she approached. “all in good time, Luc.” she placed her hand under my chin and gently turned my head so I would be forced to look into her eyes if I opened mine. Suddenly her hand clamped around my throat. My eyes went wide with shock & I was forced to look into her fiery gaze. “But know this, Luc,” she said sternly, “If you should find yourself tempted to take advantage of her in her helpless state, I shall be forced to manifest myself again.” She leaned in close. Her face inches from mine. “And you will know the fullness of my wrath!” With that she released her grip on my throat. I gasped for breath as she nonchalantly sauntered back into the center of the room and laid herself down on the carpet. Before my very eyes she began to transform. The first thing I noticed were patches of pink flesh as the blackness of the demons skin (or scales. It was too dark to really tell) started fading away. The second thing I noticed was her jet-black hair returning to its natural blond. In mere seconds the transformation was complete. And where there had once been a terrifying demon now lay a beautiful, normal-looking girl. Eyes closed. Breathing steady as if she were in deep slumber. That's when I noticed a third thing: She was completely naked. I looked away as a reflex. The demon’s final warning now making a lot more sense. Had she been naked the whole time? Given the circumstances I suppose it's possible I could've missed that little detail. My thoughts were interrupted when the girl's eyes suddenly opened and she started gasping and wheezing as if she'd just nearly drowned. I jumped out of bed and rushed to her side. Kneeling down beside her, I started saying anything I could think of to try to calm her down. “It's okay Julia. I'm here. Nobody's going to hurt you. The demon is gone. She won't be coming back. Just breath normally. You're safe here.” Eventually her gasping devolved into sobbing. Tears began flowing down the sides of her face like rivers of pain and sorrow. Well that's hardly an improvement! I knelt there for what must have been several minutes stroking her hair & telling her everything was going to be all right. When she finally started to calm down I decided that it would be best for both of us if she were clothed. So I went over to my dresser & got out a pair of gym shorts & a T-shirt. It'll have to do. I started with the shirt. Have you ever tried to put a shirt on a completely limp body? I do not recommend it. Through some miracle I was finally able to get it on her. Well that's half her modesty preserved. I moved to her lower body and that's when I discovered that the carpet underneath her thighs was soaking wet. How did I discover that in a dark room you ask? Simple: I accidentally stuck my damn hand in it of course! At first I thought I must be mistaken. Surely she wouldn't… All it took was a quick sniff of my hand to confirm my suspicions. She peed all over my floor! I gave her a quizzical look. Which only elicited more sobbing. Not good. I wasn't angry at her or anything. Just a little confused. The demon said she wouldn't be able to move or speak. It didn't say anything about this! Now she's crying again. “shh it's okay. I'm not mad. You've had a rough night. These things happen.” damn. If this is what demon possession does to you I might have to start going to church again! Once I got her mostly calmed down again I went to the bathroom & got a wet rag. The carpet would have to wait. Right now I need to get Julia cleaned and dressed. I moved her away from the wet spot and proceeded to wipe down her legs and crotch. I had imagined many scenarios involving a naked woman in my room. But I had never imagined anything like this! Once I was pretty sure she was clean I grabbed the pair of gym shorts and slid them up over her legs. As I suspected putting pants on her turned out to be much easier than the shirt. Now that she's fully clothed I… I… hmm… What do I do now exactly? The demon had instructed me to “look after” Julia. I guess really the only thing I can do now is try to make her as comfortable as possible. “All right, Julia,” I said to her, “I'm going to put you to bed. I'm sure you could use some sleep after what you've been through.” I was trying to gage her reaction. But she didn't even act like she heard me. Her eyes were vacant; devoid of all feeling. Had I not known better I would've guessed she were stoned out of her mind. Yeah, sleep sounds like the best thing for her right now. I went over to my bed. Briefly wondering if the couch would be a safer option. She did just piss herself after all. No, I'm sure it was a one time thing. Probably happened the moment she woke up. However, just to be on the safe side I went into the bathroom & laid a towel under where her butt would be. An ounce of prevention… I picked her up--no small feat mind you--and laid her on the bed. “alright Julia. I need you to try to get some sleep okay? If you need anything just,” just what, moron? “just, I dunno, let out a cry or something. I'll try to remain within earshot. But even if you can't manage that I'll make sure to check on you fairly often, okay? Now just close those little eyes…” she closed her eyes and after another minute or so her breathing started to settle. I gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Good girl.” I said before covering her up and going back out to the bathroom to try and find something to clean the carpet. What the literal hell have I gotten myself into?