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The Road to Hell – Chapter 2

Updated: Apr 21

She was back in that warehouse again.

She was always back in that fucking warehouse.

Every time she went to sleep, every time she tried to have one night of peace, she closed her eyes, tried to get calm enough to let sleep take her… and Molly found herself walking into that horrible warehouse again. She knew it wasn’t real… that wasn’t exactly a great insight. Obviously it was just a dream… a horrid nightmare made manifest by her traumatized thoughts, but even armed with that knowledge even a mental mage like Molly couldn’t seem to wake herself up, no matter how she tried. No, the nightmare would only end after she entered that warehouse… and faced the inevitable.

Molly didn’t so much choose to walk forward – it was more that she found herself pushing open the door. It opened easily enough with a slow, ghastly creak to reveal the dimly lit interior. Even though she was asleep, she could still recognize the pungent odor of the place. It smelled sterile, like a general store on the edge of town, left abandoned and uninhabited by even the employees. The lights above flickered on and off, all except for one. She knew which one. And she knew where it led.

Molly stepped into the warehouse with cautious, but terrified steps. Even though she knew what happened, she couldn’t stop herself from being afraid. Even though she knew how it all ended, just seeing it incited feelings of abhorrent terror in her heart. Over what happened. Over what they had done to her. And as she rounded a corner, stepping between one of the countless shelves, she was forced to witness the object of her nightmare once again. The fears made manifest.

Ahead of her was a picture-perfect scene of what happened a few days ago. Ahead of her, down the row, she saw herself… on her knees, pinned against a shelf, with that ugly servitor thrusting away in her mouth. A dozen figures She looked ahead to see herself, on her knees, with a twisted Servitor thrusting away at her mouth. They surrounded the dream version of herself, pressing close to her and mocking her while the lead Servitor took his sweet, ample time in raping her mouth… fucking it like the sloppiest cunt in all of Chicago. That’s what they called her, after all. The words, the sentiments… they all remained fresh on her traumatized mind. Watching herself being violently throatfucked by a monster of a man in a filthy warehouse wasn’t any better for her mental health, either. She watched him use her with no mercy, no pause, no hesitation or care… just unabashed cruelty he took out on her dream self.

Just like they had in real life.

Molly tore her eyes away from the scene and stepped into another alley of shelves. The same scene lay before her, replicated there. She moved further, and saw it again down the next row, and the next, and the next… between each shelf was a version of the same twisted nightmare, one of her being violated by the Fomor’s minions. No matter how much she tried to escape and elude it, she always found herself forced to bear witness to the scene, running from them and towards them all at once until she reached what she hoped was the end of the warehouse… Where the backdoor rested.

Her hand reached for the brass knob…and it felt further away. With abject horror, Molly realized that the warehouse’s rear was sliding away from her… As if the place was further widening itself, to never give her the semblance of a chance to escape the torment she was being made to endure. The warlock started running. Passing torment after torment, scene after scene of forced depravity. She grew more fatigued with each step, and even worse no matter how she ran, the only escape from her nightmare kept sliding away even faster, escaping and eluding her no matter how she tried to reach it.

“There she is! Get her!” someone yelled from behind her… she was being chased. Servitors were behind her… and they were getting closer!

Desperate, Molly turned and dove into one the aisles. She found the same scene as before… herself, on her knees, violently facefucked by the cruel servitor once again. Molly blinked. Her throat felt abruptly full, like something was clogging it. She was suffocating! Another blink, and she felt the pavement beneath her knees… and then she was there again, beneath him, his cock down her neck. Again. She tried in earnest to pull away and free herself from the fucker, but he clutched her head firmly and fucked her throat with long, broad swings of his hips. Just like last time. Just like before.

“HERE IT COMES, LITTLE MURDERER! OPEN WIDE!” Then he came, as he did in a thousand other copies of this scene in a thousand other aisles. Molly felt like she was forced to ensure the abhorrent sensation of it sloshing down the gullet a million times over… feeling each and every sensation every version of her felt as his semen oozed and flowed down her throat and dripped down into her stomach. He held her close the entire time he came, just like last time, only pulling free when he emptied his balls. Again, just like last time, Molly threw it up, and tasted it again… heaving in desperation to rid herself of the salty, thick load she had just been made to swallow. The very idea of being humiliated like this made her want to curl up into a ball and die. But this was normally where the dream ended, and she was thrust back into her morose reality.

Except now, she was still there. Molly’s panic and dread grew when she wasn’t greeted with her derelict apartment. She was still trapped in the nightmare… and just because the servitors were gone didn’t mean she was alone. “So, this is what happens to you the instant I’m not looking out for you?”

Her blood went cold, and tears welled in the corners of her eyes. She tried to speak. To say something, but found herself unable to speak. Like her voice was just gone. She turned her head, and found the object of her madness seated on a crate, wearing a scornful look on his face. Harry Dresden. He looked the same as he had before his death, six and a half feet tall and perpetually needing a shave. In life, he could almost look goofy… until it was time for him to act. Then he could suddenly look terrifying with the intensity he could have. He looked like that, now… glaring at her like she was one of the vampires. “The moment I leave you alone you put on a shoddy costume and play pretend? And look where it’s gotten you.” He gestured at her, at the pile of sperm-soaked vomit on the floor, and shook his head. “I should have never taken you on as an apprentice. It would have been more merciful to let the White Council kill you instead of hoping you’d amount to something.”

Molly tried with frantic desperation to protest. To deny such horrid words, that cut deeper than the sharpest blade. Instead, Harry, or the nightmare version of him, stood up from the crate and trudged away. “Seems I’ll have to rest knowing Chicago’s doomed. Enjoy whatever they’re about to do to you.”

Hands clamped down onto her shins. Molly whipped her gaze back to the servitors that had just reappeared, and her legs were roughly forced apart. Pried wide open until she was painfully doing the splits on the ground, his cock looming over her like a weapon. She tried to protest in earnest, thrashing in utter, tear-stricken desperation… But no words came out.

And the domed head of the monster’s cock pressed against her helpless cunt, and rammed forward.



Molly bolted awake, trying to push herself up to her feet, and damn near killed herself in the attempt as her broken leg didn’t support the weight. It stabbed painfully and buckled, then her ankle tangled in the blanket and she fell, just barely catching herself and trying to hold back choked sobs and terrified whimpers at the horridness of the nightmare she had just faced. It felt so real… Tears flowed down her already soaked cheeks and mucus oozed from her nose, showing that she had already been crying in her sleep. She held back choked, strangled sobs as she stared at her run-down, dirty mattress lying on the floor, the images of her nightmare still freshly playing through her head… Especially the apparition of Harry. The one that scornfully told her that he was regretting even taking her on as an apprentice. She could see the accusation in his eyes… blaming her for killing him.

The nightmares were getting worse. Every other time, for the last few days, not only could she get herself out of it, but it always ended when the lead servitor finished with his “fun” and flung her back, just as he did last time. Sometimes, it ended after he kicked her in the stomach, like the jolt of pain to the brain was enough to rouse her from her terrible dream. But this time, it ended only when the worst-case scenario played out in her tormented mind. With another one moving to fulfill their horrid threat towards her and try raping her on the floor like a cheap whore in an alley. The memory of what it had felt like to be used like that, taken like a piece of meat, left the shuddering warlock badly shaken with mind-numbing terror and the flow of tears only increased for several minutes.

After several long moments, Molly finally pulled herself together enough to wipe her face with her shoddy blankets, then rise to her feet… carefully. She had hated going to Butters and having the ME set the bone for her and put her in the closest thing to cast he could do, and the mousy little man had looked at her with eyes that seemed like they knew too much. Moving sent a jolt of pain through her leg, even though she tried not to use the braced thing… it made her stumble, and she caught herself on the wall. Wizards had almost miraculous powers of recovery – Harry had nearly burned his hand down to the bone a few years back, and while it wasn’t pretty it was almost back to functional by the point he had headed down to Chichén Itzá – but that recovery wasn’t fast… it wasn’t going to make her leg heal much quicker than a normal person would. She was going to have a limp for the foreseeable future. A constant, horrid reminder of what those servitors did to her.

“Oh good, you are awake,” an irksome, cheery voice said.

Molly could do nothing but stare at the woman that had been her mentor for months as she stepped into the room. If she wasn’t hurting all over, she would have gotten out of bed and grabbed the fairy by her throat, squeezing until she felt the life leave her body.

“Now don’t give me that look, Molly,” the Leanansidhe drawled in her lazy way. “Neither of us could have anticipated that something like this would happen.”

“You led me to that place knowing the Fomors would be there,” Molly accused, the tears starting once again, stinging the cut underneath her eyes. This place… it was all she had. This absolute hellhole she called home was just a ratty, condemned apartment on the wrong side of the tracks where criminals preyed on innocent people for sport, or fought among themselves. The table was a mess, the cabinets next to empty. The apartment itself was supposed to have been knocked down a long time ago, but she managed to hex her door’s knob. Anyone who touched it instantly forgot what they were doing, and often that led to them walking off, none the wiser. The trick was a simple, but effective one, as she knew the builders and workers had to check inside the apartment first to make sure no one was squatting there. But it was only a matter of time before that failed, and she was forced to find somewhere else to hole up until she could get something figured out. The power didn’t work… there wasn’t a TV, or a phone, or running water. She had to get creative to keep herself clean and warm… but it was hers.

Or it had been, until this bitch intruded.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Leanansidhe said in indignation. “The Fomor’s minions are all over the city these days, you know that. I’m certain they saw you as you walked there… and if I hadn’t been there to save you you’d already be dead by now.”

Molly couldn’t help but notice that in that denial she had never actually denied anything. She had never said that she didn’t know they would show up. Fucking faeries. “Like your word means anything,” the injured woman muttered under her breath, her mind racing around as she thought of ways to escape from Chicago and never come back. The legend she had been creating for herself was about to backfire. Just a few rumors of what had happened to her in the wrong ears, and every bit of reputation she had earned would shatter and make everything worse than it had ever been… the underworld would be abuzz with stories of her apparent humiliation. She could just hear every thug and supernatural tough in the city snickering at the story of the Rag Lady taking it up the ass and not being able to do a damn thing about it. Oh, what a sensational story it would make.

“I’m a high Sidhe of the Winter Court,” the Leanansidhe said, stretching out her creamy hands. “My word is unquestionable. Besides… Did you ever think you were going to live an ordinary life, precious child? What do you think is going to happen? That the Fomor would roll over, and you could go back to living in relative innocence?” She shook her head. “The innocent life is not for anyone who would make an impact.”

Molly didn’t know if Lea was telling the truth or not about her involvement in this whole thing. She wanted to go home so badly… Go home to her mom, and dad. Her mom, Charity Carpenter, made the best pancakes in Chicago, and a strong cup of coffee. She knew that around her Father no one would ever be touching her without going through him first. The only issue was that it would get them hurt or killed. All she cared about at the moment was getting the food in her belly, and leaving the house at the first chance she got; even if it meant leaving with a face full of injuries. She had to get away from the woman and Chicago as far as she could, and she would like to see her try to stop her. To hell with the Leanansidhe, Mab and every fucking person in Chicago. She was done, and that’s the end of it!

“I did try to warn you over the last few months,” Lea warned, checking out her already-perfect nails. “But like most things in life, experience really is the best teacher.”

“I’m sorry,” Molly said, leaning towards her teacher, her anger almost boiling over. “When did you try to warn me about being raped by a bunch of horny supernatural thugs?”

“Every single time that I mentioned that you were missing the point of who you are, and how to use your powers in a way that was better suited for you,” the Leanansidhe said, not batting an eye at Molly’s furious face so close to hers. “But did you believe me? No. You did nothing but go around town experimenting with your kindergarten style magic and look where that has gotten you.”

“I was ambushed, and overpowered,” Molly said in protest. If there was one thing she wasn’t going to do, it would be sitting there listening to the woman blame her for something she had no control over.

“And Harry would have found a way to get himself out of such a messy situation,” the Leanansidhe said, going below the belt. “Wouldn’t he?”

Molly recoiled back like someone had thrown a bucket of ice cold water on her. The woman had succeeded in giving voice to what she had been thinking since the ordeal began, and no matter how much she would have preferred to have that piece of knowledge hidden, she couldn’t deny the truth for what it was. Yes, Harry would have found a way out of such a messy situation. Hadn’t he dealt with worse during his time hunting the bad guys in Chicago? Molly thought in despair. Everything that had shown up in his path… from wicked faerie monsters feeding on fear, to power drunk necromancers, to the entire damned Red Court of Vampires… if they got in his way, Harry would find a way to stop them. And he always walked out.

Until she had killed him.

“You’re right,” Molly said, leaning back against the wall and trying not to start crying again. “It wouldn’t have happened to Harry… because Harry is a better wizard than I’ll ever be. I let a few successes go to my head.”

“Which is precisely what I’ve been trying to warn you about for months,” the Leanansidhe said, leaning closer. “You are taking half measures. You are capable of so much more… even more than Harry.”

Molly chuckled despite herself, barely listening. One minute she had told her she wasn’t good enough to be Harry Dresden, and now she was telling her she could be better than he was? She wasn’t in the mood to play mind games with the Leanansidhe, and all she wanted at the moment was to try to get some food and go back to sleep. “Fine. Whatever. You can leave now.”

“This childish attitude right here? This is what gets you in trouble, my child. Thinking you know it all, while in hindsight, you know nothing. Instead, you should tap into that anger that wants to consume you, and make some real magic happen.”

“One can only create a miracle when they have something to give,” Molly said quietly, the anger dissipating as quickly as it had come, as the Leanansidhe pulled her close, letting her rest her head on her shoulders, her musky fairy scent feeling her nostrils. “I’m damaged goods, Aunt Lea. How do I protect a whole city, when I couldn’t even protect myself?”

“By knowing when you need assistance,” the Leanansidhe said, running her fingers through her slightly damp hair, the feeling causing Molly to close her eyes for a while. “That is what you have done wrong these past few months, Molly. You had stormed across Chicago, seeing yourself as a one-man army, rejecting offered help from friends and colleagues, and like an overworked person, it had all come crashing down on you.”

“Which is why I have decided to hang up my boots,” Molly said, closing her eyes briefly, and then opening them as their blue depths winked out. “I’m done.”

“Ah. A shame. I guess you are not interested in what Harry did when he was this overwhelmed?” the Leanansidhe asked nonchalantly, flipping her hair back in a way that oozed casual, effortless sex appeal.

“When was Harry ever in this kind of situation?” Molly asked, a bit inquisitive. She knew the wise thing to do was ignore the woman, but she couldn’t bring herself to not know.

Lea laughed. “The first rule, Padawan, is to never let them see you sweat,” the faerie said, quoting one of the first things Harry had said to her when he became her mentor. “He was in similar dire straits plenty of times, dear… and some of them even included a similar level of violation. No matter how dark it got, however, he managed to force his way through every single one of them… because he knew how to be resourceful. How to be opportunistic. And how not to turn his back on a golden opportunity when it arrived.”

That had… not been ambiguous at all. She hadn’t given much in the way of detail, but she hadn’t left herself a lot of room to lie there, either… and it made sense with what she knew of Harry. “And what would he have done, then?” Molly asked quietly, looking at the floor.

“The same thing you watched him do when he was outmatched and heading to Chichén Itzá,” Lea said with a smile. “He would have found a way to get hold of power. Enough power to make him stand out among everyone else.”

Molly laughed. “So you think I’m going to become the Winter Knight now?” she said, disbelieving. Harry had chosen to die rather than take that role… and now Lea was suggesting she do it? “You’ve got to be kidding me. Why would the Queen even want a reprobate like me?”

“She wouldn’t,” Lea said. The harshness of the absolute statement was tempered by her kind tone. “You are no good to her like you are now, and she’d be no good for you, either. The last thing you need is to spend more time beneath someone else’s thumb.” She shook her head. “No, you need power that you can control. Something you can take over. A weapon that Harry fought with and eventually controlled.”

“What is that?” Molly asked, her heart beating frantically.

“A fallen angel,” the Leanansidhe said, dropping a bomb on Molly as she felt the room spin around her. “You need to pick up Lasciel’s coin.”

For a moment, time froze. Of every single thing that could have possibly come out of the ancient fae’s mouth, it was hard to think of a single thing that she expected less than a suggestion that she bind herself to one of the Denarian.

Molly knew about the fallen angels, better than most. It had been her Father’s job, once, to hunt such beings down and prevent them from harming the world… and they had crippled him for it. Over the years, a group of Fallen Angels were imprisoned in thirty pieces of Roman silver… They called themselves the Order of the Blackened Denarius. Thirty of them, bound to silver coins, existed to tempt mankind… to step into this world through them and wreak havoc. They were bound in those coins, unable to affect the world directly… so they needed to work through a human host.

Demonic possession, Molly knew, was largely a myth. Demons weren’t allowed to overtake a mortal’s free well, so they could only forcibly possess someone who had no will left, someone brain damaged or so drugged they wouldn’t ever come back to reality… but the truth was that they didn’t need to force people, because they were allowed to tempt. To speak with those that held their coins, infest their minds, and simply offer a path to damnation. They would tempt anyone they could. Give them power. These Fallen Angels were masters of deception that are adept at using a mortal’s own inclinations against them in order to make choices they wouldn’t make otherwise. They know how to add enough anger, self-recrimination, guilt and despair into the mix, effectively taking a mortal’s free choice from them in an insidious way. The Fallen would lead the mortal deeper and deeper into its influence over time. It couldn’t force them… but it could offer power, again and again. Making the bearer more dependent over time… until they had surrendered enough of themselves that they weren’t the ones calling the shots anymore.

The Fallen knew human weaknesses better than anyone. How to undermine them. Even warned and aware of them, far better people than her had been destroyed over their thousand year reign of horror over humanity. It had been her father’s solemn task to hunt them down and prevent the harm they inflicted on the world. No one survived a touch by them. And Lasciel… Lasciel was worse than most that way. The fallen angel, aptly known by the sobriquet Seducer, or Webweaver, had been tempting mankind since before men had used fire.

And the Leanansidhe wanted her to willingly expose herself to one? Letting the fallen angel into her head to deal with her trauma from the last week would be like dealing with it by putting a gun to her head and pulling the trigger. Molly reeled back in shock as though the woman had slapped her. “W-what?” Molly said, simply for lack of something else to say that could have possibly expressed her bewilderment.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Lea said dismissively. “Evil. Temptation. La. You will need to be stronger than this.”

“I’m sorry, but did you just suggest I pick up Lasciel’s coin? One of the most dangerous of the Fallen Angels. That Lasciel?”

“Yes,” the Leanansidhe replied calmly, not batting an eye. “If you are serious about protecting the city of Chicago, then that’s what you need to do.”

“I’m beginning to question your intent as my mentor,” Molly said, the understatement of the century in her mind. “One minute you are flinging baseballs made of ice at me. The next minute, you are driving me to a den of Fomor Servitors, where I get mindlessly raped — by the way, have I thanked you for that horrific ordeal? Thank you, Aunt Lea. Then to crown it all, you want me to send myself to hell in the most painful way possible. Your advice is really taking me places.”

Throughout her hand, the copper-haired sidhe just watched her with cat-slitted eyes, the barest hint of annoyance in how she held her lip. “Are you done?” The Leanansidhe asked shortly.

The woman was playing some sort of mind games on her, and Molly couldn’t stand it any longer. She could at least show a little reaction instead of sitting there looking all glamorous while suggesting the most ludicrous thing Molly had ever heard in her life. “You know what? Fuck you!” Molly spat, her chest heaving up and down as she felt the pent up anger burst through her, the image of servitors on top of her, fucking her, squirming to the front of her memory again as her words brought them to the surface.

“I will ignore that,” she said loftily. “You are hurt, and you are angry, and I am feeling generous, so I will not treat your rudeness the way it deserves.” Her eyes hardened momentarily, enough to make Molly have to work not to flinch as the reminder just how dangerous the other woman was… that she was playing with fire here. “Do you know what strong people do when they have been hurt? They dust themselves up and fight another day. They don’t cower in fear, discarding their abilities, and wishing they could go in search of something different from the life they had had before…

“How is picking up Lasciel’s coin going to be of any help to me in protecting the city?” Molly asked, raising her head up to stare at the woman. “She’ll just destroy me.”

“That’s where you are wrong, dear child,” the fairy said, chuckling a little. “You are much stronger than the Fallen Angel. If you know how to tame Lasciel, and get her to follow your will, you will control.”

“How do you know that?” Molly asked suspiciously.

She smiled like the cat who finally caught the canary. “Because I watched Harry do it already.”

Molly sat with her head against the wall, blinking. She wanted to call bullshit… but… but that actually made some sense. She had seen Harry do a few things… things he probably thought she didn’t notice. In fairness, she had been too green at being a wizard to recognize what she was seeing at the time, but after the fact it was hard to mistake Hellfire as anything else. A few of her father’s whispered conversations, the way Sanya had looked at him, Harry’s meetings with Father Forthill, and that incident when the Denarians had been in town three winters ago and how they’d been so sure that Harry of all people would join them… it all made sense in hindsight.

“…how?” Molly asked. “A straight answer. No squirming, auntie.”

“He picked up her coin about nine years ago, in your own backyard,” Lea said, sitting down. She looked different all the sudden, and it took Molly a moment to notice. Her entire manner had changed… gone was all the playfulness, the humor, the games. She was being – or at least acting – completely earnest. “One of the Fallen had wanted one of your child brother’s to pick up the coin… Harry did it instead. And while he buried the coin and refused to take it up, a piece of Lasciel – her shadow – lived in his head. For almost five years.”

“God, Harry…” Molly whispered. Five years. He had had a Fallen Angel in his head for five years, trying to control him, laying her influence on thick.

“She thought she would have Harry twisted into a pretzel worshiping her… but as you know, few people in the world are as stubborn as my Godson. It was after a few years that he realized something odd was starting to happen. He wasn’t immune to being affected and changed by her… but as he changed, he changed her even more. And in the end, the Fallen Angel had a chance to get him. To make him hers. And instead, she saved his life, even if it cost her her own.”

“That…” Molly whispered. “That’s not possible. The Fallen can’t be changed. They aren’t humans… they don’t follow the same rules as we do.”

“I know,” Leanansidhe agreed. “But my Godson did so, anyway. In fairness, he did not change Lasciel herself, only the image of her left behind… but even so it was enough that my Queen took notice. As did the Great Betrayer, and the Archangel’s on high. He accomplished what was supposed to be impossible… and tell me, child. You sparred mental magic with your mentor. You battle against him in a contest of wills. Did you ever once lose?”

Molly swallowed. “No…” she whispered, her mind racing. Harry had picked up Lasciel’s coin. And… and he had stayed himself. He had stayed the Harry she had known and loved. Had Harry really been able to make a pact with Lasciel? To take her power without changing, and – in fact – change the legendary seductress of humanity from an enemy into an ally? Leanansidhe was claiming he had. The woman had given her a million and one reasons to not believe her, but somehow, something inside her still wanted to believe.

This had always been her undoing, she knew: her inquisitiveness. The fact that she considered herself too clever. That she knew better. She knew that she was probably walking into a trap here.

So why did she want to walk into it anyway?

Because… Because if it was true, she could save Chicago. If it were true, she could become tough enough to kick the Fomor out of Chicago. If it were true, she could become strong enough no one would be able to hurt her again. Of course, if it failed she was worse than dead… but wasn’t she already worse than dead, right now? Life was all about taking risks, and if she listened to her mentor and took this last risk, what did she really stand to lose? She had lost Harry, her family, the trust of her colleagues and her self-worth. Now she’d lost any sense of dignity. What would it matter if she picked up the coin and failed? She had failed enough, and one more failure wasn’t going to change anything. But one success…

With one success, she might be able to take it all back.

Molly made up her mind.

“Tell me more,” she said slowly.

That night, Molly stood on crutches in the parking lot outside of Saint Mary of the Angels, her blonde hair messy and all over the place. She tilted her head up, trying to reassure herself she was doing the right thing… because she was about to wrong a good man. Saint Mary of the Angels was more than just a church. It was a downright fortress of God, sitting smack dab in the middle of Chicago. It was huge, its dome rising to seventeen stories into the skyline, and was decorated in every kind of accessory she could think of. Statues of angels and saints spread over the roof and ledges, and religious iconography was on every corner above thousands of stained glass windows. It was a stunning structure, one that was impossible to look upon without being impressed by its size, by its artistry, by its beauty. In a city defined by its architectural mastery, Saint Mary of the Angels would never need to bow its head to anyone.

Despite its grandeur, however, it still had rear entrances for deliveries and staff like anywhere else. Molly shook her head, banishing her doubts, and walked to the doors, knocking heavily on the door. Then she waited.

Five minutes later, the door opened, and a stern looking elderly man named Father Paolo came out, staring at her with beaded eyes. They softened when they looked at Molly, however… While the man had never liked Harry very much, he had always had a soft spot for her. She swallowed in a self-conscious manner, hoping the man didn’t take her discomfort as a sign something was wrong. She ought to look hungry and homeless enough to him that her being here made sense. “I’m… I’m here to see Father Forthill,” she said quietly.

The man nodded. Then, without a word, Father Paulo let her in and closed the door behind her, leaving Molly in the hallways as he went to get the good father. The sounds of moving vehicles faded from the city behind her. At this point, there was no real way to go back. She was many things, but a coward was not one of them. She would see through retrieving the coin, even if it means using magic on a man that had been nothing but kind to her. She knew Father Forthill was one of the good people, and he didn’t deserve to have her manipulate him, but she had no choice.

There were footsteps at the end of the hall and Father Forthill walked around the corner, his eyes focusing on her immediately. The priest was fully dressed despite the late hour, the white of his clerical collar easily seen in the dim back hallways. His hair was graying, and he was tall and thin without being frail. He stopped, looking at her through his wire-rimmed glasses with gentle eyes the color of robin eggs. “Molly, good gracious! Is everything alright, dear child?” he said, resuming walking forward.

“I’m sorry, Father,” Molly whispered, looking away as she lied to the man who had babysat her and the other rugrats as kids. “I didn’t know where else to go again, Father,” she said, putting on her best pity face, hoping the other man wouldn’t see through her intentions.

“Well, you have come to the right place,” he said calmly, ushering her forward. “You always have a place of sanctuary here.”

The back of the church resembled an office building more than anything else, or perhaps the administrative section of a school. Molly followed, feeling like she had something squirming in her stomach. She had always looked at the good Father and wondered at his decision to go into priesthood. Sure, she knew most people that went that route did it as a sacrifice, but hadn’t he ever wondered at the life he had missed. He could have been somewhere in a nice suburban house, listening to his kids discuss their day, and a nice pot of food preparing on the fire, but here he was, alone, and living each day like it was the day before; living only to help others… and he had never once shown her an indication he sought otherwise.

Some people dreamed of being lawyers, others doctors. Some wanted to be astronauts, and some movie stars. Father Forthill was a priest, through and through.

Forthill quickly led Molly to the storage room that sometimes doubled as refugee housing. She was distinctly uncomfortable being here, for numerous reasons, and she felt her breathing getting faster. This is where Molly had killed him. Not where Harry had been shot… this was where they had taken Harry to recover after he broke his back, after the vampires had burned down his home. This is where he had decided to take up the Winter Court on their offer. Where he had asked Molly to help him arrange his own assassination. Where she had made him forget, ensured he wouldn’t see it coming and be able to defend himself. This isn’t where he had been shot… but it was where Molly had murdered the man she loved.

She had done it because he believed it had to be done. Because he believed that death was better than standing alongside the Winter Court of the sidhe and letting them turn him into a monster. Now Molly was here, following the advice and plan of one of the high sidhe of Winter… and she hoped she wasn’t making an enormous mistake.

There were a half dozen folded cots up against one of the walls. A few of them were already opened and set out, and silent lumps occupied them beneath the blankets. Other people he was trying to help. Father Forthill was a truly decent man, one of her father’s longtime friends – The priest was famous for taking in strays, and offering them food and shelter. After Harry’s death he had tried to get her to accept his help more than once but she had always turned him down… she didn’t want to be here.

And now she was here. Would he be able to see through her, see her reason for being here? It seemed so obvious to Molly… She thought she must have a sign on her chest.

The old man looked at her, not with the scorn or dread that she got from most people, but friendliness. A feeling that was almost foreign for her, given the last year of her life. He looked over at her, then frowned slightly. “You look like you’ve been through quite a bit.”

Those words cut through her heart. Not because of what was said, but how it was said. With genuine concern. Concern for her wellbeing she hadn’t felt since Harry died. Since she lost him. For the faintest moment, Molly’s resolve over her plan was tested, and she mentally buckled, but she doubled down, and took a composing breath. “It’s… been quite a week, Father,” she whispered, trying her best to put on a brave face. Put on a face that didn’t say she would rather be screaming. “Quite the fucking week.”

“Careful now,” he chuckled. “You normally shouldn’t swear in a church. Though, given who I’m talking to, I’d have better luck getting water from a stone.” There it was, that warm, friendly, grandfather energy. “What can I do for you? Do you need anything? Anything that I can do for you?”

She needed something alright… but she couldn’t outright say it. He wasn’t going to give it to her… but it sure felt good lying to him either. Lying to someone as trusting, as helpful, as him. But it had to be done regardless. “I-I,” she began. “I need somewhere to stay, Forthill. Without Harry around, I haven’t been able to keep a place and—”

“Say no more,” he raised a hand and shook his head. “I can pull out a guest cot in my office. You can stay there until you’re back on your feet.” He didn’t even need to hear the entire story she came up with. “Let me go get the blankets ready. And maybe tomorrow morning, we can get you some new clothes.” Forthill turned away to begin walking. It was do or die. Molly’s trembling hand lifted, and she swung it forward, clamping a hand down on Forthill’s shoulder.

And he froze, swaying back and forth in a trance, as magic swirled around her and she invaded his mind.

Mental magic like this was a delicate matter… and Molly might not be strong, but she could do delicate. She could be delicate all day. She slipped into his thought like a knife between two ribs. She saw the day that Harry called him. Had him come to his home, the day after the battle in the Raith Deeps. Given him a small silver coin… and he watched as Forthill hid it away. Buried it in one of a hundred thousand unremarkable boxes beneath the church in its storeroom, with nothing to mark its presence but for his memory. It was somewhere no one would ever think to look, and where no one would ever find it even if they did… not for a long, long time. The perfect hiding place for it. And now it was where she needed to go.

“Dorme…” Molly whispered. “Dormius. Domarus.” She felt it as her magic sank into his mind, and she caught the old man as he slumped to the ground, suddenly fast asleep. “I’m sorry, father,” she said, her breath hitched. “But this is the only way you can help. I hope you can forgive me.”

She settled him down onto the cot in his office he had intended to offer her, leaving him to sleep. Then, with a deep breath, Molly turned and strode towards the basement with a purpose.

The coin was heavier than she expected.

Molly was back in her condemned home, eying the weighted, silver coin that balanced on her palm, the one that she had sacrificed her last shred of decency to get. Seated on her cot of a bed, she held the coin between her fingers, eying it, staring at it with focused eyes. It was chipped along the edges, worn down… but the wear wasn’t random. Much of the old face on the coin was gone now, but it had been scraped away by time to form an elegant sigil almost like that of an hourglass… and it was one that she recognized. Harry had had a scar like this on his burned hand. She had seen it… which was, to her, the last bit of confirmation she was going to get that Auntie Lea was telling her the truth. That Harry Dresden had indeed faced a fallen angel, conquered her, and lived to tell about it.

Not that that confirmation of truth mattered much anymore, not now that she held the coin in her hand. From what the Leanansidhe had told her, she was already committed – just touching one of these old Denarii was enough to imprint the angel’s shadow in her mind. Already Lasciel’s mind was inside her own somewhere, seeking weakness, seeking a way to convince her to open herself up and let the true angel hiding inside the coin into her. Molly would have to deal with the Fallen herself eventually, but she wasn’t nearly ready for that. First, she needed to tame what was in her own mind. Defeat the shadow, and she would be one step closer to finally having a weapon she could use against the Servitors and their Fomor masters. No more depending on simple illusion magic. No, she could take on the offensive for once, and crush them all…or die trying. And sometimes she considered the latter as a viable option, given what she went through already.

The shadow inside her wouldn’t be finding much. Molly had spent hours slowly, methodically sectioning off parts of her mind away from one another. Building up walls to make a maze of her mind so dense that it would take weeks for Lasciel’s shadow to find anything useful. She wouldn’t be able to stop a being that powerful from digging through her thoughts and memories forever, though – delay was the best she could accomplish, and if the angel understood her plan too soon it could fail. She was on the clock.

She rose, palming the coin. The first order of business was to get rid of this thing. Hide it so that no one else could get to it… and so she wouldn’t be tempted to pick it up again herself. Where it would wait for her until she was ready. Then it would be time to get to work.

Molly curled up on the shitty, dirty mattress and concentrated.

Her belly was full, and it was a nice feeling… but a distracting one for its novelty. She needed to keep her strength up, so she had found one of the doordash delivery people driving by and entered his mind as well. From there, it was easy to convince him to just forget about the food, and leave it where it was… giving her a free meal. She needed it more than the intended recipient did… because this was going to get messy. She needed somewhere concrete in her mind to hunt down the shadow… and she had a pretty good idea where it would be. Trauma seemed to have a gravitational attraction in her head, almost like a black hole… and if her nightmares played out the way they had for the last week, then she was pretty sure she knew where she would find Lasciel.

Long, deep breaths left her, and Molly let herself tip over the edge and fade. Before long, she fell into blissful sleep, even knowing that soon it would be anything but. She fell for a moment, drifting through blackest night and peaceful oblivion. Then her feet touched down on the cold cement outside of the warehouse. That was immediately a difference, a distinct change in her usual nightmare. Normally she couldn’t feel anything through most of the dream. She could perceive the sensations as if they were vividly real, but she had been unable to feel them like she could when she was awake. That was no longer the case. Now, in this waking, magic-infused dream, the world felt perfectly real and solid in a way that put her immediately on guard and filled her with dread as she approached the door to the warehouse… what would this be like rendered in perfect clarity by her magic?

Predictably, it swung open to greet her, and she stepped inside the warehouse of her nightmares once again.

The warlock walked forward, bobbing her way between the aisles once again, drifting between them like a specter. Every step sent a shiver up her spine, both from the cold stone floor before her feet, and the mental preparations to see herself being violently raped by servitors… but all the aisles were empty. She didn’t see the servitors anywhere, and neither did she see the apparition of Harry abandoning her to her horrid doom. This time, everything was empty and desolate. Had the introduction of the angel’s shadow into her mind altered her already further than she expected? Because that probably wasn’t a good sign… though at least she could at least take solace in the fact she didn’t have to face the nightmares of her trauma anymore.

It took until she reached the final aisle for her to find them… and when she turned the corner she didn’t just find the servitors and a copy of herself. She also found Lasciel’s shadow.

The woman stood with her back to Molly, eying the abhorrent scene of the lead Servitor throat-fucking the dream memory of her host. As a shadow of the Fallen Angel she looked exactly how Molly would have imagined an angel to look, all the way down to the exact, pitch-perfect detail. Molly wasn’t a short woman and she still stood a head taller than she was, with flowing golden blonde hair and flawless alabaster skin. She had a bombshell, athletic body, with dangerous curves that would make any man’s head turn, and would make women glare with envy. She was like Aphrodite made manifest before her, even dressed in a flowing white, Roman-style dress that hugged her curves perfectly. Just looking at her, even for a moment, damaged Molly’s resolve.

“It’s tragic, really,” the fallen angel said without even turning to regard her. “You mortals can endure so much pain and misery, and the world likes to act surprised when those same mortals turn into deviants and degenerates. Selling themselves to Fomor in exchange for powers beyond mortal comprehension… or being desperate enough to make a deal with the devil to stop them.” Lasciel finally looked over her shoulder, her purple eyes meeting Molly’s at last. Absolutely gorgeous purple eyes that she could get lost in. The Fallen’s hypnotic gaze betrayed no fear, nor even ire… only allure she never thought to see. “Of course we needn’t battle, little one. You could have so much more instead if you’ll listen to me.”

Her honeyed words eroded and pried at Molly’s head, even in the dream. It was almost surreal… she redoubled and reinforced her resolve. “I don’t think so.” She clasped her hands together, then swept a hand towards the angel. A crashing wave of shadowy smoke erupted from the stone floor and surged towards her. Towards the tragic scene. It engulfed everyone, and when it settled, Lasciel’s wrists were bound by shackles, with chains jutting from the ground itself to ensnare her. She couldn’t do anything about her traumatic memories… but she had trained in mental battle. And powerful as the Fallen was, she has stepped into Molly’s house.

Lasciel’s eyebrow quirked as she looked at the chains on her limbs. “You seek me out so you can deny me?” she asked, a note of seemingly-genuine confusion in her voice. “Your mentor denied me once, but he didn’t seek me out. You did.” She looked left and right. “This really isn’t going to go well for you.”

Molly didn’t answer. Instead, she hardened her will against the growing resistance from the Shadow as she mentally began to resist. “You,” She spat at the shadow, “are going to submit. Let’s do this the easy way.” Molly’s will raged on, causing more chains to erupt from the ground to clamp down onto the angel’s arms, to pull her down.

Lasciel’s shadow frowned. “How comical. You expect to best me with such mortal desires.” She yanked her arms upwards and the chains shattered. Molly blinked, and Lasciel’s shadow was in front of her in an instant. She prepared herself for a slap, a punch, or something else far worse… Instead she felt gentle, delicate hands cup her chin and tip her face upwards, forcing her panicked gaze to meet the angel’s cool, serene one. “I can see it in your soul, little one. You’re afraid. Afraid of what’s to come. You’ve lost so much, and stand to lose so much more.” Lasciel spoke with a cool, serene tone, one that sent shivers along Molly’s back. She stiffened when she felt the angel’s hand trailing along her side, sliding her soft palm along it until she cupped her breast, slowly fondling it. Teasing her with alluring gentleness. All the while she did that, her gaze never left Molly’s. Even as she toyed with her breasts, trying to ease her into submission like a skilled lover. And despite her fervor, Molly knew it was working. Working too well. She’d been touched starved for so long. It was almost nice to feel something gentle for once. Nothing like what she’d been through for the last week, the horrors and rancors she’d endured. The warlock understood that this was what the Angel did… the seductress was here to seduce her. To tempt her into surrendering herself. She didn’t even want to imagine what would happen if she lost inside her own mind.

Lasciel had shattered her first bonds with her will… and here, will was all there was. In this mindscape, infused with so much magic, willpower could warp reality, and one of the Fallen had the kinds of willpower that backed statements like “Let There Be Light.” She was monstrously strong, and in a raw battle of will between them Molly would no more be able to make her move than she could push a skyscraper up a mountain with her bare hands… but this wasn’t a fair battle of wills. Molly had something she didn’t. Free will. Harry Dresden had taught her that when he chose to die instead of serve Queen Mab… humans were free to defy anyone and everyone.

Lasciel’s will seemed perfect, something as hard as diamonds… But that wasn’t true, was it? That was the secret Harry had discovered, what had let him turn his shadow from an enemy into a friend, and that the Leanansidhe had told her in turn. Lasciel’s shadow was an imprint on her mind in the shape of the true Fallen, like a footstep in the mud… and it was impossible for such an impression to be any harder and more durable than what it was made in.

And the Angel had come to play in Molly’s head… and here, she had the edge in making the rules. Here, in Molly’s mind, she could defeat her. Here, she wasn’t the angel with unthinkable power that had crafted stars and watched the birth of the universe… here, she was only mortal.

“So, come now,” she breathed, leaning those plump, kissable lips close to hers. “Give in. Let yourself finally res—”

Molly lashed out on sheer reflex. She reacted on pure reflex, and instead of giving the angel the kiss of submission she drove her head forward. Her forehead smashed into Lasciel’s nose and the Angel flinched back, and her lips curled back in in a snarl that broke the alluring visage of her face for just a moment as she clutched her forehead. This wasn’t the real world. Lasciel’s shadow didn’t have a body to hit… but here, in this dreamscape, Molly’s will made it real. “No,” the warlock growled. “You will be bound… and you will submit.”

Lasciel’s eyes glowed crimson for a moment – no longer serene. A ripping sound filled Molly’s ears, and she saw two long, feathered wings unfurled from Lasciel’s back, each of them as long as she was tall. Above her head, golden smoke wisped and wrapped together, swirling and spinning until it formed something almost – but not quite – like a halo. Something looked wrong about it… misshapen, cracked, and twisted. It further reminded Molly that Lasciel, despite her alluring nature, was one of the Fallen. A single misstep would doom her… especially now that she had pissed her off. But at least she had accomplished what she needed… The seductive spell that Temptress had been trying to weave over her was broken.

“I sought to give you an easy way out, mortal,” the fallen Angel spat out, her tone one of fury. She took slow steps towards Molly, her hands clenched into fists as the warlock backpedaled away from the enraged angel. “To give you an easy way into my loving, gentle grace. Instead, you foolishly seek the hard way… just like your beloved mentor did. I promise you, Molly… this way leads to you groveling like a bug under my heel. This way leads to me making you beg and beg and beg to be allowed to take up my coin, and maybe, after you try your best to convince me for weeks, I’ll let you!”

Molly dug her foot back and clenched her hands into fists, conjuring the same mental projection once more in a bid to ensnare the angel and wrest control. As her will hardened into diamonds the servitors in the aisle, the copy of Molly, all the goods on the shelves… they all turned to smoke, almost like objects losing resolution. From out of that smoke erupted hundreds of chains, striking at Lasciel like a nest of snakes. Shackle after shackle clamping down onto the angel’s arms, and it should have restrained her… but Lasciel yanked upward, and the chains shattered as if they were no stronger than movie glass. Panic began to well in Molly’s head, but there was no time for that right now… Harry always used to say that fear was more deadly than bullets. Instead, she picked one of the other aisles and darted into it. but she eyed the many roving aisles all about, and darted into another one.

“Fleeing doesn’t elude you from damnation, mortal!” Lasciel called after her. Molly cast her will ahead of herself, conjuring an illusion of herself at the end of the aisle, and dampening her footsteps so that she could slide under another, putting the real her out of sight. Predictably, Lasciel stepped into the alley, chasing after Molly with a furious expression… one that meant that the Angel’s shadow was acting on anger and not reason. She was still distracted… and Molly had to press that advantage however she could.

The angel stepped past her hiding spot, and Molly attacked. She kicked out, driving her foot into the angel’s knee. It crunched almost like flesh and blood would have, driven by the weight of Molly’s defiant will, and Lasciel went sprawling to the ground alongside Molly. The two blonde women, one disheveled and one inhuman perfect, struggled on the ground. No matter how terrifying the cat hunting her was, even a cornered rat would fight for her life… and Molly did the same, wrestling the angel to the ground as best she could even as she conjured up chain after chain from her own willpower to grab her limbs and pin them down to the cold floor. To keep the angel distracted as the series of chains wrapped her more and more she rained down blow after blow upon Lasciel’s perfect, pretty face; punching and pummeling with almost animalistic fury to keep her distracted and pained enough so she didn’t just instantly shatter the chains and free herself.

More shackles clamped down and slowly the chains went taut. Bondage had a momentum of its own… the more Molly held her, the more she believed she could successfully bind the angel. The more Molly believed she could succeed, the more effective her bonds became. It was like trying to snap twigs… the more of them gathered, the harder each of them made the other. Soon, no chains broke anymore, and panting in exhaustion Molly rose from the ground, eying her handiwork. The Fallen Angel of Temptation, or at least her shadow, laid on the floor, wrists and shins were trapped and wrapped in chains of darkness. It left her unable to move, struggling in the arcane bonds shackles of Molly’s willpower that kept her pinned to the floor.

The angel squirmed, struggling in her bondage. “Release me, mortal!” she growled. “Release me… or the second I free myself, I will crush every bit of resolve in your body, torment your profane form until pain and bliss blur together, and scatter what little sanity you have left among the damned stars!

Even with those harrowing threats, ones Molly knew for a fact that the angel would act on if she got the opportunity, Lasciel was utterly helpless. As long as Molly’s will remained strong, so too did the dream that bound the shadow, leaving her utterly helpless. But there was still more to do. After all, simply binding the Shadow didn’t do much… she couldn’t use any of the Angel’s power when she was like this. She didn’t need to bind Lasciel… she needed to break her. And even when the Fallen Angel in her head was as vulnerable and flexible as a mortal she still had all the experience and will of someone who had been the universe be born. This was going to be difficult.

But not impossible. Molly had an idea.

“So, you want me to give in?” She asked, carefully wording what she said. “For me to be your good little bitch? Someone else wanted that from me, recently.” With a mild flex of her will, her clothing vanished from her body – Molly wrested and weaved the dream to how she wanted it to be. She took a few steps over and found herself looming over Lasciel’s head. Another shackle emerged from the ground to clamp around her neck, binding her head in place, as Molly grinned down at the trapped angel. “I only see one bitch here… and if you want anything at all from me, you’re going to need to earn it.”

And she dropped, smothering the angel’s face against her cunt, with her pale thighs clamping around Lasciel’s head.

Molly all but smothered the angel’s face against her womanhood, and with the shackle around her neck, she couldn’t turn her face away. It also didn’t help that her thighs kept the shadow’s head pinned as well. Pinned against her pussy with nowhere to go. “You better start licking,” Molly growled, making damn sure she could hear it. “Otherwise I ain’t getting up.” A hand reached down to one of Lasciel’s still-clothed breasts, giving it a tormenting squeeze like she was trying to rip the fucker off. “And I got easy access to all this, so you better do a good job, you mental tapeworm.” Her twist caused a muffled yelp of minor pain and major outrage to escape Lasciel, and the movement of her lips that came with it sent a ticket of bliss trickling up Molly’s spine. Bliss she had no idea how much she’d missed, given all she’d been through for the last while.

Molly wasn’t exactly revolutionizing the Kinsey scale. She wasn’t gay, though she was a bit… experimental. It didn’t matter, because this wasn’t sex… it wasn’t even rape. It was reclamation. For the last week she had suffered through nonstop agony and torment, both physical and mental. Her trauma was real, and existed in her mind… and that meant she could make it real for Lasciel as well. After so long suffering, the pleasure she felt at being able to weaponize her own torment was a bliss completely removed from the purely physical pleasure. Well, now it was her turn to lash out… and she had a lot of pent-up aggression to unleash.

Lasciel, of course, didn’t lick. She was far too stubborn and strong willed for that. That worked out just fine for Molly… the first lesson to teach, and reinforce, was that the Shadow’s decisions didn’t matter. Instead of relying on the other woman’s tongue Molly ground her groin against Lasciel’s face, rubbing her mound back and forth across her lips. Teasing and stroking herself with a simple, brutal use that had nothing to do with the teasing seduction that a temptress like the Fallen would prefer. Even without her tongue working, the touch of her soft lips felt like a thousand silk kisses along her touch-starved cunt, and Molly found herself sighing in bliss. Even so, she kept herself firmly rooted upon the shadow’s face. To keep her trapped against the ground, unable to free herself, as the warlock reached down to idly squeeze and torment the angel’s heaving breasts. Slapping them, squeezing them, pulling on them, and more. Every tug on her tits led to a muffled shout leaving Lasciel, and Molly continued to use her exclamations and the contours of her face to rub at her folds, using her pretty visage as a way to masturbate. She even went so far as to back off enough to let the Angel’s nose sink into Molly’s pussy directly, even so slightly fucking herself with the other woman.

Still, Lasciel didn’t lick, just like Molly expected… so she was going to need to get creative. Tightening her legs around her adversary’s head, Molly leaned forward. A hand braced against the cold floor, as the other snatched a fistful of Lasciel’s pure-white dress, pulling it up to expose the angel’s groin, her uncovered slit. Made sense for the temptress angel to go without panties, to tempt mortals into looking where they shouldn’t. In this case, it gave her another target, and judging from Lasciel’s objection she didn’t like how exposed it made her now. “So, here’s the deal,” she said, releasing the Angel’s dress and bringing her hand up high. “This ends two ways, bitch. Either you start licking… or I make you make me cum. And make no mistake…” She swung her hand down, swatting Lasciel’s mound directly. This time, she felt a muffled scream of pain between her legs. Ones that rattled her to the core from the vibrating sensation. “I got a lot of pent-up anger I need to work off. So I sure as fuck am not going to stop.”

Another slap, one loud enough to ring out through the vacant, empty warehouse, covered up the scream of the muffled angel as Lasciel spasmed beneath her. It rocked Molly’s body once again, and she sighed in pleasure before drawing back her hand again… not letting up on the abuse for even a second. The warlock reached down to grab and tear down her dress, exposing the angel’s alabaster breasts to her sight. Breasts that she was happy to painfully squeeze and pull, even going so far as to twist and pinch her nipples… and all of it with an excited grin on her face. She didn’t realize how fucking good it felt to be the one on top for a change. The one to be in control. The one to be doing the fucking, both metaphorically, and literally. Right in this second, the boons she’d gain once she broke the shadow didn’t even linger on her mind right now… she just thrilled in reclaiming some level of control for once.

The temptation of this power was intoxicating, and it only fueled the inferno of twisted lust she felt. However, Molly did her best to stay focused and stay on task. As mind-numbingly good the Angel’s face felt on her groin, no matter how delightful those screams felt between her legs, her object was breaking the shadow. Even with the chalice of pain she thrust the Angel into, she wasn’t breaking yet. She didn’t yield. Her resolve was far too powerful… so Molly had to keep going, even as she felt the inklings of climax creeping up her back. Creeping through her twisted mind, threatening to smother her in a tidal wave of bliss. Pleasured panic welled in her mind, as she slowed down from the wanton teasing for just a moment, but sitting atop the captive fallen Angel’s face, her scream tipped Molly over that edge…

And she came hard.

“Ahhhhhh!” Molly woke up screaming in her bed. Sweat caked her form, her breathing was heavy, and her thighs were damp with her nectar. “…did I win…?” She muttered to herself, scanning the condemned apartment. Morning’s light crept through the cracked window, spilling into the room and illuminating it. It didn’t feel like a dream… it was far more vivid, and far more memorable. Her mental war stuck with her as clearly as any memory she had. She went over the events of her dreamscape where she clashed with the shadow, and silently confirmed the Angel had not yet even begun to submit. It seemed the act of climaxing within her mental battlefield was clearly enough to thrust her back out into the waking world… and that meant that the Shadow was still in her head, chained and bound and helpless, but unbroken.

It means that Molly was nowhere near done yet… but she had an idea of how to do it. Weaponizing her own trauma against the shadow was going to work, because if she played her cards right, and successfully broke the shadow… then the Fomor would be in for a nasty surprise, and Molly would be the one to reap all the rewards.


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