How long had it been since the night Vox and Valentino used him over and over again. The potion Velvet had created made his body feel like it burned whenever and wherever he was touched. But when Vox and Valentino took a break from him to enjoy each other, his body felt wracked with agony like it wanted to tear itself apart if he wasn't touched or involved in any sort of sexual acts. When he had resorted to masturbating as a means of quelling the pain, he could hear the two Overlords laugh and made cracks about how he was turned on by the two of them fucking. The comments only were meant to humiliate the Spider because they knew he hadn't wanted to be there. They knew he wouldn't have been in the same room with either of them if he had any sort of choice.
He began to realize the effects of the potion were starting to wear off when he felt an intense headache pulsating behind his eyes. It was as if a sharp chisel was being driven into his skull. Simultaneously, his stomach churned with a nauseous sensation, signaling the onset of illness. Vox had moved to the bathing room moments earlier and sounded like he was experiencing a similar bout of nausea.
Soon enough, Angel couldn't hold it any longer, and a warning gag escaped his throat, indicating that his stomach's contents were about to reverse course. Rolling onto his stomach, he quickly reached for a trash basket beside the bed and emptied his stomach into it. Each convulsive heave brought forth a sour taste of bile, the bitter saltiness of semen, and the lingering metallic cherry flavor of the potion. The violent illness made him fear that he might expel not only the contents of his stomach but his very insides as well.
After what felt like an eternity, though it was only a few minutes, he finally slumped down, surrendering to the blissful oblivion of unconsciousness.
When he finally regained consciousness, he found himself relocated to one of the brothel rooms where clients were entertained. His head throbbed incessantly, as if a jackhammer were relentlessly pounding against his brain, and he felt utterly depleted from the events of the previous night. The room lacked any windows or a clock, leaving him in the dark about the time of day or how long he had been unconscious. His clothes were nowhere to be found, indicating that Val wasn't finished with him yet, whatever his intentions might be.
His stomach grumbled in protest, a reminder of its recent emptying, but the thought of food turned his stomach. He knew he would only end up regurgitating any sustenance he attempted to consume, an experience he preferred to avoid at all costs. All he desired was to sleep off this hangover-like sensation and eventually return to the comfort of the hotel. Sadly, even this small respite was denied, as Valentino made his presence known. The drunken manner in which he spoke and moved immediately revealed to Angel that the moth had indulged in his own dose of Velvet's potion.
Valentino slurred in his drunken state, a smirk of amusement playing across his face. "The Princess called..." he began, his words slurred and unfocused. "She sounded all worried about you, Angel... I wonder why?" His tone dripped with a mixture of mockery and intrigue, as if relishing in the knowledge that someone of importance was concerned for Angel's well-being.
He immediately was on top of his weakened captive, his hardened cock slamming into Angel's body with hard and painful thrusts. Angel was grateful that Val wasn't forcing him to take another dose of the potion, at least not at that moment. But the screwing itself didn't help soothe the pain in his skull or even the exhaustion he felt. The only times he did have any respite were the moments when he would pass out and fall into the soft embrace of nothingness.
These sessions would happen repeatedly, he would regain consciousness. Sooner or later Val would show up and begin to give him a violent fuck full of drugged oppression. Occasionally Angel would awaken to Val already starting to pleasure himself against his body. As the sessions continued Valentino's actions became harder…angrier. There was a want for control, a desire to see the spider beneath him broken and ready to obey his owner's commands, a need to punish his victim for wanting freedom. He had no idea how long these sessions had been taking place, was it one day? Two? He knew Charlie was likely beside herself about what had happened to him, why else would she have called the studio?
Angel's spirit sank as Val swung open the door once more. Exhaustion weighed heavily upon him, and all he yearned for was to return to the sanctuary of the hotel or, better yet, find a place where he could vanish into obscurity, never to be seen or heard from again. The weariness ran deep, surpassing mere physical fatigue. If he were still human, he believed he would have perished countless times under the weight of the relentless abuse he had endured.
Valentino's voice cut through the heavy air as he handed Angel his clothes. "Here's your damn clothes, Angel Cakes," Val grumbled. "Get dressed and haul your sorry ass back to your precious hotel. Tomorrow, you can savor your damn yearly day off... have a fucking good evening."
Relieved, Angel wasted no time in putting on his clothes, grateful for the opportunity to finally return to the hotel. Deep down, he suspected that Val's sudden generosity in granting him a day off was likely due to the moth himself growing tired of their twisted encounters, seeking respite from his own lingering hangover.
With a mix of weariness and cautious hope, Angel prepared to leave, eager to retreat to the solace of his temporary sanctuary.
As Angel stepped outside the studio, he was greeted by a deluge of rain pouring down from the skies. It seemed as if Hell itself was unleashing one of its relentless downpours. Retrieving his phone, he realized with dismay that the battery had died, leaving him without any means to contact Charlie. Glancing at the clock tower through the rain-smeared haze, he could make out that it was 2:30 in the morning, indicating that most of the hotel's occupants would likely be fast asleep.
Perhaps he could call a cab, he thought, even if it meant offering a sexual favor as payment. Anything to secure a chance to return home and find respite from the throbbing headache relentlessly hammering at his skull. However, he knew that few demons would brave such weather, let alone be considered sane.
Turning back toward the studio, Angel attempted to seek assistance from the front desk, only to find the door locked. Val hadn't bothered arranging a limo to drive him to the hotel, further reinforcing the notion that this was yet another way for the moth to toy with him. Faced with no other options, he mustered his strength and pushed forward into the rainy city, his body growing increasingly weary and battered by the elements.
Angel leaned heavily against the rough brick siding of a nearby building, his body aching and drained. Every muscle screamed with soreness, worn thin from the relentless exhaustion that consumed him. He could hardly maintain his balance, let alone take another step, as stiffness and fatigue overcame him. The rain had completely drenched him, leaving him shivering uncontrollably from the cold. Thankfully, the threat of hypothermia was not a concern, given his undead state. However, illnesses such as pneumonia were still a possibility, and he knew all too well the misery they could bring. Despite the inability to succumb to death, he found himself wishing for relief, longing for the Archangel Michael himself to appear and end his suffering. The torment of enduring such afflictions was a bitter reminder that even in his undead existence, pain and misery remained all too real.
A fleeting shadow caught Angel's attention, prompting him to instinctively reach for the inner pocket of his jacket. Though he preferred the weight and reliability of a Thompson in dire situations, he carried a small handgun and a retractable stiletto for self-defense purposes. Seeing no further signs of immediate danger, he cautiously continued his journey, his guard never truly lowered.
Upon reaching a street, he scanned his surroundings through bleary eyes, struggling to register his location. How far was the hotel from here? He knew it lay towards the eastern side of town, but whether he should turn right or left remained uncertain. Perhaps he could find a payphone and call Cherri, hoping she would allow him to seek temporary refuge at her apartment until Charlie woke up. But then what? The Princess would demand answers regarding his whereabouts, and if not her, Vaggie would surely subject him to an intense interrogation for failing to inform them of his late studio stay.
A flicker of movement caught his attention again, but this time he refrained from reaching for his weapon. Instead, he swiftly slipped into a nearby alleyway, seeking a small semblance of shelter and a chance to gather his bearings. The narrow passage offered no protection from the relentless rain, but it would at least make him less visible to opportunistic demons lurking in the city. Cold water trickled down the back of his jacket, where it had clung to his lanky frame, and his fur became saturated, plastering itself against his face.
With a few unsteady steps, Angel pushed forward, only to stumble and crash down onto his knees. He silently expressed gratitude for the protection his boots offered, preventing any immediate harm to his knees as he landed in the filthy water. After all, who knew what sort of detritus and contaminants polluted the rain-soaked streets of Hell?
Nevertheless, the overwhelming desire to wash away the remnants of his encounters with Valentino, Vox, and the grime of the city consumed him. He yearned for nothing more than to dive into a cleansing shower, allowing the water to rinse away the physical and emotional filth that clung to him. All he wished for was to climb into his bed, where he could escape the haunting memories and sleep away the torment of his experiences.
Exhausted and defeated, Angel pressed his back against the cold brick facade of the building. A whimper of frustration escaped his lips, mingling with the tears that silently streamed down his face. He cast a hopeful glance towards the unfamiliar street, desperately seeking a sign or landmark that could guide him, but the emptiness offered no solace.
Feeling utterly drained, both physically and emotionally, he reached his breaking point. Too tired, too cold, and too wounded in every sense, he couldn't muster the strength to go on. Sliding down the wall, he settled into a sitting position, drawing his knees close to his chest in a feeble attempt to preserve warmth. As he huddled into a ball, seeking solace in his own embrace, a shadow danced across the wet ground, triggering a defensive alert within Angel. He remained on guard, refusing to become easy prey even in his bone-tired state. When no imminent threat materialized, a bitter laugh escaped his lips, but it soon gave way to tears of self-loathing. The weight of his circumstances, the sense of helplessness and violation, pressed heavily upon him, eroding any semblance of self-worth he had left.
Angel's voice trembled as he whispered to himself, the pain and self-loathing evident in his words. "Pathetic," he choked out, his sob masked by a bitter laugh. "Why do I even bother? I'm just so pathetic."
Cut off from his family, he felt the weight of their rejection and erasure. In their eyes, he was nothing, discarded and forgotten. If his father and brother could witness his current state, he could already hear their sneers, their demeaning words. They would revel in his suffering, convinced that this was the punishment he deserved for being a "fag" and a "whore." It was his own doing, his own fault for being who he was.
In a world that failed to see the humanity in sex workers, he felt invisible as a victim of circumstance. Society's judgment reduced him to a mere object, a person to be used and discarded without consideration for the pain and struggles he endured. No one recognized the harsh reality that pushed individuals like him into these desperate situations, where survival meant compromising their dignity.
Valentino's cruel and malicious words echoed in his mind, a constant reminder of his perceived worthlessness and the degrading role he was forced to play. The weight of it all bore down on him, tearing at his fragile spirit and leaving him trapped in a cycle of self-deprecation and despair.
"It isn't rape if you are a whore! I'm not raping you, I'm reminding you that your place is on your back with your legs spread."
Alone in his desolation, Angel found solace in the thought that Molly was spared from witnessing the depths of his current existence. He didn't know where she was, but he held onto the belief that she was in a better place, far removed from the torments of Hell. She had always been too kind-hearted for this twisted realm.
It was a cruel irony that he had sought refuge in this family, fully aware that it would lead to certain death. But being disowned by his own father meant an equally grim fate. Pops would ensure there was no escape. Yet, what was the point of it all if it only meant ending up in Hell? The sufferings he endured here paled in comparison to the realization that Molly was gone. Half of his soul was forever severed, lost to him, and no words or actions could change that.
As much as he yearned for her presence, he wanted to believe that wherever she was, she had found happiness without him. It was a bittersweet thought, one that brought both comfort and a deep sense of loss. Wrapping his arms tightly around himself, Angel curled into a ball on the wet and filthy ground. Perhaps, in the solace of sleep, he would find clarity and a glimmer of hope to guide him back to the hotel, where he could briefly escape this nightmare and find respite from the anguish that consumed him.
"Ha," a familiar transatlantic voice spoke, dripping with a mocking tone. "Surely you must realize this isn't the most sanitary of places to lay your head." As Angel's tired eyes fluttered open, he strained to focus on the source of the familiar transatlantic voice. He couldn't immediately recall who it belonged to, his mind hazy from exhaustion and pain. In the darkness of the alley, he could make out a pair of red-clad legs, blending with the shadows to give the illusion of blackness. It was an eerie sight, but he couldn't muster the energy to fully process it.
A burgundy-gloved hand reached out, gently cupping his chin, causing Angel to wince at the touch. His immediate reaction was to instinctively curl up defensively, protecting himself as best he could in his weakened state. He knew he wouldn't be able to put up a substantial fight if this person intended to harm him, but he wasn't completely powerless. He still possessed a determination to resist and prove himself as a formidable challenge, even in his current condition.
"Angel…" a female's voice sounded horrified. Again, the voice sounded familiar, but his exhausted, fogged brain couldn't register who it was. He could feel a hand gently stroking his wet hair away from his face, as if verifying his identity.
"Angel, at last, we've found you," the voice exclaimed with relief. Then, it turned to address another person. "He's freezing and will catch a cold if we don't get him to the hotel. I'll make sure his room is unlocked and there are dry clothes for him to wear. I'll ask the others to bring blankets and towels. Do you need me to send someone to help bring him inside?"
"No, my charming belle," the transatlantic voice said with a hint of displeasure. "I can carry him in, though I can't say I'll be happy to do so."
Footsteps echoed in the alley as Angel''s surroundings began to fade into a blur. He felt the grip on his shoulder tighten slightly, a force attempting to pull him upright. But then, a sudden pause interrupted the motion. Confusion washed over Angel's fading consciousness as he sensed a shift in the atmosphere.
A crackling sound filled the air, accompanied by angry radio static and dissonant audio feedback. It was as if the air itself had become charged with tension, causing the hand on Angel's shoulder to release its grip momentarily. His jacket collar was tugged back, exposing a vulnerable part of his neck to the cold night air.
In the depths of his grogginess, Angel strained to make sense of the situation. The encounter had taken an unexpected turn, and this unknown's composed demeanor now hinted at something more intense and dangerous. There was an unspoken threat hanging in the air, a warning whispered by the crackling radio waves.
Angel weakly tried to push against and break free from the grip of the demon that was forcefully handling him, but his energy was depleted, and the chilling cold had rendered him almost immobile. The gentle notes of an old piano piece began to serenade him, gradually lulling him into drowsiness as he rested his head wearily against the chest of the person who held him captive.
"Resisting won't do you any good, Angel," A familiar voice resonated, accompanied by the delicate sound of piano keys. "Allowing our sole resident to be eliminated in a sordid alley during a torrential downpour would hardly paint a favorable image for the hotel's reputation." The last sensation Angel could recall, before succumbing to the comforting embrace of sleep, was the tender embrace of arms cradling him like a cherished child.
Husk grumbled irritably, gulping down his cheap booze. The entire hotel buzzed with worry and anxiety over Angel's sudden vanishing act. Despite his best efforts to maintain an indifferent facade, even the grizzled demon cat couldn't help but feel a twinge of concern for the well-being of his arachnid acquaintance. Especially if he happened to be connected to unsavory characters like Henroin and Arackniss or entangled with the notorious Vee's. Whatever twisted motives Valentino harbored for keeping the porn star detained for more than a week, Husk knew it couldn't bode well.
Charlie had made several attempts to contact the studio, hoping to get some information from the Overlord about Angel's whereabouts or expected return to the hotel. However, Valentino's responses remained frustratingly vague, merely mentioning that Angel was tied up with a project and unable to leave the premises. Charlie couldn't help but sense that this project wasn't something one would typically find on Voxflix: After Dark. The blond-haired demoness emitted an aura of skepticism, her eyes' sclera turning a reddish hue as an ominous red glow emanated from them. It was not as ferocious as Alastor's shadow tentacles that had once halted Sir Pentious from attacking the hotel, but even Alastor himself had been taken aback by the sheer power the Princess could command in her controlled state. The true extent of her destructive potential remained unknown, as nobody dared to fathom the consequences if her magic were to be fully unleashed.
It was just twenty minutes ago that Alastor had made a surprising announcement, revealing that one of his shadows had detected Angel's presence. Without hesitation, Charlie swiftly instructed Razzle and Dazzle to bring the car around to expedite their search. However, Alastor had a different plan in mind. He informed Charlie that he could open a portal directly to Angel's location. Wasting no time, Alastor created the portal, stepping out into the rain-soaked alley. Charlie followed closely behind, determined to find their missing friend. Moments later, the blond princess returned, instructing Niffty to gather warm towels, and she assigned the moth girl Vaggie the task of fetching blankets. Meanwhile, Charlie hurried to her office, retrieving a master key to the rooms before dashing upstairs to the second floor, her sense of urgency growing with each step.
"Husker," Alastor called out as he entered the scene, cradling the porn star in his arms as if he were a fragile infant. "Would you mind lending me a hand and helping me take Angel up to his room? He'd go there himself, but as you can see…he's under the weather."
"Do I even want to know what happened to him?" Husk grumbled as he reluctantly made his way over. Despite the ever-present smile on Alastor's face, the Radio Demon's genuine concern for the unconscious spider demon was evident. With a sigh, Husk took a step forward, agreeing to assist Alastor in escorting Angel to his assigned room. However, something about the situation didn't sit right with him. First off, the spider demon was completely drenched, his white and pink fur sticking to his body as rainwater dripped from his soaked fur and clothing onto the floor. Furthermore, a large, grimy smudge adorned the side of his face, a brownish mark that Husk desperately hoped was just mud.
"The fellow seemed to have gotten himself caught in the rain," Alastor stated casually, though his actions spoke otherwise. Despite Angel's semi-conscious state, he seemed to instinctively cling to Alastor, seeking solace and warmth. However, Alastor extended Angel towards Husk, silently implying that he should relieve him of the damp burden. Without hesitation, Husk gently gathered Angel into his arms, immediately feeling the tremors coursing through the lanky arachnid as he nestled against the winged cat's fur, seeking respite from the chill.
"Damn, he's freezing," Husk exclaimed with genuine concern etched on his face. The sharp scent of blood wafted from Angel's body, indicating the presence of wounds that needed urgent attention to prevent them from becoming septic. "Al, fetch me a bottle of that Vodka, I'm going to need it," Husk instructed, recognizing the necessity to disinfect and clean the wounds to prevent further complications.
Without a second thought, the ever-smiling Overlord complied with Husk's request, swiftly grabbing a bottle of the infamous "Burning Vodka" and following the demon cat as they made their way upstairs. The enigmatic grin on his face never wavered as he silently joined Husk, prepared to assist in whatever way he could.
"It's quite alright, my dear companion," Alastor nonchalantly remarked as they reached Angel's room. Charlie had preceded them and kindly opened the door for their arrival. Inside, she had prepared a night top and neatly arranged the bed covers, ensuring a comfortable space for Angel's rest. The sudden appearance of Alastor caused Fat Nuggets, Angel's pet pig, to squeal in alarm and hastily scurry under the safety of the bed. Alastor seemed to derive a twisted pleasure from the reaction, letting out a mischievous chuckle. "Ah, it appears I have inadvertently traumatized our porcine friend," he remarked with a touch of amusement.
"Here's some dry clothing for him," Charlie kindly offered, placing the clean top on the bed for Angel. Just then, Niffty entered the room, carrying a few towels that had been freshly warmed in the dryer. Her ever-energetic demeanor brightened the atmosphere as she approached.
"It does seem rather dim in here, doesn't it?" Alastor remarked as he observed the lack of sufficient lighting from the overhead lamp. The heart-shaped string lights that adorned Angel's bed like curtains, the neon sign spelling out "Angel Dust," and even the lights on Angel's vanity seemed to contribute to the room's overall darkness rather than brighten it. Alastor couldn't help but speculate that, given Angel's perpetual existence in the spotlight, it made sense for the spider to seek solace in a darker corner of Hell. In response, Alastor activated the microphone on his staff, leaning it against a wall, and allowing the radiant illumination to fill the room. "Ah, much better," he declared, pleased with the newfound brightness.
Although Angel wasn't in any danger of hypothermia, Alastor was well aware of the potential health risks associated with being soaked in rain for an extended period. Additionally, he had detected the scent of blood and burnt skin when he carried Angel into the hotel, indicating that the spider demon had suffered more than just visible bruises. Alastor couldn't quite understand why he felt such intense anger towards the thought of someone intentionally hurting the delicate male. It was unusual for him to be so invested in the well-being of others, as he typically kept to himself. Yet, the mere idea of the Spider being deliberately harmed ignited a fiery rage within him, stirring his emotions like never before.
Husk gently laid Angel on the floor of the private bathing area within Angel's room. Although the spider demon still shivered from the cold, it was somewhat alleviated due to the warmth provided by Husk's body. However, Angel's soaked clothing posed a risk of further chilling him once removed. Letting out a sigh through his nose, the demon cat began inspecting the visible injuries on Angel's body. The gouges on Angel's cheek indicated that someone had forcefully dug their claws into his delicate flesh, while bruises around his face and neck suggested that he had endured a rough encounter. As Husk continued his examination, he came across a small .22 caliber handgun and the room's key concealed in one of Angel's pockets, followed by the discovery of a stiletto with a retractable blade and Angel's Hellphone upon running his clawed hand over the spider's body. The presence of such weapons didn't surprise Husk, as self-preservation was understandable, but there were strict rules regarding visible or easily accessible weapons within the hotel. Without uttering a word, Husk gathered the items and placed them on the vanity, ensuring they were out of immediate reach. He proceeded to plug the Hellphone into its charger before turning back towards the bathing room, his focus shifting back to caring for Angel's well-being.
"What in Hell are you doing with that?" Vaggie demanded, her voice filled with concern and disapproval. She entered the room carrying a couple of quilts, and her attention was immediately drawn to the bottle of vodka in Alastor's hand. "This is someone's bedroom, not a poker night. Put that away!" she exclaimed, her tone conveying her strong objection to the presence of alcohol in such a setting.
"It's for Legs," Husk explained, as he emerged from the bathing room carrying Angel's thigh high boots. The leather material was completely drenched, and it remained uncertain whether they could be salvaged. However, that was a matter to address at a later time. "Hey, Alastor, are you sure he's not going to wake up?" Husk inquired, his concern evident in his voice as he glanced at the still unconscious Spider.
"Quite sure, Husker," Alastor replied with his characteristic smile as he handed the bottle of vodka to the winged cat demon. "Although, I must warn you that even in unconsciousness, he is likely to express some discomfort with being doused with alcohol." Alastor's tone was laced with amusement, seemingly finding the situation enjoyable.
"It depends on the severity of his condition," Husk sighed, a touch of weariness in his voice. He understood that the discomfort Angel might experience from the alcohol was a small concern compared to the potential injuries and trauma he had endured. Husk's focus shifted back to his task at hand, knowing that Angel's well-being was the priority.
"There's a medical kit already under the sink," Charlie informed Husk, offering him the loose fitting clothing she had retrieved for Angel. She understood the importance of having proper medical supplies on hand in each room for any sort of situation.
"Uh, thanks," Husk replied, appreciating Charlie's assistance. He took the long top from her and turned towards the bathing room, closing the door behind him.
The winged cat demon ran a paw down his face, a mix of frustration and embarrassment crossing his features as he prepared himself for the task ahead. Carefully dragging Angel's limp form onto the floor of the shower nook, Husk reached under the sink to retrieve the medical kit. As he pushed aside a cloth bag, his gaze landed on it, and he paused, curiosity piqued. It appeared to be a normal makeup bag, similar to the other health and beauty items stored under the sink—hairdryer, washcloths, mouthwash. However, there was something about it that felt off. Husk hesitated but couldn't resist grabbing the bag and unzipping it. To his surprise, he discovered a plastic bag filled with white powder and a clear straw. The stylized label on the bag read "Angel Dust." Realizing the nature of the contents, Husk decided to leave the bag where he found it and swiftly retrieved the medical kit and a washcloth, closing the cabinet.
"Don't read too much into this, kid," Husk grumbled under his breath as he knelt down on the floor beside Angel. "I'm not doing this because I like you. Alastor's not the best at tending to wounds, and you don't need the princess and her girlfriend stripping you down to your stockings. But once you're awake... I think there's something you and I need to talk about."
Taking a deep breath, Husk reached down and began to undo the buttons on Angel's jacket. His eyes widened in horror at the sight that greeted him as the garment opened. Angel's torso was covered in heavy bruises, some of them broken and oozing blood. Strange tree-shaped markings spread across his body, as if they had been intentionally inflicted. It was clear to Husk that these wounds were the result of more than one person's actions, and they seemed to be intentionally punishing in nature. The demon cat's heart sank as he unzipped the back of Angel's shorts, revealing a concentrated area of bruising around his groin and buttocks. It was evident that the punishment Angel had endured was sexually motivated.
Husk felt a mix of anger, sorrow, and a burning desire for justice. But for now, his focus remained on tending to Angel's physical injuries, providing him with the care and comfort he desperately needed.
Turning on the shower, Husk carefully tested the temperature with the detachable shower head, ensuring it was warm enough to provide comfort but not too hot to cause any further discomfort. Satisfied with the water temperature, he knelt down once again beside Angel and began to gently cleanse the dirt and grime from the spider's hair. Using his paw as a makeshift brush, he carefully worked through the tangled strands, taking care to be as gentle as possible.
As the water flowed over Angel's head, Husk couldn't help but feel a mix of tenderness and frustration. It was clear that Angel had endured a great deal of suffering, and the sight of him in such a vulnerable state stirred something protective within the demon cat. Despite his gruff demeanor, Husk couldn't ignore the overwhelming urge to provide comfort and support to the wounded spider demon.