Defilement of the Divine Chapter 4 - Aelania's Shattered Shield

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Aelania's wings ached with the strain of maintaining formation, the bronze-gold feathers locked tight as a divine shield against the onslaught.

How had it known to attack here? The monster that called itself Carnifax, the damned dragon that had raped and murdered Aurelia, had only made one attack on the wall so far - a direct strike before being driven back by the combined power of the angelic host, empowered by Celestia's wards and Harmony's songs. That single assault had been devastating, its flames smashing against the wall's weakest point with the intensity of a thousand siege engines.

The assault had been so precise that Aelania couldn't understand how it knew where to strike. Did the demons somehow know the layout of Heaven? Had some traitorous soul informed them of their weaknesses? Even in this place, where the walls had never recovered fully from Malakai’s revolt and the war it had triggered, Heaven's walls were still strong, almost impenetrable: All the attack had done was open a small fissure, a crack barely large enough for two angels to stand shoulder to shoulder.

It was still a weak point. An entry into heaven. No demons would be allowed to enter. She would defend that weak point… No matter the cost.

For hours — or was it days? — She had stood firm at Heaven's outer wall, her muscles burning with exhaustion as wave after wave of lesser demons crashed against her defense. Blood spattered her pristine armor, both the sulfurous black ichor of demon flesh and the gleaming gold of her fallen comrades. Still, she did not falter. Heaven's shield-bearer would die before she allowed a single demon to breach her section of the wall.

The once-golden ramparts now ran slick with angelic blood, the sacred metal reflecting the dawn's light in sickening crimson hues. Beneath her, the ground had become a churning mass of fallen bodies: demons with their twisted limbs and leathery wings tangled with the broken forms of angels, their halos shattered into glittering dust. The air itself seemed to burn with each breath, filled with the stench of burned flesh and the acrid tang of demonic corruption.

The relentless legion of malformed soldiers pressed against her position endlessly. She fought on, every muscle in her body burning with the exertion… and the longer she managed to hold, the more she knew her effort was not in vain. If she could keep this pace up, if she could endure, she would stifle the hellspawn's burning ambition. She would let them know this was not some soft paradise ready to be taken, but a realm guarded by uncompromising fury. Heaven's shield-bearer, they called her, and she would embody it as long as her body continued to obey her commands.

Aelania would hold this line forever, if necessary.

"Stand fast for Lumina!" Aelania cried, her voice carrying across the battlefield to the weary defenders positioned behind her shield of wings. Her halo blazed defiantly above her sweat-soaked brow, its light cutting through the miasma of battle like a beacon. "They shall not pass while we draw breath!"

Another wave surged forward, chittering, howling things with too many eyes and limbs bent at impossible angles. Aelania gritted her teeth as they crashed against her wing-shield, their claws scraping against divine feathers with a sound like talons on metal. The impact sent tremors through her body, muscles screaming in protest as she absorbed the force of their charge.

"For Lumina!" The voices behind her echoed her battle cry, though noticeably fewer than before. The wall had held for days against an endless tide, and with each hour, more angels fell. Their voices, once a chorus of thousands, had dwindled to hundreds.

Something felt wrong.

The air shifted unnaturally, carrying whispers that shouldn't be there, words spoken in a language not meant for angelic ears. A cold dread slithered down Aelania's spine as the sounds behind her changed from battle cries to wet, choking gasps. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, an instinctual warning that made her heart stutter in her chest.

"Stand firm!" she called again, straining to maintain her shield as another wave of clawed demons battered against it. "For Heaven's glory!"

Only silence answered her.

Aelania risked a glance behind her, breaking the perfect formation of her wings for just a moment, and her stomach plummeted to her feet.

Several of her fellow angels had turned on the others, plunging blades into backs, throats, and hearts with dark intention. Their faces were hidden behind masks of shadow that seemed to drink in the light, leaving only voids where their features should be. Blood sprayed in graceful arcs as they methodically slaughtered their shield-brothers and sisters. Wings were severed with single strikes, halos shattering with sickening crystalline sounds as they fell.

"No!" The word tore from her throat as she witnessed an angel she had trained for centuries drive a blade through the throat of his battle-partner. Golden blood fountained from the wound, spattering across his shadow-masked face without leaving a mark. "What madness is this? Brothers! Sisters! Hold fast to the light!"

Her attention split between the demons before her and the betrayal behind, Aelania's perfect defense faltered. The shield of her wings trembled, feathers separating just enough to create an opening in Heaven's defenses.

A demon the size of a horse lunged through the gap, its maw filled with needle-teeth that tore into the throat of the nearest true angel. More followed, exploiting the weakness like water through a cracked dam.

Aelania spun fully, abandoning her post to face the betrayal, praying that someone would fill the breach behind her. Her sword manifested in her hand, its edge glowing with divine light that cut through the shadows like a surgeon's blade through flesh.

"Traitors!" she snarled, lunging toward the nearest shadow-masked figure. "By Lumina's grace, you will pay for this treachery!"

As she watched in horror, the shadow masks concealing the traitors' faces began to fade, revealing not her brethren but something else entirely. Where angelic features should have been, there was only a writhing darkness that shifted and flowed like smoke given substance.

Standing amidst the carnage was a figure unlike the others — taller, more substantial, its form rippling with barely contained malice. Multiple faces emerged and receded across its features in rapid succession: a child's innocent smile, a lover's tender gaze, a mother's comforting visage.

They were all masks concealing the horror beneath. Aelania recognized the Greater Demon immediately, her blood turning to ice in her veins. Profanus. The Trust-Breaker. The Defiler of Bonds.

His presence this close to the walls of Heaven should have been impossible… the walls were warded against such powerful entities. The wards on the Western Wall, however, were the weakest… flawed from repeated assaults, there had never been time to fully restore them with the demons always attacking elsewhere. Had he known that? Surely he hadn’t just gotten lucky…

"Such dedication," he purred, his voice a harmonious chorus of all things comforting and familiar — a mother's lullaby, a lover's whisper, a commander's confident order. "Such... loyalty."

Aelania raised her sword, its edge glowing brighter as it responded to her righteous fury. "Back to the pit, demon!" she snarled, lunging forward with all her remaining strength. Her muscles screamed in protest, wings flaring defensively behind her. She had to stop him, had to close the breach before—

Sharp, searing pain erupted between her shoulder blades, so sudden and intense that her vision briefly went white. Aelania gasped, her momentum halted as cold steel punched through her armor, parting flesh and scraping bone with equal ease. Looking down in disbelief, she saw a bloodied blade protruding from her chest, blood streaming down its length in rivulets of crimson.

"Such loyalty," Profanus whispered directly into her ear, his hot breath raising gooseflesh on her neck. "But to whom, I wonder?"

With mounting horror, she realized the demon was now standing behind her, though she'd seen him before her just a moment ago. The figure she'd charged at dissolved into shadow like morning mist under a burning sun.

"You..." she choked, blood bubbling between her lips and spattering her chin.

"I was that angel as well," Profanus confirmed, twisting the blade with deliberate cruelty. The metal ground against her ribs, sending fresh waves of agony through her body. "I've been many things to many angels today. The lover they trusted. The commander they followed. The sibling they protected."

His free hand gripped her wing joint with crushing force, fingers digging beneath her armor where divine plumage met celestial flesh. "Let me show you how Heaven rewards such devotion," Profanus growled, tearing at her armor with inhuman strength.

The sacred metal that had protected Aelania for centuries, armor forged in divine fires and blessed by Lumina herself, ripped away like parchment beneath his corrupted touch. Plates designed to withstand demonic weapons shattered and fell away, revealing her glistening, sweat-slicked flesh to the cold dawn air.

Her magnificent tits spilled free, full and firm with rosy nipples that hardened instantly in the chill — perfect globes that defied gravity despite their generous size. Blood from the sword wound in her abdomen trickled down between them, painting crimson trails across her alabaster skin, highlighting the definition of her toned stomach. Her body was a warrior's temple: sculpted arms and powerful thighs that could crush a demon's skull between them, yet curved in all the places that made men and gods alike burn with desire.

Aelania's face flushed crimson, her divine essence shuddering with humiliation as her naked body was exposed to her defiler. Her athletic frame trembled, muscles tensing beneath smooth skin: the cut of her abs and the swell of her biceps only enhancing her feminine curves rather than diminishing them. The wound in her side pulsed, spilling hot celestial blood that ran down her hip and thigh, making her skin glisten obscenely in the light.

She struggled weakly, her strength fading with each pulse of divine blood that poured from her wound. Her breasts heaved with labored breath, jiggling slightly with each desperate movement. The sword fell from her nerveless fingers, its light dimming as it clattered to the blood-soaked ground, leaving her defenseless… her powerful, naked body now nothing but a plaything for his twisted desires.

Behind them, through the small gap in Heaven's defenses where she had stood guard for so long, demons poured like a dark tide. Their chittering laughter and howls of triumph filled the air as they swarmed over the bodies of fallen angels, desecrating the dead and overwhelming the few survivors.

Aelania watched in helpless horror as the section of wall she had defended for millennia — her sacred duty, her very purpose — fell to the enemy. The blade in her back prevented her from falling, holding her upright like a grotesque puppet as her armor continued to be stripped away piece by piece.

The last plate fell away, leaving her naked and impaled, her bronze-gold wings drooping uselessly at her sides. Profanus's multiple hands roamed over her exposed flesh, leaving trails of corruption that burned like acid against her divine skin.

"Now," he whispered, his voice a chorus of everyone she had ever loved or trusted. Profanus grabbed a fistful of Aelania's hair, yanking her head back with such force that she felt strands tear from her scalp. "My real work begins." With his other hand, he withdrew the blade from her back in a single, cruel motion, sending fresh agony spiraling through her body. Her knees buckled beneath her, a flood of crimson pouring from the wound as she collapsed to the blood-soaked ground. The demon loomed over her, his form shifting constantly like smoke caught in a violent storm, multiple faces appearing and dissolving across his features as he forced her onto her knees.

"The mighty shield-bearer," he mocked, his voice a dissonant harmony of familiar tones: comrades she had fought beside, commanders she had served under, innocents she had protected. "Kneeling in the dirt like a common supplicant." Aelania tried to summon her sword again, her trembling hand outstretched, but the weapon remained inert on the ground where it had fallen. Her divine connection flickered weakly, like a candle in a gale.

From the writhing darkness of Profanus's form, something began to emerge. A thick prehensile cock erupted from his pubic symphysis, its keratinized scales rasping against his skin as auxiliary copulatory tendrils emerged from the shaft's ventral groove, and its surface was covered in pulsating veins that glowed with sickly purple light. The head was bulbous and misshapen, leaking a viscous fluid that sizzled where it dripped onto the sacred ground of Heaven, leaving small craters of corruption in the golden stone.

"No," Aelania gasped, recognizing the instrument of desecration for what it was. She had seen the aftermath of such violations on the battlefield: angels left broken and defiled, their divine light extinguished by acts too profane to name. She struggled despite the wound in her back, golden blood streaming down her naked body as she tried to crawl away from the monstrosity before her. “Lumina, give me strength!" she prayed, her voice cracking with desperation. If she could just reach her sword, if she could just—

Profanus's laughter cut through her prayer like a blade through flesh. "Your precious Lumina can't help you now," he hissed, positioning himself behind her. His many hands gripped her hips with bruising force, clawed fingers digging into divine flesh. Without warning, he rammed his cock into her asshole, splitting her anal sphincter in a radial tear that sprayed angelic blood across his thighs, the puckered muscle shredding into fleshy petals around his girth.

The violation was so sudden, so complete, that for a moment Aelania couldn't even scream — her voice caught in her throat as white-hot agony exploded through her body.

Then the scream came, a sound of pure torment that echoed across the battlefield. Angels still fighting turned at the sound, their faces contorting with horror as they witnessed their shield-bearer, the embodiment of Heaven's protection, being violated by a Greater Demon.

Her blood served as the only lubrication as Profanus thrust brutally into her, each movement sending fresh waves of torment through her body. The wound in her back tore wider with each impact, blood spattering the ground beneath her in a red rain that hissed and steamed where they mixed with the demon's corrupting fluids. Her wings fluttered uselessly at her sides, once-powerful pinions now limp with shock and pain. She tried to fold them around herself, to shield her body from the watching eyes of demons and dying angels alike, but Profanus seized one wing and wrenched it back, nearly dislocating it from her shoulder. "No hiding, shield-bearer," he growled, his voice shifting to mimic her own commander. "Let them all see what becomes of Heaven's defenders."

Aelania's fingers clawed at the ground, trying to find purchase, trying to pull herself away from the relentless violation. But Profanus's grip was implacable, his many hands holding her in place as he drove deeper and deeper into her unprepared body.

"Feel that, shield-bearer?" Profanus grunted, his cock stretching her asshole beyond its limits, tearing the sensitive flesh with each thrust. "Feel how easily you're breached? Just like your defenses."

Her mind fractured under the assault, thoughts scattering like leaves in a hurricane. This couldn't be happening! Not here, not in Heaven, not to her. She was Aelania, shield-bearer of the Host, protector of the divine border. She was—

A particularly brutal thrust drove the air from her lungs, jolting her back to the horrible reality. Her face pressed against the blood-soaked ground, mixing her tears with the ichor of her fallen comrades.

Tears streamed down Aelania's face as she felt herself tearing inside, the demon's massive cock scraping her raw. Each thrust sent new waves of agony radiating from her core to her extremities, a pain beyond anything she'd experienced in millennia of existence. This was not just a physical violation but something deeper, a desecration that wounded her very essence.

Through blurred vision, she watched demons pour through the gap in Heaven's wall — the gap she had been responsible for defending. Their twisted forms swarmed across the broken ground, assaulting the gap in the wall, claws and teeth gleaming as they fell upon the remaining angelic defenders. A young angel, one Aelania had personally trained just decades ago, fought valiantly against three demons, her sword flickering with divine light as she cut down two of her attackers. For a moment, Aelania felt a surge of hope, of pride in her pupil's skill. Then the third demon caught the young angel's sword arm, wrenching it until bones snapped with an audible crack. Her scream of pain mirrored Aelania's own as the demon drove her to the ground, tearing at her wings and armor with the same sadistic glee that Profanus displayed. "Watch," Profanus commanded, seizing Aelania's hair and forcing her head up, ensuring she couldn't look away from the atrocities unfolding before her as the young warrior began to be raped. "Watch what your failure has wrought."

All across the battlefield, similar scenes played out. Angels cried out for mercy that would not come as the demonic forces overwhelmed them. Some were simply slaughtered, their halos shattered and wings severed from their bodies. Others suffered fates like Aelania's, pinned beneath demonic forms that violated them with savage delight.

"This is your legacy," Profanus snarled in her ear, his hips slamming against her with punishing force. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh was obscene in its normality amidst the chaos and slaughter. "The shield that broke."

Aelania's body jerked with each thrust, her strength failing as blood continued to pour from the wound in her back and from her torn asshole. The pain had become so constant, so overwhelming, that it transcended physical sensation, becoming almost a separate entity that consumed her consciousness.

"Please," she whispered, though she wasn't sure who she was begging or what she was asking for. Mercy seemed impossible. Death would be a release, but she knew the demon would not grant her that kindness. Through her tears, Aelania watched another wave of demons assault the break in the wall, flowing through the breach like a dark tide that might soon engulf all of Heaven. The knowledge that she had failed — failed her duty, failed her comrades, failed Lumina herself — was a wound deeper than any physical violation.

The agony had become a constant, throbbing presence, almost separate from Aelania herself. Each brutal thrust into her torn asshole sent fresh waves of pain radiating through her body, but something in her had begun to detach, to float above the horror as a desperate act of self-preservation. She stared blankly ahead, watching demons tear through Heaven's defenders, her mind retreating from the full understanding of what was happening to her body. Then Profanus gripped her chin with unexpected gentleness, turning her face upward, forcing her to look at him as his form began to shift and change.

The sensation of his cock inside her remained constant, brutally stretching her bleeding ass, but the face that now gazed down at her sent a fresh wave of horror crashing through her body. The dissociation that had offered a thin veil of protection shattered instantly, forcing her back into the full, terrible awareness of her violation.

Lumina's gentle features, perfect in their divine beauty, smiled tenderly at her.

It was a flawless recreation. Profanus captured the flowing hair like captured starlight, the eyes that held galaxies in their depths, the radiant halo that outshone all others. Every detail, from the subtle glow that emanated from Her skin to the specific curve of Her lips when offering comfort to a troubled soul… Profanus had captured it all, creating a perfect mockery of the divine.

"No," Aelania whispered, her voice breaking. "No, not that face. Not Her face." The violation of her body was suddenly secondary to this new desecration: this perversion of everything sacred and pure.

"Is this not what you wanted, my faithful shield?" Profanus asked in Lumina's gentle, melodious voice, each word a perfect imitation of the Creator's cadence. His cock continued to ravage her asshole, the physical brutality at complete odds with the tender expression on the face he now wore. "To be filled with divine purpose?"

The cognitive dissonance was too much to bear. Aelania's mind reeled, unable to reconcile the beloved face of her Creator with the cock destroying her insides. She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to look upon this abomination. Profanus immediately slapped her face, the blow stinging but not as painful as the continued violation of her ass. "Look at me," he commanded, still using Lumina's voice — the voice that had spoken creation into being, now demanding Aelania witness its corruption. "Look upon your Creator as She rewards your service."

Aelania forced her eyes open, tears streaming down her face in rivulets that mingled with the blood from her split lip. "You're not Her," she rasped, each word a struggle as Profanus continued to thrust into her. "You don't deserve to wear that face!"

"But I am," Profanus continued in Lumina's voice, brushing a tender hand across Aelania's tear-stained cheek while continuing to violate her ass with savage thrusts. "I am everything you've fought for. Everything you've sacrificed for."

One of his many hands, this one now slender and perfect like Lumina's, traced the wound between Aelania's shoulder blades, fingers coming away wet with blood. With deliberate slowness, he brought those blood-coated fingers to his lips — Lumina's lips — and licked them clean, his eyes never leaving Aelania's from over her shoulder. "Sweet," he purred in the Creator's voice. "Just as I made you to be."

Aelania sobbed, confusion and agony fracturing her mind. This was blasphemy beyond imagining, him using the most sacred visage in all creation to perform such an act of depravity. Her entire existence had been dedicated to serving and protecting Lumina, and now that holy purpose was being twisted into something obscene. "Please," she begged, though she wasn't sure what she was asking for. Death? An end to this particular torment? For the real Lumina to somehow will this demon from existence?

"Such a faithful servant," Profanus crooned, cupping Aelania's face with both hands while his hips continued their relentless rhythm. The tenderness of the gesture was the cruelest part, a mockery of the comfort Lumina had offered in moments of doubt or fear. "Have I not always rewarded faith?" His thumbs wiped away her tears in a grotesque parody of compassion, while his cock continued to tear at her insides with each thrust. The contrast between the gentleness of his hands and the brutality occurring below was a form of torture that transcended the physical.

"You are not Her," Aelania insisted, clinging to this truth as her only anchor in a sea of horror. "Lumina is light and love and creation!. You are nothing but corruption and lies."

The face of her Creator smiled sadly, an expression Aelania had seen before when Lumina mourned the loss of a soul to darkness. "And what is creation without destruction? What is light without shadow?" Profanus asked, still wearing Lumina's visage. "I am but another aspect of divinity, my shield. The aspect you chose to serve when you failed your duty."

Those words cut deeper than any blade, striking at the core of Aelania's being. She knew it was a demon talking, knew it… and still the words struck home, driven with all the sharp, piercing power of a well-honed blade. "No," she whispered, but doubt had taken root, spreading like poison through her thoughts.

Profanus leaned down, bringing Lumina's face close to hers. The warm breath against her skin, the familiar scent of stardust and divine energy; they were all perfect recreations that made the violation all the more horrific. "Accept your new purpose," he whispered in Lumina's voice, lips brushing against Aelania's ear. "As I accept the offering of your body."

With those words, Profanus's thrusts became more frantic, more desperate. The cock inside her asshole seemed to swell even larger, stretching her torn flesh beyond what should have been possible. Aelania screamed as fresh pain bloomed within her, the agony reaching new heights as Profanus drove himself to completion. With a sound that was half Lumina's harmonious laugh and half demonic snarl, Profanus came inside her. Hot, corrupt seed flooded her guts, crystallizing inside of her upon contact with divine viscera and sending jagged shards of black diamond shredding her intestines. The sensation was indescribable; the essence of a Greater Demon pouring into a vessel created for purity, defiling her from the inside out.

Profanus remained buried inside her ass, his seed continuing to pump into her in seemingly endless quantities. Lumina's sacred lips brushed her ear, breath smelling of communion wine, and the tender affection that made the violation infinitely worse, as if this desecration were an act of love rather than the ultimate blasphemy. "There," Profanus said softly, still using Lumina's voice. "Now you carry a piece of me inside you. Just as all my creations should."

Aelania wanted to scream, to rage against this final perversion of everything sacred, but her strength had abandoned her. She could only lie there, pinned beneath the demon wearing her Creator's face, feeling his corrupt essence filling her guts and spreading through her body like a disease. The worst part was not the physical pain, nor even the violation itself, but the tiny, treacherous part of her mind that responded to the comfort of seeing Lumina's face, hearing Her voice. Some deep, primal part of her angelic nature still reached for that connection, that divine love, even as it was twisted into something monstrous.

And that, Aelania realized through her tears, was perhaps Profanus's greatest victory — not just the violation of her body, but the pollution of her very faith.

"You are truly delightful," Profanus declared, his form rippling as he shed Lumina's divine appearance like a snake shedding its skin. The beautiful features of the Goddess melted away, revealing the writhing mass of shadows and too many faces beneath. His voice, no longer Lumina's gentle melody, returned to its chorus of discordant tones speaking in unison. Then with a sudden, cruel motion, he withdrew from her, leaving her guts empty and burning. Before she could even process the momentary relief, multiple arms extended from his form, seizing her. He flipped her onto her back with such force that the air was driven from her lungs, pinning her spread-eagled against the blood-soaked ground. Clawed hands gripped her wrists and ankles with crushing force, stretching her limbs to their limits until joints threatened to dislocate. Her wings were trapped painfully beneath her body, the once-proud feathers now matted with blood and filth. Her halo, flickering weakly above her head, cast sporadic golden light across her violated form.

The ground beneath Aelania was saturated with blood, both angelic and demonic. It was soaking into her wings and hair by the second. The once-golden stones of Heaven's wall were stained beyond recognition, the sacred metal bracing the wall tarnished by the corruption that now flowed freely through the breach. Blood and divine ichor mingled with demonic fluids, creating a noxious mixture that hissed and bubbled where it pooled.

Around them, the battle had become a slaughter. What had begun as a defensive stand had transformed into a desperate retreat, as the few surviving angels tried to fall back to the next line of defense. Demons swarmed over Heaven's defenders like locusts as they fought through the gap, their twisted forms moving with terrible purpose as they tore through divine flesh with claws and teeth.

Profanus loomed over Aelania, his form seeming to grow larger with each passing moment, feeding on the corruption and suffering that surrounded them. New visages emerged across his features, angelic and demonic countenances merging into horrific combinations, all wearing expressions of sadistic pleasure. To her horror, Aelania watched as his cock, already monstrous in size, began to change. The rigid shaft split lengthwise, dividing and subdividing until it resembled a writhing mass of tentacle-like appendages. Each one pulsed with sickly light, dripping with a mixture of her blood and his corrupt essence.

"Watch," Profanus commanded, one of his many hands gripping her jaw with bruising force, turning her head to face the ongoing massacre. "Watch as your failure is completed."

Through tears and blood, Aelania was forced to witness the first demon make it out of the gap and into Heaven. Angels she had trained with, fought beside, and protected for eons fell one by one. Some fought valiantly to the end, their swords flashing with divine light until they were finally overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Others, wounded and exhausted, were captured rather than killed — their fates perhaps worse than those who found the release of death.

A young guardian angel was surrounded by three towering demons. She fought with desperate courage, for a few more seconds before a demon caught the young angel's sword arm, wrenching it until the blade fell from nerveless fingers. The other two fell upon her like wolves on a lamb, tearing at her armor and wings while she screamed for mercy that would never come.

Before Aelania could see the inevitable outcome of that struggle, her view was blocked by Profanus's writhing tentacle-cocks, dangling before her face like obscene pendulums. Each one was slick with her blood and his previous release, the stench of corruption overwhelming her senses. "You’re not finished yet, shield-bearer," Profanus hissed, his voice a symphony of malice.

One of the tentacles thrust brutally into her pussy, tearing through her unprepared flesh with savage force. Aelania screamed as her divine channel was violated, the sanctity of her body defiled by the demon's intrusion. The pain was immediate and overwhelming, a burning, tearing sensation that radiated from her core outward.

Before she could recover, before she could even draw breath to scream again, another tentacle forced its way into her mouth, plunging down her throat until she gagged and choked. The taste was indescribable: bitter corruption mixed with her own blood and the remnants of his previous release. Her jaw stretched painfully to accommodate the invasion, teeth scraping uselessly against the unyielding flesh.

A third tentacle pushed against her already-abused asshole, forcing its way back into the torn channel with renewed vigor. The triple penetration was more than her body could process. Pain signals overwhelmed her nervous system, causing her vision to dim at the edges as her consciousness threatened to flee. Profanus would not allow such mercy. One of his hands slapped her face hard enough to snap her head to the side, the pain sharp enough to drag her back from the brink of oblivion. "Stay with me, shield-bearer," he growled. "I want you to feel every moment of this."

He established a punishing rhythm, alternating which hole he violated with cruel strokes — withdrawing from her pussy to slam into her ass, pulling from her mouth to thrust into her pussy, ensuring no part of her remained undefiled for even a moment. Each penetration brought fresh agony, her divine body unable to adapt to the corruption invading it from every direction.

Through her tear-filled eyes, Aelania was forced to watch her fellow defenders being overwhelmed, the demon's grip preventing her from looking away as everything she had sworn to protect fell.

An angelic commander who had fought at her side in countless battles was dragged to the ground by howling demons. They tore his wings from his back in a spray of golden ichor, the divine appendages claimed as trophies while he screamed in agony. His halo was shattered next, the pieces ground to dust beneath clawed feet. Another beautiful warrior angel was pinned beneath a massive demon like a toad, her divine light dimming as she was violated just as savagely as Aelania herself.

"Look at them," Profanus hissed, withdrawing his tentacle from her throat just long enough for her to gasp a desperate breath. "Look at those your failure doomed." His clawed hands moved to her wings, gripping the feathered limbs with deliberate cruelty. With methodical slowness, he began to pull the divine appendages taut, stretching them to their limits. "These served you well, shield-bearer," he said, his voice almost conversational despite the ongoing violation of her three holes. "But you won't need them anymore."

With a sudden, cruel motion, he tore at the wings, ripping feathers away in bloody clumps. Aelania's scream was muffled by the tentacle in her throat, the sound trapped in her chest as fresh agony bloomed across her back. Feather by feather, muscle by muscle, Profanus methodically destroyed the divine appendages that had once formed Aelania's shield. The pain transcended physical sensation, becoming a soul-deep agony that threatened to unmake her very being. Golden ichor poured from the ragged wounds, pooling beneath her and mixing with the filth of the battlefield.

Through it all, the violation of her body continued without pause. The tentacles in her mouth, pussy, and ass worked in terrible unison, stretching her orifices beyond their limits, tearing delicate tissues with each thrust. The pain had become so constant, so all-encompassing, that it became almost meaningless, a sea of agony in which she was drowning, unable to distinguish one torment from another.

Profanus leaned close, his mouth — or what passed for it amid his constantly shifting features — next to her ear. "I can feel you breaking," he whispered, the words somehow cutting through the haze of pain that enveloped her. "Not just your body, but your spirit. Your faith. Your purpose."

He was right. Something fundamental was cracking within Aelania: not just her physical form, but the divine essence that made her an angel. Each violation, each moment of witnessed horror, each torn feather carved away another piece of her celestial nature.

With a sudden, terrible synchronicity, the tentacles in all three of her holes began to pulse and swell. Profanus's form tensed above her, his many faces contorting in pleasure as he approached his climax.

"This is your baptism," he snarled, his voice rising to a roar that shook the very air. "This is your rebirth!"

With those words, he came — a flood of corrupt essence pouring into her mouth, pussy, and ass simultaneously. The burning, acidic sensation filled every cavity, choking her, drowning her from within. It was too much… too much pain, too much violation, too much corruption flooding her divine form. Her consciousness began to fracture, unable to process the totality of her desecration. Through the haze of agony and degradation, one thought remained clear: She had failed. Failed her duty, failed her comrades, failed Lumina herself.

As Profanus's release finally subsided, he withdrew his tentacles from all three of her holes with deliberate slowness, ensuring maximum pain as he pulled free from her brutalized flesh. Corrupt essence and blood poured from her violated orifices, pooling beneath her on the battlefield.

Aelania lay broken and defiled, her once-pristine form now a testament to corruption. Divine ichor and demonic seed leaked from her mouth, pussy, and ass in equal measure. Her wings hung in tatters from her back, more bloody meat than divine appendage. Her halo flickered weakly above her head, its light guttering like a candle in a storm.

Profanus stood over her, his form still shifting and rippling with barely contained power. “Stand up." The Greater Demon gripped her by the throat, clawed fingers digging into the delicate flesh as he hauled her upright. Her legs, weak from violation and blood loss, buckled beneath her immediately. Divine ichor continued to leak from her three violated holes, dripping down her thighs and chin to join the corruption already soaking the battlefield. She couldn't stand. She couldn’t even kneel. Her body betrayed her as completely as she had betrayed her duty and she collapsed.

Profanus made a sound of disgust, tightening his grip until she choked. "Pathetic," he hissed, multiple faces shifting across his features in rapid succession. "The mighty shield-bearer can't even stand to face her failure." With contemptuous ease, he released her throat, letting her fall back to the blood-soaked ground in a broken heap. The bloody tatters that were all that remained of her wings splayed uselessly beneath her, exposing bone and mangled muscle. "No matter," Profanus continued, his form rippling with malicious intent. "You'll serve your purpose either way."

From the writhing shadows of his form, he began to craft something new: a collar of pure darkness that solidified into a ring of corrupted metal. Runes of desecration glowed along its surface with sickly purple light, each symbol a perversion of sacred angelic script. The collar snapped around Aelania's throat with a sound like breaking bones, locking into place with a finality that sent chills through her violated body.

The metal burned where it touched her divine flesh, corruption seeping into her very essence through the point of contact. A chain materialized, extending from the collar into Profanus's waiting hand, forming a leash of shadow and malice that bound her to him.

"Walk," he ordered, yanking the chain so hard that Aelania was dragged forward on her face, her chin scraping against the stone of Heaven's wall.

She tried to rise, to at least crawl on hands and knees, but her strength had abandoned her. Even the simplest movement sent waves of agony through her body, the wounds of her violation still fresh and bleeding.

"Crawl then," Profanus laughed, a sound like glass breaking in the depths of a forgotten tomb. He began to walk, dragging her behind him across the battlefield with casual cruelty.

Her knees and hands scraped against broken armor, severed wings, and the cooling bodies of her fallen comrades. The golden stone of Heaven's pathways was slick with blood and worse, making every movement a struggle to find purchase. Each pull of the chain choked her, forcing her to scramble forward or be strangled by the collar's constricting grip.

The journey was a fresh hell, a gauntlet of horrors that Aelania was forced to experience at the most intimate level. Her body, already brutalized beyond recognition, accumulated new wounds as she was dragged through the detritus of battle. Jagged pieces of armor cut into her knees and palms, while stray feathers torn from the wings of fallen angels clung to her blood-slick skin like accusatory fingers. Worst of all were the bodies: angels she had known for millennia, warriors she had trained, friends she had laughed with in times of peace. Some were clearly dead, their halos shattered and their divine light extinguished. Others still lived, though in states that made death seem merciful by comparison. Demons crouched over wounded angels, tearing at divine flesh with claws and teeth, desecrating sacred bodies.

A young warrior who had shown particular promise with defensive formations lay on the ground, pinned in place by spikes driven through her wings. Three demons took turns violating her, their grotesque members tearing into her divine flesh while others watched and jeered. Her eyes, once bright with celestial light, now stared blankly at nothing, her mind retreated from the horror being visited upon her body. Another angel crawled desperately toward a sword just out of reach, his lower body a ruin of torn flesh and exposed bone. A demon casually kicked the weapon further away each time his bloody fingers came close, laughing at the futile struggle before finally ending it with a brutal stomp to the back of the angel's head.

Profanus paraded Aelania along the battle lines like a trophy, her mutilated body a banner of defeat for all to see. Angels still fighting glanced down to witness their shield-bearer reduced to a crawling, defiled thing chained to the enemy's hand. The effect on morale was immediate and devastating. Some lost heart at the sight, their defenses faltering in crucial moments of distraction. Others fought with renewed desperation, as if trying to erase the image of Aelania's degradation from their minds through sheer violence.

Through tear-blurred eyes, Aelania watched more demonic forces pour through the breach she had defended. Their numbers seemed endless, a dark tide sweeping toward Heaven's inner sanctums. As hopeless as she felt, though, something caught her attention — something that pierced the fog of pain and despair that enveloped her consciousness. The invasion, vast as it was, remained contained to her section of Heaven's wall. The other defensive positions still held firm, angelic warriors fighting with grim determination to prevent additional breaches. The gap was small… even with it having fallen, few demons could make it inside quickly. They wouldn’t be able to overwhelm Heaven like this, surely.

Her failure was disgraceful, and it had opened the way… but not all was lost. Heaven might still stand, even if she had fallen.

In the sky above, a desperate aerial battle unfolded — a confrontation so massive in scale that it drew the attention of both angelic and demonic forces alike. The massive form of Carnifax the Bloodstorm, his dragon-like body blotting out the light of Heaven itself, engaged with a smaller, faster figure wreathed in divine radiance.

Archangel Seraphina, Heaven's greatest warrior, darted around the demon dragon like a comet, her four burnished silver wings catching the light as she executed perfect combat maneuvers. Her sword, a legendary weapon forged from the first light of creation, left trails of golden fire in its wake as she struck at Carnifax's scaled hide.

The demon dragon roared in fury, his breath a torrent of corrupting flame that Seraphina narrowly avoided with a twist of her powerful wings. For a moment, watching Seraphina fight with such skill and determination, Aelania felt a flicker of hope. The Archangel had never been defeated, had never yielded to any foe. If anyone could turn the tide of this invasion, it would be her.

Before Aelania could see the outcome of the aerial battle between Seraphina and Carnifax, Profanus yanked the chain again, forcing Aelania's attention back to her own degradation. "Your general will fall," he promised, as if reading her thoughts. "Just as you did. Just as all of Heaven will." The collar bit into her throat, choking off her breath and sending black spots dancing across her vision. When he finally loosened his grip, she collapsed forward, gasping desperately for air, her face pressed against the blood-soaked ground of what had once been sacred territory.

"Your hope is pathetic," Profanus snarled, dragging her through the carnage toward a mound of bodies that had once been angels under her command. The pile of broken wings, shattered halos, and violated flesh formed a grotesque altar at the center of the battlefield: a monument to Heaven's defenders and their ultimate failure.

With a vicious jerk of the chain, he forced her to her knees amidst the corpses of her comrades. The faces of angels she had trained with, fought beside, and protected for millennia stared up at her with empty eyes, their divine light extinguished. Some bore expressions of terror frozen in death, while others showed only a final resignation — acceptance of a fate they could not escape.

Aelania's knees pressed against the cooling body of a young guardian angel, crying softly. "One last service, shield-bearer," Profanus hissed, his form shifting again as he loomed over her. His hand tangled in her blood-matted hair, yanking her head back with enough force to strain her neck. His cock, which had split into multiple tentacles during her previous violation, had reformed into one thick, destructive tool, slick with her blood and filth. “The defenders on the wall should be able to see you from here.” Profanus pressed the bloated head of his member against her lips, the corrupt flesh burning where it touched her divine skin. "Open," he commanded, his voice a chorus of everyone she had ever failed.

Aelania kept her mouth firmly closed, tears streaming down her face in silent rivers. This final defiance — this last, small resistance — was all she had left. Her body had been violated, her wings destroyed, her divine purpose corrupted, but this one act of refusal was still within her power.

Profanus sighed with mock disappointment, the sound echoing from multiple mouths across his shifting features. "Always the stubborn ones," he said, almost fondly, as if her defiance was a trait he admired. "It’s my lot in life." His free hand closed around her throat, just above the collar, crushing her windpipe with deliberate slowness. As she gasped involuntarily for air, his other hand moved to her mouth, clawed fingers forcing themselves between her lips. One inch at a time, the Greater Demon pried her jaw apart, the pressure increasing until she heard something crack: teeth breaking beneath inhuman strength. The pain was immediate and blinding, a fresh agony to join the symphony of torment already playing through her body. She tasted her own divine blood, sweet and metallic, as it filled her mouth from broken gums and shattered teeth.

The moment her mouth was forced open, Profanus thrust his cock between her bleeding lips, driving deep into her throat with a single brutal motion. The size was impossible, and its thickness stretched her jaw to its breaking point, a length that pushed far beyond what any physical body should be able to accommodate. A third of his cock after it had split had filled her throat earlier… this stuffed it near to bursting. Aelania felt her throat bulge obscenely as the demon's cock pushed deeper and deeper, until she could feel it pressing against her neck from the inside. Her gag reflex triggered violently, her body's desperate attempt to expel the foreign intrusion, but with nowhere for the bile to go, she choked on her own vomit as Profanus began brutally fucking her face.

Her lungs burned for air that couldn't reach them, the massive cock plugging her throat completely. Her hands weakly pushed against his thighs, a final, futile resistance as darkness crept in from the edges of her vision. He forced his cock deeper with each thrust until his grotesque balls slapped against her chin. The humiliation of this last violation was almost worse than the physical pain: to be used like this, surrounded by the bodies of those who had trusted her to protect them, was a desecration of everything she had ever stood for.

Aelania's consciousness began to fade as oxygen deprivation took its toll. The world narrowed to a single point of awareness — the massive intrusion in her throat, the burning in her chest, the pressure building behind her eyes as blood vessels began to rupture. Profanus's grip on her hair tightened, using it as leverage to force her head down further onto his cock. "Die knowing you failed," he growled, his member swelling as he approached climax. "Die knowing you opened the way for our victory."

Through the encroaching darkness, Aelania was dimly aware of the sounds of battle continuing around them, the clash of divine weapons against demonic flesh, the screams of the wounded and dying, the roars of demons as they pressed further into Heaven's territory. Her failure had opened the door, but others still fought to close it.

Seraphina might yet turn the tide. Lumina's light might yet prevail.

But not for her. Not for Heaven's shield-bearer.

"Your friends will join you soon," Profanus promised. "One by one, they'll fall. One by one, they'll be corrupted or destroyed. And they'll know it began with you."

Aelania's dimming awareness registered the demon's body tensing, his cock pulsing as corrupt seed flooded her throat. The burning, acidic sensation of his climax was like molten metal being poured down her esophagus, searing divine flesh never meant to contact such corruption.

The force of his release was so powerful that some of it forced its way back up around his member, spraying from her nose and the corners of her mouth in obscene fountains. The corrupt essence burned wherever it touched, eating into divine flesh like acid through parchment. Her oxygen-starved brain fired with random, disconnected thoughts: memories of her creation at Lumina's hands, the first time she had successfully manifested her wing-shield, the pride she had felt when assigned to the outer wall, the faces of young angels she had trained over the millennia. Those memories fragmented and faded as Profanus continued to empty himself into her dying body, his cock still lodged deep in her throat, cutting off all air. Her struggles weakened, then ceased entirely, her body going limp in his grasp as the last traces of consciousness slipped away.

Above her head, her halo flickered one final time. The golden radiance dimmed to amber, then to a dull copper, before finally fading to a lifeless gray. The circle cracked, hairline fractures spreading across its surface like a web, before it fell from its place above her head. The halo struck the blood-soaked ground with a sound like broken glass, bouncing once before settling among the other shattered halos of fallen angels. Its light, the divine spark that had animated Aelania since her creation, was extinguished.

Only when her body was completely still, when no divine light remained in her once-bright eyes, did Profanus withdraw. His cock slid from her throat with a wet, obscene sound, trailing corrupt essence and blood across her lifeless face. Without his grip to support her, Aelania's body collapsed forward, falling unceremoniously among the corpses of her fellow slain angels.

Profanus stood over her for a moment, admiring his work — the once-proud shield-bearer of Heaven, her wings torn to bloody shreds, her body violated and broken, her divine light extinguished. Another trophy in his long campaign against Lumina's creation.

He reached down, almost tenderly, and broke the chain that connected to her collar. The metal, forged from his own corrupted essence, dissolved into shadow as he released it, its purpose fulfilled with the death of its wearer. In death, her expression held a final, grim look; something between despair and defiance, between surrender and resistance. Her eyes, though empty of light, still faced toward Heaven's inner sanctums, as if even in death, she sought to warn those who remained of the darkness that approached.

"Sleep well, shield-bearer," he murmured, his voice briefly adopting the gentle tones of Lumina herself in one final mockery. "Your service is concluded."

Then, without ceremony, Profanus turned away to join the advancing horde.

Back at the breach, the tide was turning. The demons were being pushed back, their advance halted by waves of determined angelic warfare. Profanus could see the forms of the Holy Twins, Valora and Verita, leading the counter-offensive from the front lines. With their platinum wings beating in perfect unison, the two spearheaded the angelic push, driving their ranks forward and reclaiming precious ground. He watched their every movement, admiring the beauty of the identical angels, the way their divine light shone even amidst the chaos and carnage. His cock hardened with lust as he imagined violating them, breaking their heavenly spirits, stripping them of their halos and wings. He wanted them so much, more than any prize he'd claimed so far.

But Profanus was no fool. He was mighty, one of the most feared demons in Hell's legions, but he understood his limits. Taking both Valora and Verita on together was a task of impossible odds. Surrounded by Heaven's renewed forces, it would be suicide to challenge them now. Most of the demons who'd forced their way into paradise were already being hunted down, massacred by the angels as they regained control. Yet despite the apparent setback, Profanus smiled wickedly, a dark satisfaction coursing through him. Most of the demons who had entered would be slain, but not all. He had never intended to hold the breach indefinitely, or to let an army of demons in… he had just needed to open the defenses long enough to let one enter. In those crucial few minutes, the walls had fallen, Heaven’s doom had passed through the gap and entered Lumina's domain.

The Trust-Breaker's work wasn’t even nearly complete. There were many more angels to corrupt, many more divine lights to extinguish. His job here was finished, but the battle was far from over. As he stepped over Aelania's desecrated corpse, though, Profanus couldn’t help but feel the particular satisfaction that came from breaking something truly strong. Something that had believed itself unbreakable.

Behind him, Aelania's body remained among the fallen, just another casualty in Hell's victorious march toward Paradise. Her once-magnificent form, created by Lumina to be a living shield against darkness, was now nothing more than cooling flesh, divine essence already dissipating into the ether.

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