The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 82: The Gruesome, Walled Away

Chapter 82: The Gruesome, Walled Away

Crowley flung himself forward, and hit something smooth and unyielding. Half-consciously he was aware of his hand still gripping the angel's, and his friend's equally swift response as Aziraphale's weight pressed against the barrier.

When Willard removed his thumb, Chaz froze. Blood spread across his vacant face, and the pupils of his two remaining eyes shrunk to nothingness, until all that was left was the crystalline blue.

"ANGEL! FOR FUCK'S SAKE, ANGEL!" It escaped the demon's mouth before he knew what he was saying. He had already forgotten. "No, you fucking idiot! You moronic demon! It's a puppet! They're just flashes of light and shade!"

He checked and rechecked himself, and trembling, turned his face to Aziraphale. The angel was gaping. Sweat trickled down his wide working forehead. "See angel?" he tried to joke, "it's not so bad."

"Crowley, I think I'm hurting you, showing you all this."

"Nonsense!" He had meant it to sound jovial. It came out as a rebuke. Hissing, he spat the acid out of his mouth and tried again. "Don't get nerves. We're so close now."

Aziraphale vaguely nodded his head. He stared, unblinking, managing to stammer," But this vantage point won't do." He snapped his fingers, and he and Crowley lurched forward as the barrier shifted, then shrank. The demon took a step forward, but was held back by his friend who seemed rooted to the ground. He turned around, his eyes questioning.

Aziraphale smiled sheepishly. "That was for your benefit, Anthony. I think it's best if I...witness it all from here."

"You've been Chaz a million times already, you have," Crowley considered hauntingly.

"First time out looking in," the angel managed shakily, letting go of the demon's hand, but patting it before he released it completely. "I have the wear-with-all to view the savage details." He pointed to the ground. "But from here."

"But you're gonna allow me access to the ringside seats?"

"That was our agreement, was it not?"

Crowley simply nodded, and turning with the sword held higher, dutifully marched to the level ground.

Already he wished he still had the angel protectively at his side, but there was no call for it. Crowley paused seven feet from the action, and put out his hand, testing the barrier. There he found it, and he leaned his face against it, watching his hot breath create mist over the performance before him. Snarling, he wiped it away with a squeaky noise, and continued his vigil.

Now the horror show began in earnest.

Willard paced around Chaz, touching him here and there, and with every brush of his fingers something new and horrible manifested on the angel's flesh. His body seized as his shoulders were yanked forcefully backwards, his wrists hogtied to his ankles with razor wire. Small lances, from as tiny as a toothpick, to as large as a knitting needle, thrust into Chaz's pale yielding flesh, entering and exiting and resting there while Willard laughed at the formations they took.

Crowley was clinching his fists, shaking, coiled. Snarling like a whole pack of wolves. He forced his eyes to tear away from Willard's ministrations, and scrutinized Chaz's vacant face. It was not so vacant now, tears mingling with blood as the torturous pain took hold. And yet, he was smiling. Crowley felt nauseous. His vision swam.

"Angel," he hollered over his shoulder. "Agape? Are you alright?"

A faint," Yes, sweet boy, no Agape," came back to him. It quaked, it cracked. But it answered, undeterred.

Crowley returned to the play.

By now Willard was admiring his craftmanship. Chaz's whole body shook with the agony of a thousand penetrations. Some were tiny and only went skin deep: along his arms and legs and the back of his thick beautiful neck and shoulders. Others found their way deeper, piercing the muscles of his back, his thighs, the sides of his stomach. By now he was bathed in seams of blood.

Crowley found himself weeping at the thought of Aziraphale's pale body going through such a state. He was mouthing "no, no, no" thru his gritted teeth despite having an awareness of what was coming next.

Still growling, he forced himself to witness what Willard perpetuated on Chaz's groin, and he hissed so hard he nearly bit off his own darting tongue.

A urethral sounder plunged deep into Chaz's erected shaft. This by itself wouldn't have been so bad, but to test it Willard bent down and lightly twisted it with his fingers, toying with it, and revealing heavy barbs like those on a felting needle. Only these were much larger, much more severe. He watched with delight as Chazz whimpered loudly, even as dark and congealing blood oozed its way through the eye of the penis to mix with heavy pre-cum. Chaz was swaying now with Willard's attentions, as if performing a dance for his terrible petting hands.

"Angel, Agape?" Crowley nearly mourned. Aziraphale answered him as before. Still here, I can keep going. The demon swore a small prayer of thanks that he still endured, and continued viewing.

Willard had moved his sick interest to perforating Chazz's scrotum. A dozen rings ran completely thru them, jagged with thorny teeth, ratcheting the skin tautly from his mutilated balls in every direction at they pulled hard against tight chains rooted to the ground. They radiated out like the spokes in a wheel, poor Chazz the very center of its axil.

Crowley banged his head against the barrier, moaning. For one brief minute he shut his eyes to the unbearable scene, and he called back to his friend upon the hill. And this time there was no answer.

Panicked, his head jerked around and he twisted at the waist, searching behind him. Aziraphale was a dark silhouette against the bright sky. The demon made himself focus, and his angel finally came into clear view.

Aziraphale's face was a mask of horror. Crowley shouted at him, and then he roared his name.

"I'm fine!" Aziraphale shouted, blinking hard.

"Are you sure!?!?"

"Yes, Crowley. Are you? Do I need to stop?"

Crowley wanted to shout yes! He wanted to unleash his growing fury on the specter of himself, to eviscerate Willard with his fangs, which were starting to grow along with his nails.

"No! No! Watch and learn, angel. Own it! Weapons, remember?"

"Yes...yes, dear boy....I'm soldiering on."

"Me too," the demon shuttered, turning back," Me too."

Now was the third and final act. The terrible ending. Crowley galvanized himself, and forced his eyes forward.

Willard grasped Chaz's thick neck, and squeezed, nearly crushing it. The angel gasped for air. Crowley was practically throwing himself against the invisible barrier, watching this terrible display with a feverish rage.

There was a click, and there around Chaz's neck was a stiff collar, a ribbed and ribboned thing with the look of a corset. Willard started to leer, and snap his long fingers in a jaunty rhythm, and with each snap the collar grew taller, and tighter, until—

There was a visceral crack, a loud one like someone snapping a chicken bone. Chaz's eyes boggled.

Willard turned round to Crowley, sneering, "Well, we have to break a few eggs, or in this case a few bones, to achieve perfection."

The demon screamed bloody murder and hurled himself at the wall. Cracks began to form.

"IIILLLLLLLLFUUUUUUCKKKKKKIIINNNGGGKKILLLLLYYYOOUUUUUILLLLLKILLLLYOOOUILLLKILLLLLYOUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!"