The Bound Angel (Sacrilege Rising: Book 1)

Chapter Nine

Silas leafed through the pages of an old book. It was more a tome, really. The weight was heavy in his hands and the hard cover cool and glossy. Once black, it was now faded to a dull gray, though gold lettering was still bright on the cover.

Like the book, the desk before him had once been rich and fine, with hand-carved embellishments in the African blackwood. It was wider than his outstretched arms and was said to be the very desk where Lavier himself wrote ‘A Hymn to the Prince.’ Now the corners were scratched and the center warped years ago. He’d had to put a book under one of the legs to keep it from wobbling. It hadn’t been made to hold a fully grown adult for several days, and even blackwood couldn’t stand up to pooled blood for that long.

With a scowl, he flipped another page. The first time he’d read the book, years ago, the paper was thick and stiff, which made holding it open inconvenient. Now, however, the pages were limp, like a body that had given up, and the edges were curling. It lay flat while he rested his face in his hands.

A light beard prickled his palms. He couldn’t remember the last time he shaved. The book,‘The Sumerian Secrets,’ was filled with scripture and guidance. Though, when compared to its more celebrated and circulated counterparts, its content was slightly more… unpleasant.

The diagrams were concerned with human and animal anatomy, and the guidance quite a bit more literal. This was the thirteenth book from his collection he’d read cover to cover since meeting with the Dark Lady and his introduction to the curious man. Silas hadn’t slept, and his eyes were getting tired.

Most of the content in these books was fanatical nonsense. They contained the same old drivel about the rapture, or the horsemen, or the anti-Christ, or a million other tired tropes Hollywood had been commandeering for decades. It was all the same on both sides of the unending war. Repent your sins and you will be granted entry through the white gates. Help usher in the ever-imminent apocalypse and you will lord over humanity when the day of rapture finally arrives.

Always the same transactional discourse in search of reward. Always black and white. If you do A, then you will be rewarded with B… eventually. Did none of them see the naivety of it all? Did nobody notice heaven and hell permeating their lives already?

People craved a horizon to look to, because surely there must be more than this. There must be some hidden purpose known only to the enlightened few. There must be power and knowledge and meaning behind it all. They bickered and squabbled to be part of that imaginary group, when the truth was so very simple, and so very similar to life already.

Pain and pleasure. Power and submission. Reward and punishment. Humanity was experiencing these things already. Therefore, true understanding must only be attainable after the suffering was over. The spectacular view from the peak would make it all worth it. The truth was the afterlife could be no different than what humanity was already experiencing. Could hellfire be any worse than the pain of losing a loved one to addiction? Could heaven’s bounty be any better than the joy of triumph over one’s enemies? Mankind’s eagerness to be deceived was exhausting.

Most of the accounts in these tomes were worthless, but every now and then a scrap of truth could be found in the old pages. The occasional kernel of true wisdom was waiting to be discovered somewhere in these words. So he searched.

Disgusted, Silas slammed the tome shut. Its heavy thump echoed from the stone walls. He pushed it across the desk with the others. How many more could he read before he needed sleep? How long until he drew on other, more esoteric sources of energy to sustain his focus? Not yet.

Light glinted from silver fixtures on the bookshelf. It reminded him of her.

She called him master.

How could he have been so short-sighted? Of course she was bound. The Abyss held many secrets, but the master-slave dynamic was widely understood. And he’d seen things, personally.

Memories came back to him. Humanoid figures with red skin and long fangs and knees that bent the wrong way. Beasts that resembled bears without fur, their fleshy, pocked skin hanging loose from swollen fat. Monsters in shades of blue and pink that wore new faces every time he looked at them.

The Abyss operated in a loose hierarchy. Every demon was bound to a power greater than themselves. Servants bowed and scraped while lords oversaw lesser beings. Silas knew, vaguely, that she was bound to the will of another. He just never considered she could be bound to a mortal.

He found a new book and carefully removed it from a dusty shelf. Who was the man, anyway? He was young, just a boy, really. Who was he to command one such as her? The Dark Lady sat near a throne of power. So near, Silas suspected she may actually be pulling the strings. And this young man, not much more than a teenager, was giving her orders? She obeyed his demands while he lived in luxury? Silas would have to be wary of that one.

He was so engrossed, he didn’t notice one of the ceiling pipes overhead leaking a slow drip… drip… drip… on the cold floor. He didn’t notice that most of the overhead lights had gone out, casting the room in a dim, sickly glow, or that moss was growing on the stone walls. He’d grown accustomed to these things. It was his home, after all.

He’d spent hours and hours down in the musty dark, first when he was a child as punishment, and now again, as a sort of study. A laboratory, even. He certainly performed experiments here, just not with tubes or burners. He’d dedicated his life to the study of the occult, searching for scraps of truth within a sea of pentagram necklaces and books called ‘101 Spells For Your Next Seance.’ It was a nearly impossible task if you didn’t know what you were doing.

Frustrated, he slammed this book closed too and pushed it away. He could see it in his mind. The black collar he mistook as a fashion piece at first glance. Firelight reflecting off the silver loop at her throat. The look in her eyes that held restrained fury, then loathing, then reluctant obedience. The way she directed that orgy of pleasure with gentle commands and discreet power. The Dark Lady was as impressive as she was terrifying.

He passed rows of shelves and haphazardly stacked books. His collection spanned thousands of volumes, ranging from ‘The Egyptian Book of the Dead’ to ‘Al-Sīra al-Nabawiyya’ and its biographies. There was so much still to go through. Volume after volume. Shelf after shelf. He stopped to consider his approach. It would take weeks to comb through it all, and in that time the opportunity may disappear. He blinked, then chastised himself for thinking like a simple librarian.

He closed his eyes and focused on breathing, letting it flow in and out in an even, steady rhythm. Now, finally, he noticed the leaking pipe and its dripping, smelled the damp muskiness, felt the wet air in his throat. Sensations and thoughts flittered along the surface of his consciousness for brief moments before falling away, and he opened his mind like he’d done a thousand times before.

Silas reached for the power in the room. It came from the history here and the deeds performed. It was a low hum of background noise, echoing off the stone walls and thrumming in his chest. He began to walk.

With practiced un-focus, his feet led him past dusty shelves and rotting wood. Silas shivered with anticipation. The things she could do, with him and for him, were all-consuming. To bind a demon such as the Dark Lady required power no mortal should be able to possess, for she sat at the right hand of a throne. But if he could find a way…

Possibilities unfolded in his mind like a field of blooming flowers. He would not have to put up with her taunting and provocation any longer. He would turn her into a pet; a dog that waited by the door for its master to come home. He would make her beg and plead like a common whore. She would dance and sing to amuse him and feed him by hand.

Yes, he would have his fun, but the Dark Lady was so much more than mere carnal pleasure. She was a conduit of power to tap into. She’d toppled the angels and brought the city to its knees in a matter of weeks. With her at his feet, Silas could rule the world.

He felt himself turn, a bend in his stomach, the feeling of a turning car when you’re half asleep in the passenger seat. His feet stopped. His eyes opened. Shelves of books stood around him. How had the boy done it? No matter. Now that he knew there was a way, he would find it. He let his gaze wander loosely over the rows and shelves, pausing briefly to take in each title before continuing along. If a boy just out of high school could manage it, then so could he.

Something tugged on his mind. He stopped on a tome of no striking importance. It was the color of dried blood. Over the decades, he’d personally gathered every volume on these shelves but didn’t recognize this one. The cover was blank. Silas opened it and began to read.

Enjoying the story so far? Hit follow to stay up to date, or check out my patreon for advanced chapters and custom artwork (SFW & NSFW). Ratings and comments are the absolute best motivation, and I always love hearing your thoughts. See you in the next chapter.