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and moved back to his throne chair next to the choir pews and closed his eyes and smiled and let the angelic music wash over him. Damien Handlanger knew the instant when the setting had changed inside the church. Damien saw all; indeed, Damien planned and maneuvered most of what would happen in the village of Uberusel over the coming days. He gave the natural unveiling of his greater scheme time enough to become established and then he rose from his pew and slipped out at the side and crept through the door into the sacristy. His timing had been perfect, as he knew it would be. He had timed it all from the moment he looked up beyond the altar and saw the priest’s throne empty and the new chorister’s position vacant. Camael, naked and marble skinned, was laying on his back on the table where the elements were prepared. His legs were spread wide, his toes daintily pointed, a beatific smile on his face. And the old Priester Ansavindo, his Cossack drawn up around his waist, was bent over Camael’s perfectly formed lithe torso, moving his

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pelvis between those daintily drawn-out legs, and babbling in Latin over his good fortune of dipping his surprisingly hard stick in the young angel’s sweet honeypot. Camael was not resisting in any way; indeed, he was moving his hips in rhythm with the priest’s, digging his finely manicured fingers into the old man’s shoulders, and urging him on with talk of what a melting man he was—how much Camael melted at having him moving inside him. Without a sound, Damien untied his cod piece and let the flap fall and his monstrous tool flop out. Three shakes and he was prepared for anointing. He slipped in behind the priest, grabbed the old bugger with a tight grip of both hands at his neck, reared back his hips and spiked the priest’s asshole in one long tearing plunge that lifted the old man off Camael. The two older men reeled around the room in a macabre dance, the priest totally unable to shake off his assaulter and invader, as Damien’s superhuman cock had the priest fully and deeply skewered. Priester Ansavindo gurgled in choking ton

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es, the fingers on his neck sizzling with branding heat, and danced, feet off the ground, as the taller, stronger man forced his cock up into the priest’s intestines and began filling him with possessing venom until the priest felt it burble in the back of his throat. Finished, Damien pushed the old man off his cock in a gesture of disgust, and the priest fell in a moaning heap at his feet. As this transpired, Camael sat up on the edge of the table and smiled his beatific smile down on the priest with an attitude that said all was right with the world. After he’d taken his hands away from the priest’s neck and let his body sink to the floor, Damien towered over his prey. He saw with satisfaction the branding marks of his fingers on the priest’s neck and knew that the priest was his now. To prove it, with Priester Ansavindo now clutching at his boots, Damien gave him a cruel kick and turned to Camael and said, Dress. We depart now. No, the priest moaned. No. Do not leave me. I must have your cock again. Damien obliged him, just to

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be sure. Control of the priest was important. As the priest moaned in combined fear and wanting, Camael jumped down of the table and started clothing himself. Damien lifted the priest from the floor and forced him belly down on the table top and, his four heavy-hanging balls quickly rejuvenating, entered him once more, strongly and deeply. He pumped the priest at greater length now, giving him two gasping ejaculations before Damien filled him once again with the venom that would make him forget all but what Damien wanted him to remember—that whatever Damien wanted, the priest wanted for him as well. Perhaps it was good to start there, Damien said to Camael as they prepared to return to the church service in what seemed to be an eternity of life-changing fucking for the now-branded priest but was bare moments for those taking mass out in the sanctuary. These villagers are such a tediously gullible lot. The church is a major institution here. For my plan to succeed, I must not only neutralize but also master the church here. Back in

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the Burgermeister’s house, dinner completed, and the four burly workman summoned to Damien’s rooms and half insensitive with liquor, Damien gave each, in turn, a few never-to-be-forgotten blissful moments dipping in Camael’s sweet honeypot in the young angel’s chamber, and an eternity of total, splitting, stomach-reaching possession by Damien’s manhood as they choked on Damien’s neck branding and were enlisted into eternity by the calming venom of his deeply planted seed. By the end of the evening, Handlanger had enlisted the four mainstays of his plans for the people of Swabia. brHere it is, the story you’ve all been waiting for!!! The collaboration of Gweall and Kitten2010. BOW DOWN TO OUR GREATNESS!!! 🙂 Not to be arrogant or anything *Cough*… It to SO much work to get this story done (you have NO idea) and I have to give a huge thanks to Kitten for putting up with me. Message from Kitten: Sorry for the mix up, and yes there will be more from me just not for a few months at least ): The rest of this doesn’t matter, just read

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it if you want some more info: We put in a lot of long hours (So many late nights ._. and she’s two hours ahead of me so I feel bad for her haha) and I’m sure a lot of headaches for our lovely editor (Golf claps for Gbc5452 for putting up with both of us) This story takes place in the same world as my series like ‚Wings of Gray‘, ‚Things Change‘, and ‚Revolution‘ (Which I will finish eventually…) This is BEFORE WoG and TC but around the same time as Revo. Feel free to read her version or mine, don’t matter. And we MIGHT (I know we both want to but we both have busy lives) Do another chapter of this (Different characters but still a chapter in the chronicles) I’ll keep yalls posted. I hope you enjoy this as much as we did writing it, and of course I’ll be the feedback troll: FEED MEH YOUR COMMENTS OM NOM NOM!!!! Get to readin‘ y’all! From Gbc5452: Sweet lord in heaven…the number of time I had to correct spots where the space bar had been tapped twice…lol ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Mason walked on the cold concrete floor and felt the gra

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vel cling to his feet. His tail was a few inches off the ground and the thin leather skin that formed his wings ran up his tail and attached to his arms. The extra bones that had grown to fill his wings when he had started his mutation were hollow and thin, but strong enough to support him if he chose to fly. The sound of the chains around his ankles sent shivers up his spine. He could feel the sharp teeth in his mouth and his ears twitched and turned with every sound. Move it, Dracula. One of the handlers pushed passed him. Mason scowled at his back. Yeah, cause I haven’t heard that one before. Mason rolled his eyes. You say something? The guard turned around and switched on the cattle prod they used to keep the infected in line. No. Mason growled. Good. The guard turned and walked off. Mason was sick of the vampire jokes, leave it to him to get the traits of a bat. Mason arrived at what the hybrids had come to call ‚The Doctor’s Office‘, The clean room was filled with different tools and devices designed to harvest rare (and ver

y much valuable) parts from the hybrids. Every month Mason was brought to the eerily white room to have his brown soft fur shaved and sold. Hybrid bat fur was rare and expensive for it’s soft feel and durability. Unlike most furs, it was best shaved rather than pelted. Pelted hybrid fur was taboo, since hybrids were still genetically similar to humans. People would pay thousands of dollars for it, many royalty across the world would pay to have clothing made with the precious fur on an almost weekly basis if they could. Others would use it in ceremonies and other important events. Mason didn’t mind being shaved, the fur was hot. As the creepy nurse in the white mask began shaving the soft fuzz from his chest and arms, Mason went with the motions rather than fight back. Fighting would only result in the cattle prod, and after the first few haircuts he’d much rather let them shave him bald. After half an hour of clearing his body of any hair, he was sent back to the holding cell. His body was hairless again and he thought he looked

weird with his naked ears and brown wings. He glared at the guard ahead of him. He hated the escorts they were forced to endure, honestly whoever would have thought that after the camps an underground black market would open up. Dozens of Infected had bee

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