Chapter 34: Holy Ruin
The obsidian toy was a live coal in his pocket. It had sprouted what felt like ridges, thin runnels that caught against the fabric of his trousers with every step. Taichi walked beside Van, not through the mundane city, but through the silted-under layers of it. Alleyways dissolved into narrower passages, then into spaces between walls that shouldn’t exist, dripping with a damp that smelled of myrrh and decay. The soup kitchen’s address, Calhoun Street, was just a door they passed through; the real journey was this descent.
They emerged not into a kitchen, but into the sacristy of a chapel attached to it. It was a small, forgotten place. The stained glass windows were grimy, the daylight fighting through them in weak, colored shafts that fell on dust motes swirling like lost spirits. One window depicted Saint Michael spearing a demon, but the demon’s face, warped by a bubble in the glass, seemed to be laughing.
“He comes here to pray after serving the bowls,” Van murmured, his voice a vibration in the stale air. He stood in a shadow, becoming part of it.“Alone. He thinks his guilt is a form of piety. Make it an offering.”
Taichi’s heart hammered against his ribs. The toy pulsed, a slow, hungry throb that resonated in his groin. He remembered the splitting fullness of the tunnel, the exquisite violation, and a shiver of anticipation warred with a last, clinging shred of his old self. That self was gossamer now, tearing easily.
The door to the chapel creaked open. Footsteps, hesitant and tired, echoed on the stone flags.
Eli was younger than Taichi expected, maybe twenty-two. He had the soft, earnest look of someone who believed in things. A worn crucifix hung around his neck. He smelled of cheap soap and steam from the kitchen. He walked to the altar rail, sighed, and knelt, folding his hands. His lips began to move in silent prayer.
Taichi stepped out of the sacristy shadow. His shoes made no sound. He watched the curve of Eli’s back, the vulnerable line of his neck. The toy burned hotter. He could almost taste the man’s faith, a crisp, clean flavor he now found intolerably bland.
“He doesn’t hear you,” Taichi said, his voice unfamiliar in the holy space. It was a low, smoky thing.
Eli jerked, scrambling to his feet. His eyes were wide, blue and frightened. “Who are you? This is a private—”
“It’s just empty space,” Taichi interrupted, walking closer. He let a smile play on his lips, the one he used to use at boring office parties. It felt like a relic.“All this. The words. The symbols. You touch the drunks out there and you feel dirty, right? You come in here to scrub your soul clean.”
“Get out,” Eli said, but his voice wavered. He took a step back, hitting the altar rail.
“Or what?” Taichi was in front of him now, close enough to see the pulse fluttering in Eli’s throat. “You’ll pray harder?” He reached out, not for Eli, but for the crucifix on his chest. He didn’t touch the metal. He pinched the chain between his thumb and forefinger. The obsidian in his pocket seared. A tiny wisp of smoke, or perhaps just dust, curled up from where his fingers met the links. “It’s just a weight.”
Eli tried to slap his hand away. “Don’t!”
Taichi moved faster. He shoved Eli hard, sending him sprawling backwards over the altar rail. The young man’s head cracked against the wood of the altar itself, a dull thud that echoed. He lay stunned, blinking up at the water-stained ceiling.
“Your god isn’t watching,” Taichi whispered, climbing over the rail, straddling him. He said it sweetly, like a lover sharing a secret. “But your new master is.”
He could feel Van’s presence now, swelling in the corners of the chapel, staining the colored light. The shadows in the room deepened, stretching toward the altar.
Eli struggled, pure panic giving him strength. He bucked, tried to push Taichi off. “No! Get off me, you fucking freak!”
Taichi laughed, a raw, joyful sound. He captured Eli’s wrists, pinning them above his head with one hand. With the other, he fumbled with Eli’s belt, then the button and zip of his cheap khakis. He yanked them down, rough, along with his boxers. Eli’s cock, half-hard from the struggle and fear, sprang free. It was thick, uncut, pink and untouched-looking.Holy.
“See?” Taichi purred, leaning down so his lips brushed Eli’s ear. “Your body knows the truth. It doesn’t want prayers. It wants to fuck.”
He released Eli’s wrists to rip at his own clothes, pushing his trousers and briefs down to his thighs. Eli tried to swing a fist, but a tendril of pure shadow lashed from the side, wrapping around his forearm and pinning it to the altar with a force that made the wood groan. Another tendril snaked around his other arm. More slid over his bare thighs, holding his legs apart, exposing him completely.
Eli screamed, a high, ragged sound of terror.
“Shhh,” Taichi soothed. He spat into his own hand, slicking his palm before wrapping it around Eli’s cock. He gave it a few rough, dry strokes, feeling it swell to full, rigid hardness despite the man’s terror.Perfect.
He positioned himself, the head of Eli’s cock nudging against his hole, still loose and slick from the memory of Van’s possession. He looked down into Eli’s wide, tear-filled eyes.
“This is your communion.”
He sank down.
Eli’s scream cut off into a choked gasp. Taichi took him in one slow, brutal slide, sheathing him to the root. He was so full, so claimed. It was different from Van. This was flesh and blood, human heat, a pounding heartbeat he could feel through the cock inside him. He began to move, rising and falling, setting a deliberate, punishing rhythm.
“Stop… please, stop…” Eli begged, sobbing, his body betraying him as he involuntarily bucked up into the tight, hot clutch.
“You don’t mean that,” Taichi groaned, riding him harder, nails digging into Eli’s chest. “You love it. You’re fucking a devil right on your own altar. Your god is puking in heaven.”
The tendrils held Eli fast. One slid from his thigh, creeping up his torso, a slick, cool touch that explored his nipples, then wrapped around the base of his cock, tightening like a vise. Eli’s protests became guttural, animal moans. His hips stuttered, fucking up into Taichi in ragged, helpless thrusts.
Taichi threw his head back. The chapel swam around him. The saint in the window seemed to be turning his face away. He rode Eli with a frenzied abandon, chasing his own peak, each slam of his ass against the man’s thighs a profane drumbeat. The obsidian toy was alive, screaming in union with him.
“Come on, preacher boy,” Taichi taunted, breathless. “Give me your blessing. Fill this filthy cunt with your holy seed.”
He felt the tension in Eli’s body snap. A final, broken cry tore from Eli’s throat—not a prayer, but a surrender. His cock pulsed violently inside Taichi, and Taichi felt the hot, sudden flood of his release. The sensation, the utter conquest, tipped Taichi over the edge. His own orgasm ripped through him, silent and searing, painting streaks across Eli’s stomach and the old wood beneath them.
For a moment, there was only the sound of their panting, and the slow, slick drip of their mingled fluids onto the altar.
The tendrils retreated, slithering back into the gloom. Taichi climbed off, his legs trembling. He looked down at Eli, who lay spent, weeping silently, his eyes vacant and shattered.
Van materialized from the deep shadow behind the altar. He looked at Eli with detached interest, then at Taichi with something akin to pride. He reached out and touched Taichi’s cheek, his thumb wiping away a smear of sweat.
“Good,” Van said, simple and final.
He turned to Eli, leaning close. “You will remember this as a dream. A terrible, tempting dream. And the hunger it leaves… you will try to feed it with more prayer, more service. It will gnaw at you. And when it becomes too much,” Van’s voice dropped to a hypnotic murmur, “you will find your way back to the door we used. You will beg for it.”
Van straightened, taking Taichi’s arm. As they turned to leave the chapel, Taichi glanced back. Eli was curling into a fetal position on the altar, the defiled crucifix cold against his skin.
Outside, in the mundane alley, the air felt thin and tasteless. The toy in Taichi’s pocket was quiet, sated.He felt heavier. More real.
Van stopped, looking at the city skyline. “It begins to root,” he said. “The corruption. It will spread through him, a slow rot. And there are others. A tapestry of connection. The devout, the self-righteous, the pure.” He finally looked at Taichi, his eyes reflecting the distant city lights like stars in a void. “We will find them all.”
Taichi nodded, leaning into Van’s solid, immovable presence. The hollowness he’d carried for years was gone. It had been filled with something else, something dark and growing and his. He didn’t look back at the chapel door.
He was already thinking of the next one.