#demonic corruption

Accepting His offer

Paladin -> Demon

The powers of Good are such a fickle thing. You have to truly believe in them with all your heart...

But what happens when a demon has entered your heart and soul? Poor Paladin. Nothing to draw strength from. Now just a warrior like any other, and to a Demon, as open as any other.

But worry not. The Demon will protect and smother him with pleasures and delights mortals cannot comprehend... until the end of time.

All your life you'd only ever wanted one thing, to become a battle sister, just like the women who raised you your whole life.

For the longest time you believed that door closed to you, you weren't any of the things a normal Sister of Battle was, not tutored in the Schola Progenium, not a child of nobility, not even a girl, at least biologically.

What you were, was Canoness Zetra’s pet project. A child she took under her wing seventeen years ago during the War of Seminias VIII, the only conflict the small moon you've spent your entire life on has ever seen. One in which only you and the Canoness were the only survivors. Since then, she has taught you everything a sister needs to know in matters of both faith and battle.

“It is time.” She says to you one evening as you sit in silent prayer. “You are ready. Come with me.”

You nod and follow as she leads you to the deepest part of the convent. To the one place you have never before been allowed to go. To the very thing the convent was built to guard. For, preserved in its most inner sanctum, is a weapon once wielded by the Emperor of Mankind himself.

You enter the chamber, in its center lies an altar draped in a red cloth, atop which rests a dagger made of silver so brilliant it seems to shine with a light all it's own.

“Here, my daughter, you will embrace the destiny our most benevolent God has laid out for you these past seventeen years.” The Canoness says, taking the blade with reverence before turning to you. “Will you give yourself to Them?”

You nod.

“Then approach the altar, child.” She commands.

You comply, standing before her, filled with excitement but remaining as calm as you can.

“To give yourself to our God, you must cast off your shame.” The Canoness says, taking the blade to the neck of your habit and slowly, carefully slicing down until it all falls away leaving you nude before her. “Good. Next, you must prove your devotion, lay upon the altar, face down.”

You comply, even with the red velvet beneath you, you can feel the cold stone of the altar below.

Slowly the Canoness begins to scrape the blade across your back. You can feel it's unnatural sharpness keenly though it never breaks your skin, instead, you realise the blade is shaving you.

Eventually once she has shaved every part of your back the Canoness stops and a new sensation replaces the blade, a pen. The Canoness is making some sort of inscription on your back, though what you can't possibly tell, even if you could see, you were never taught to read high gothic, only to memorize the chants and hymns.

Once she is done with the inscription on your back she moves to your arms and legs, shaving them, then wrapping them in inscribed parchment that she seals to your body with hot wax. It's the first part of the process that has hurt but, thinking only of the god-emperor you power through, making no noise as the seal presses the hot wax into your skin over and over.

Next she flips you onto your back, removing the red velvet beneath you now and allowing the dry inscription on your back to lie against the cold altar.

“You have done excellently, my daughter.” The Canoness smiles down at you, a rare expression from your stern adoptive mother, one you've learned to treasure, “There will be more pain yet, but you will emerge from the other side everything I always dreamed you could be.”

Your heart wants to sing with joy, but you do not want to disappoint her at this last moment so instead you steel yourself. “I am ready.” You say.

“Begin the recitations.” She says as she once more picks up that most holy dagger.

You begin to chant as the blade cuts into the flesh between your navel and penis. The sting of the cut shoots through your body, but you hold steady and continue to speak those words that were drilled into you all your life.

O magni dii stellarum, quaeso accipite hoc vas sponte offertum ad implendum promissum duarum decenniorum praeteritorum.

The blade cuts a precise curve upwards over your belly as you chant, doing your best to block out the plain.

Hoc vas vestrum est ad servandum, vestrum ad mutandum, sit vas sororibus amissis, earum desiderium fluat sicut flumen per illud.

The curve is joined by a second arching in a perfect mirror in the other direction. Picturing it in your mind you can see it clearly, an imperial aquilla reduced to it's most simple shapes.

O princeps obscurus, o mutator viarum, in nominibus vestris haec filia terrae iterum resurgat ut angelus salutis vestrae.

The blade cuts you a final time as the Canoness, your mother, teacher, and hero, stabs it though your belly button. Searingly hot pain like nothing you've ever felt before shoots through you as the very blade itself seems to dissolve into you.

Writhing in pain you grab the hilt of the blade and try to pull it out, but there is no give. Every muscle in your body spasms and you fall to the ground. Desperately you search for the Canoness only to catch a solitary glimpse of her beginning to doff her golden power armour as your vision fills with swirling purples and blues and pinks.

You are being changed. You can feel it, a cacophony of pain as bones reshape and muscles break and mend. Your mind too is being broken and reshaped, your memories fracture and reform as contradictory tales.

On the other side your vision clears. More than clears, it sharpens, widens, you blink and feel six eyes close and open. You pull yourself up off the ground with two arms as a third casually pulls the sacred dagger from your chest, tossing the now inert dull blade across the room.

Your eyes turn to the Canoness, naked and prostrated before you. Zetra, your mother, your sister, your lover. She is all these things to you. After all you are no longer one, you are three now. You can feel them two souls bound to you, fused with you. The souls inside the blade. They are you now just as much as you are.a

“Zetra.” Your voice says, the first word of this new being you have become the common point of the three who became it.

She looks up at you with adoration. “My lady.”

A complicated mix of emotions runs through you as you look at her, betrayal and disgust and joy and hunger and every kind of love you know. But overwhelming them all the simple gift of the Dark Prince who had a hand in shaping you.

Lust.

It's a feeling new to the part of you that was there before but now the idea is in your head, there is simply no denying it. Your rock solid dick twitches in the air as you grab her, pull her to her feet and bend her over the altar. All the while she puts up no resistance. She knew this was coming. She was counting on it.

You thrust inside her, going to her deepest part all at once. Your hands grab her, one at the hip holding her steady, one in her hair wrenching her head back, one on her neck choking her.

With her exactly as you want her, your hips begin to pound her mercilessly quickly bringing you all to a mutual climax.

But your dick does not soften and you do not pull out; instead you continue to pound and pound, having orgasm after orgasm, each time letting out so much hot ejaculate that it spills out of her into a recessed stone drain that surrounds the altar.

Eventually she goes limp and even then you do not stop until you reach your next climax which you deliver with one final slam, before letting her unceremoniously drop to the ground.

“Drink.” You command, placing a foot on the back of her head and forcing her mouth into the gutter.

She obeys, eagerly lapping up your demonic cum until none remains.

“Good.” You smile, grabbing her by the hair once more and hoisting her up to face you. “You have served me well, you shall be rewarded.”

in honour of my 666th post on this blog i think you all deserve some devillish porn

[corruption]

“So the deal is this: you make me happy and desirable, and in exchange you get my soul.” I try to keep the tremor out of my words while speaking to the demon before me. There is some fuckery with perspective which I cannot pin down. He is either large and imposing and right here with me in this liminal space, or larger than mountains and communing with me from a great distance. His form seems carved from burning coals, dark and slick as obsidian in places and glowing with dull yet potent red-orange heat in others. He is terrifying, but I stand my ground and fight every instinct to turn and run. I look down at my simple, plain self, overlooked and sad in a life lacking purpose. Thoughts of who and what I was before this moment only fuel my conviction.

“It is amenable,” the demon replies in a voice that surrounds and rattles me. His hand reaches toward me and I feel a vertigo with the motion. Maybe he is both next to me and far away at the same time, and my feeble human brain just can’t parse that.

My hand slowly starts to reach up to seal this faustian bargain, feeling like it is moving through honey. “I suppose you’re going to make me commit all sorts of sins,” I say as casually as I can. I am committed, there is no turning back. The thought of making small talk with the demon who in moments will own my soul is amusing to me. “Maybe even have me birth some horrors on earth,” I add with a chuckle, trying and at least to my ears failing to sound flirtatious.

“Sin is a human concept,” his voice replies like the slow, deliberate shift of tectonic plates. “My kind have no use for it. And I shall not make you do anything. That is outside the scope of this agreement.”

I almost laugh hearing that. The assurance of this demon calms the last of my nerves as my hand makes contact. A flash of light immediately takes my vision away. In the moment, almost maddeningly, I cannot tell if I shake his hand or touch the tiniest tip of his finger. The contact is brief and I stagger back from the brilliance. As it fades I see there is something new in this space with us. A ball of light, though ball is the wrong word and light barely begins to describe it. The shape is soft on the edges, swaying and rippling like a sea creature carried on ancient currents. The light within is like shifting constellations all reflecting and refracting through crystal, splitting into rainbows of colors never before seen. It looks as vast as a nebula, but to the demon it seemed the size of a large melon. My soul…

“It’s beautiful,” I say as a tear falls down my cheek.

“They all are,” the demon replies with surprising gentleness. His hand grasps my soul in one hand and squeezes. And I feel it…not in my body, it does not connect directly to my nervous system, but a sense of the contact is there on a metaphysical level. It makes me feel like I’m on a crowded train and someone has started feeling me up, not the physical sensation but the emotional weight. A mote of joy bubbles up in me. Maybe I should get groped on a train or bus, someone should molest me and make me moan. I’d feel…desirable…and happy.

The demon positions my soul, his now really though clearly still connected to me, down below his waist. I gasp, eyes going wide. How had I not noticed his dick before this moment? Weird perspective stuff aside, he is huge. My mind tries to grasp the weight of this moment, seeing the outcome but unable or unwilling to believe it. I try to say something, but thought is cut off as he penetrates my soul with his massive demon cock.

I fall to my knees, legs no longer able to support me. It feels like a cold wind that cuts you to the bone, but without an ounce of cold. Instead there is heat that blossoms from deep within. He thrusts again and a change begins. I do not transform, not really. My body basically stays the same. Yet everything about me is altered. The way I move and hold myself, the words that will spill from my mouth and pitch of my voice. Everything is honed to tempt and seduce. These are not skills or knowledge bestowed upon me, they are a fact of my very existence. And I feel so good!

Another thrust and I see the colors of my soul shifting. I expect them to grow darker or more sinister, a blood red or deep violet. But they simply alter. Joy and bliss fill me up as the demon uses my soul as a cocksleeve. I am different again. My aura, and I do learn that auras in fact exist, grows in volume and complexity. It will wash over others and stir their passions. Something deep in my eyes opens and I know it can call to the desire in others while showing me how to use them. I am not just desirable, with some flexing of these new metaphysical muscles I shall be irresistible. And ooh, I wish to be that.

I watch the demon fuck my corrupted soul and I understand. Of course he would not make me do anything. He has his pleasure and I am free to find mine. He has nothing to do with sin. Humans made up sins to keep society in check, and yet we are so good at sinning. They are all ours, and so delicious. Like…

Envy. I think of my friend Dawn. So pretty, she has everything going for her. Like that new boyfriend who treats her like a queen. I could take him, use him, make him give me everything, make him forget Dawn’s name. More happiness washes over me at the thought. But why stop there? I can make him leave Dawn, but not say why. Then I’d be there for her, console her. Seduce her. I never desired women before, but to be desirable is to desire I suppose. Or maybe I no longer care. I could become Dawn’s world, fuck her better than a man ever could, make her swear off guys and turn her into my lesbian slave girl. Then…

Sloth. A slave of my own, waiting on me hand and foot, doing every little thing for me so I never have to lift a finger. The demon stretches my soul around his throbbing hardness and I spasm. I will want more. More than just one happy couple bent to my will. More than…

Gluttony. I could have any man. They would fall over themselves, forgetting wives and girlfriends. I could walk into a home during a happy family dinner and transmute years of devotion to unending worship of me. Just me. Worshiping and giving tribute…

Greed. I’ll never want for clothes or jewelry, fancy cars and exotic vacations. They will shower me with luxuries. And if their sniveling former wives try to raise a fuss…

Wrath. Those bitches will be put in their places. Specifically below me. Tie them up, torment them, spank a full-of-herself executive until her ass is red and she’s begging like a schoolgirl. Twist them and deny them so their only sexual pleasure is eating their former man’s creampie out of my snatch. But that’s just one family at a time. I can feel the weight of who I am becoming, know that the desire I inflict can transmit digitally…

Pride. Pictures and videos posted everywhere. I will not just make porn, I will be porn! Everyone will want me. Everyone will masturbate to me, cumming when I grace them with a smile. They’ll hang on my words, follow my trends. Girls will look up to me, want to be me. And I will encourage them, coax them on to be porn as well. They will never be as desirable as me, but they deserve their own happiness.

The demon grunts, his whole body now ablaze. I feel his blasphemous cock pulsing just as he releases a stream of molten cum to coat every inch of my soul. I cry out in my own orgasm as of course…

Lust! Lustlustlustlust everything is painted in the sin of desire and carnality. I spasm and cum again and again and again…

A: Be isekaid upon your death in this world (whenever that is) and become a zombie (you'd be a zombified version of your body as of when you die) guarding a shallow floor dungeon in a fantasy world, you will be conscious and maintain your sapience and memories but cannot disobey the dungeon master (including their orders to kill any intruders), however, if the dungeon master is vanquished by someone who reaches the end of the dungeon you will be freed from their control. As a zombie, you cannot feel pain and will be eventually 'healed' by one of the dungeons necromancers , (who will also reverse any rot you incur occasionally) even when sliced into pieces unless you are completely destroyed, defeating invaders or simply surviving long enough will cause you to 'evolve' and ascend to increasingly powerful forms of undead based on your aptitude and actions, as an undead you require no resources to survive and are immortal, but have a deep rooted hunger for the livings flesh/blood/etc B: Be isekaid upon your death in this world (whenever that is) and become a low level demon in the depths of hell, which in this theoretical scenario is an apocalyptic battleground where high level demons wage eternal war with unfathomable magic, technology, etc. You will initially have no powers/abilities you did not already possess and will look like yourself as of when you die with small red horns, however the longer you survive, the more the demonic corruption will effect you, which will steadily make your appearance more demonic but grant you a power system of your choice every year you survive, you are not compelled to obey the orders of higher level demons but refusing to do so may result in being killed for insubordination and doing so will see you drafted into their forces.