Defiling Beguile

[LovetheFallenAngels]

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An introduction

I just wanted to put some disclaimers because there's some things you need to know about this story before you start reading.

First, this story is extremely long. I haven't finished it yet, usually I would before posting, but it's already 30,000 words and no where near done. I figured I should make sure anyone wants to read this before I write more.

Second, this story takes a very slow burn approach.There's a heavy focus on building up and establishing Beguile's character early on as well as some world building that I hopefully made exciting enough. Beguile faces sexual harassment starting around Chapter 7 but it's not until much later that events culminate in actual sex. Please do not go into this story expecting quick satisfaction but please give it a chance. I think the slow approach will pay off very well when things heat up.

I'm also going to be posting some character art I made for Beguile and some other characters using stable diffusion with every couple of chapters. The details aren't perfect in some of them but I think they do a good job of conveying the characters. Use the images as a reference but consider the description in the story as the 'true' look.

I hope you enjoy it!

1

Horace Range sorted through the months complaints filed with the Union and wished he didn’t need heroes. An inappropriate thought coming from the head of daily operations for the Hero’s Union but he couldn’t help it. Image City would be a wasteland of wreckage and dust if they didn’t exist but doubts nagged in the back of his mind. The pillar rank heroes, in particular, were problematic. They weren’t so much heroes as they were domesticated beasts.

Horace himself manifested powers years ago when the Eye between worlds had first appeared. He’d been among the first of many. Everyone who worked for the Hero Union in a management position had previously been a hero, that was a prerequisite of the gig, but there was a canyon of difference between Horace’s ability to throw fireballs and the otherworldly nature of the Puzzler, the terrifying ferocity of Six-Stage Beast, or the vicious brutality of Garrote. The new generation of heroes was nothing like the old. They weren’t valiant or bound by a strict code of morality. They defeated evil, yes, but sometimes Horace wondered if they weren’t using demons to fight the devil.

The pillar rank hero Slasher had racked up even more complaints this month than the previous, despite the sit down talk Horace had with him. He’d told Slasher to leave the human criminals to support rank and enjoy the time off — the Eye had been quiet recently — but Slasher refused to listen. The man thought himself above instruction. The arrogance astounded Horace at times. Slasher’s method of dealing with a robbery or a hostage situation almost always resulted in more casualties than necessary. As Horace saw it, Slasher intervened in the actions of human criminals not to uphold the ideals of justice but to satiate his blood lust. Grimly, he was probably the most human of any among the pillar ranks.

Not all hope was lost, however. A few heroes reminded him of the old breed with true altruism and goodness running through their veins. There were some rising stars in support rank with the potential to be elevated to pillar rank but Horace wasn’t sure they were ready. The crime fighting duo of Beguile and Throng had garnered a lot of positive attention for their non-violent approach and the murmurs that they should be promoted had quickly grown to a clamor. Horace wasn’t sure. Not because he didn’t like them, hell, Beguile and Throng were exemplary heroes when compared to anyone in pillar rank, but he wasn’t sure they were strong enough. They were a good team but not without weaknesses. Beguile’s powers were impressive but she didn’t possess any super strength or toughness at all. She was next to useless in a street fight. Throng helped shore up that weakness but the fact remained. While capable of creating up to a thousand copies of himself, Throng’s strength measured only slighter higher than a MMA fighter and without Beguile he would’ve never been considered for a spot in pillar rank.

Support heroes fought human criminals but the pillar rank heroes were required to fight nightmares.

All thoughts evacuated Horace’s head as an alarm blared overhead. The large red light blinked steadily and a siren sounded. His hands trembled as he moused over to the command program which would dispense transport drones to all the pillar rank heroes. They would be automatically summoned to Image City for further instructions. A robotic voice spoke over the intercom in a break from the alert.

An entity has breached the Eye. Prepare for contact. Estimated arrival is twenty minutes and forty seven seconds. The sirens resumed their wailing.

Horace opened up the SecureWatch program on his PC that linked to the satellite monitoring the Eye and scrolled through the data. Whatever had come through from the other side smashed through the thick metal barriers almost instantly. The barrier cost a fortune to construct and now they’d need to build it again, not for the first time. They’d get the funding they needed. The world was lucky the Union attracted generous donors.

Horace picked up the phone and dialed Slasher. The closest thing to a leader among the pillar ranks picked up on the first ring.

“Something broke through,” Horace said. He hated how scared he sounded.

“I’ll handle it,” Slasher said. His voice was a rough growl. Horace could easily imagine that perverse gleam he’d seen in the man’s cold eyes whenever he committed violence.

“We need all of the pillar ranks,” Horace said. “This isn’t some little otherling you can play with before slicing it up. It busted through the barrier without breaking a sweat. You’ll need everyone.”

The sound of grinding teeth traveled through the phone and Horace winced. An exceedingly unpleasant sound.

“Fine,” Slasher snapped.

“I’ll be in touch with the estimated landing zone.”

Slasher hung up.

Horace interpreted the projections. The entity, an otherling without doubt as not even rockets moved that quickly, was traveling through space towards the center of Image City. It would touch down near the city courts where Grace Street intersected with Townsend. He sent out an automated call to evacuate Image City to emergency services through several channels. This wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last. He only hoped there would be enough time to get everyone out before the otherling landed. Standing, Horace made his way out of his office and towards the situation room with its hundreds of monitors. The rest of the team would already be there.

For now, he was happy to use the demons.

[LovetheFallenAngels]

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2

A Union-assigned passenger drone delivered Slasher to the coordinates sent by that milquetoast waste of space Horace and set down on the concrete. The automatic door hissed as it slid open and Slasher stepped out onto the street. Image City had been mostly evacuated. Some of the other pillar ranks were already there.

Puzzler floated a few feet off the ground, a strange box of alien origin cradled in two hands with ten fingers each, and he addressed Slasher without turning around. The eye on the back of his hairless head squinted.

“Yesterday’s future is tomorrow’s today,” the man rasped. He always spoke as if his lungs weren’t working properly. Slasher wondered what those desiccated air sacs looked like. Born in 1756, Puzzler had spent centuries lost in an alternate dimension where he’d experienced an eternity of suffering. He’d been disassembled and rearranged over and over and the result floated in front of Slasher. A ten-foot-tall wiry, anatomically impossible man. Slasher fought down an impulse to slice the freak open.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Slasher said in response. “I never have a clue what you’re trying to say when you open that dumb fucking mouth.”

Puzzler’s many fingers worked faster along the edges of his strange box which was like a rubix cube on crack. Slasher didn’t know a thing about the box except Puzzler always held it and anything that went inside never came out again.

“Slashy baby,” a saccharine voice said. The voice warned Slasher and he stopped breathing through his nose. Deathkiss zipped in front of him and beamed up at him with a deranged expression on her sharp features. Her eyes were so dilated the dark moons of her pupils almost eclipsed her pale orange irises but she wasn’t high on drugs. She was just fucked in the head. Her black pigtails bobbed as she bounced on the balls of her feet. “My offer still stands.” She puckered glossy pink lips up at him.

Slasher pushed her hard. “Fuck off.” She stumbled back. “You still smell like shit.”

Even if she didn’t smell like a month-old corpse left to bloat in the bay, he’d never kiss her. An air kiss from Deathkiss would cause irreparable damage to internal organs. A physical kiss would kill instantly without fail.

Drawn-on eyebrows curved down as Deathkiss glared at him. He wondered how she lost her eyebrows but decided he didn’t care. “You’re no fun,” she whined.

“You’re disgusting,” he said.

For a second he almost reached for his knife because it seemed like Deathkiss was going to attack him. Instead, she cracked up laughing so hard that tears streamed down her cheeks messing up her heavy makeup.

Consumptress had already arrived and Slasher questioned what kind of passenger drone they had to use to transport that fat bitch. She sat — no, congealed — on the ground idly eating her way through a tire hubcap and all.

“Eating like always,” he said. Consumptress was currently about the size of a pick-up truck but he knew she could grow almost indefinitely depending on how much mass she consumed. “What’s tire taste like?”

Consumptress slowly chewed the tire and considered the question. “Kinda like licorice.”

Stabbing her would be pointless. He’d need a diamond-bladed chainsaw to make a dent in that all ham.

A pool of blood flowed across the crosswalk and Slasher smiled at the sight. Garrote almost always amused him when she went around as a puddle of blood. The liquid bubbled and manifested into a tall, thickly muscled woman built like a brick shit-house. Countless piercings dangled from her ears, nose, eyebrows, and lips. Below a short bob of dark red hair, her broad expressionless face gave the impression she was bored half to death.

“Welcome to the party,” Slasher said.

“Hey,” Garrote said. She was his favorite among the pillar ranks. They were cut from the same cloth. Killers with privileges. He just needed to make sure he never turned his back on her. Once her garrote wrapped around your neck there was no escape.

“It’s been a while since we’ve all been on a mission together,” Slasher said.

“Where’s beasty?” Deathkiss asked. She spun like a top as she tried to look in every possible direction.

“Is this going to be a disappointment?” Garrote asked. “I wouldn’t want to get my hopes up only for it to be a pitiful little otherling that dies as soon as we look at it.”

“I mean, yeah, probably,” Slasher said. “I told the H man I could handle it alone.”

Garrote scoffed and shook her head ruefully.

“Danger forebodes pain,” Puzzler said. A pencil-thin tongue licked pale lips. “Pain elicits ecstasy.”

A shirtless man wearing rags galloped into sight on all fours, tongue lolling out of his face, eyes wild with excitement.

“There’s the mutt,” Slasher said.

Six-Stage Beast growled at Slasher.

“Easy boy,” Slasher said. He checked the union app on his phone and through the link to HQ noted the otherling would be arriving in two minutes.

“Two minutes till contact.”

Six-Stage Beast scratched at his neck with long, curved toenails before howling and entering his first stage. His spine creaked and cracked like snapping wood as it elongated and another pair of hands and legs emerged from his midsection. His jaw unhinged and a long tongue unfurled from the depths of his slobbering mouth. The howl deepened in timber and tone.

Slasher unsheathed Britney, his two-foot-long curved hunting knife with a special alloy blade, and the weight of the weapon felt comfortable in his palm. “Let’s fucking destroy this thing.” His heart pounded in his chest as the blood lust set in. His vision filmed over red and his breaths grew shallow and excited. His dick got hard and he grinned up at the sky waiting for his prey. The alien fucksocket would regret the day they crossed paths with the Slasher.

[LovetheFallenAngels]

3

There was a glint in the sky and Slasher activated his power; hunt. He fixed the rapidly descending blur as his target. Hunting a target granted Slasher several advantages in a fight. He’d take less damage from his prey and deliver more. He’d be able to track it through walls and read its mind.

Slasher received activity from the otherling's brain. A stream of consciousness so distinct from human victims.

CRACK CRUSH RUSH RUIN REND RAGE RAVAGE SAVAGE SLICE SLASH SCRAPE SEVER EVISCERATE OBLITERATE ANNIHILATE DEVASTATE

The string of thoughts were mental pictures rendered with gore and his brain translated them into English. The blur crashed down on the concrete amid the pillar rank heroes.

Stalking forward at a run, Slasher tracked his prey through the dust. A towering figure stood up on long, wrong-facing legs with two knees per limb. A tangled mass of horns formed a thorn-like crown above a lengthy thin face with three snapping maws. Slasher drew within stabbing range when Garrote teleported behind the otherling and wrapped the length of her garrote around its pulsing, sac-spore ridden throat. Slasher gnashed his teeth. He needed this kill, deserved it, but he’d been too slow. Garrote had been faster.

Slasher relaxed because the invader was already dead. Garrote caught it in her suffocating grip. The otherling roared and whipped its head back and forth. Garrote’s wire snapped. Her face expressed shock and then panic as the otherling whipped around to slash at her with long, sharp taloned fingers. Red liquid splashed, but not from a wound, as Garrote melted into a pool of blood. The otherling’s claws passed through her liquid form without harming her. Blood couldn’t be cut or bruised.

Slasher smiled, grudgingly admiring her, and prepared to attack when a bar of fire erupted from the concrete where Garrote’s pool of blood had been. The flames were white hot and extended up to vaporize a clean hole through a passing cloud. There was a hiss and the stench of copper filled his nostrils. It happened so fast. Garrote? There was no flowing puddle of blood to be seen and no sign of the thickly muscled woman.

Slasher lurched forward, and dove towards the otherling, striking with a hard downward swing of his knife. Britney honed in on its ribbed chest. The tip of the blade clanged off skin harder than any metal he’d ever encountered. Britney cut through steel like it was butter but left no mark on this monster’s flesh. That was new.

Slasher’s chest exploded in pain as the otherling swiped at him and he flew through the air to crash into something. There was a rumble and rubble caved in on Slasher burying him in darkness. He wasn’t too badly hurt, thanks to his hunt power, but he knew if he hadn’t used his power he’d likely be dead. This wasn’t just any otherling. In fact, it wasn’t like any otherling he’d ever hunted before. In the darkness that cloaked Slasher’s senses, the thoughts from the monster came through sharp and vivid.

The otherling knelt before a throne of bone; every segment fused together by wet ruptured flesh. A crown of horns was drilled into its skull. The otherling howled in a mixture of pain and triumph as blood ran into its seven eyes.

Slasher’s brain interpreted the mental images into words.

PRINCE XYZANARA FREE TO FIGHT FREE TO KILL FREE TO FEEEEEED

Prince Xyzanara? What a dumb fucking name. Slasher flexed all his muscles at once and kicked up. The rubble exploded from around him as he landed on his feet and dashed out of the collapsed courthouse.

The others were busy fighting this Prince Xyzanara and they were doing well. No matter what his title or name this otherling fuck would learn the pillar ranks made formidable enemies.

Puzzler whispered into his cube while poking and prodding it and the symbols and strange geometry painted on the surface were rapidly spinning and rotating. Not long until the otherling was stuck inside.

The entirety of one of the otherling’s arms was stuck down the gullet of Consumptress and the massive woman hung on doggedly as the alien dragged her around.

Six-Stage Beast had reached his fourth stage. Now a good twenty feet long, he resembled more of a centipede than a dog. Ravenous jaws gnawed at Prince Xyzanara’s leg. Hundreds of hairy legs strained to pull back and tear free the limb.

Deathkiss hit the otherling with a flurry of air kisses and Slasher grinned as he imagined the monster’s insides splitting apart.
A stream of thought from the otherling’s mind entered Slashers.

The otherling stood on a platform beneath thirteen others. He looked up at them with reverence and respect bordering on fear. Family. His creators. On the highest platform, a massive, terrifying monster drank liquid metal from the broken hollow of an alien skull. The patriarch of all otherlings.

THE SEVENTH SPAWN OF THE SEVENTH SPAWN OF THE EMPEROR DESTROYS ALL

Slasher paused. Something was wrong. Not a single shred of doubt or fear entered his mind from the otherling. Only a ravenous urge to harm, hurt, and kill.

A wave of pure flame exploded outwards, emanating from the otherling, so bright Slasher’s eyes stung. His vision wavered and lost fidelity. Screams rose from the other pillar ranks. The sizzle and smell of fat filled the air. Consumptress rolled around as a giant ball of fire. Six-Stage Beast still clung to the otherling’s leg but had lost most of his fur. Prince Xyzanara lifted a leg and brought it down on Beast’s insectile-lupine head with a horrible crunch. Six-Stage Beast wailed, let go of the leg, and stumbled away. Beast’s ears leaked blood as if from a burst faucet. He collapsed and started to shrink back into a man.

The Puzzler didn’t scream as Prince Xyzanara raked talons through his face once, twice, three times. But he dropped his box and released a long, warbling gurgle tinged with elation.

Deathkiss danced back from the flames unscathed but now the monstrosity barreled towards her. She leaped away, sailing towards the top of a nearby single storey building, and stuck out her tongue in defiance. Prince Xyzanara rose into the air much faster, snatched Deathkiss out of the sky like a frog catching a fly, and sent her hurtling towards the earth. Concrete cracked and ruptured as she hit the ground and didn’t get up.

They were losing, badly. Slasher didn’t want to die. He lived to kill. While Prince Xyzanara howled a challenge at the fallen pillar ranks, Slasher slipped back into the rubble of the ruined courthouse and buried himself deep beneath large, heavy chunks of concrete, rebar, and splintered wood. He made a little hollow under the debris and used his Union-issued phone to open a line to HQ.

“Slasher? Are you okay? What’s happening?” Fear shifted Horace’s voice up an octave.

“Activate Overkill,” Slasher said. His voice was heavy and angry but he knew when to fight and when to call in the real heavy hitter.

Prince Xyzanara digging into rubble searching for fresh meat to sink its claws into.

HUNT CUT KILL

“Please repeat,” Horace said.

“Fucking activate Overkill!” Slasher snarled. Bastard made him say it twice. Asking for a repeat of the command was protocol but fuck protocol. They were dying out here. Getting ripped to shreds by an unstoppable fucking monster.

Movement disturbed the cool darkness of Slasher’s hidey hole as the rubble lifted away and he met the seven asymmetrical eyes of Prince Xyzanara. All three maws splattered him with spit as the monster roared.

[LovetheFallenAngels]

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4

Horace wasted no time before hitting the emergency button in the command center and activating Overkill. He fed the otherling’s location and data to Overkill’s quantum processor. He’d been watching the pillar ranks on the many screens in the control center. Panic squeezed his chest as his best heroes folded over. This otherling came into reality straight out of Horace’s worst nightmares. He didn’t like activating Overkill but they had no other choice. They needed him.

Overkill activated from the top secret storage facility where the Union contained him when he wasn’t needed. Overkill was too dangerous to keep active except for true emergencies. There was a hero rank above pillar rank. Atlas rank. There was only one Atlas rank hero, and he’d prevented the world’s destruction multiple times, but as far as the public knew he didn’t exist.

Overkill left the secret facility in the arctics and would arrive in Image City within thirty seconds. Too slow. Horace cringed as the otherling ripped Slasher’s arm out of its socket. The monster devoured the severed limb as Slasher screamed and tried to stem the gushing blood with his other hand.
The atlas rank hero reached the air space above Image City and a control room operative patched in the feed from his visual sensors onto the big screen. The scenery blurred beyond recognition; Overkill moved far too fast for any organic eye to trace the movements accurately at any level of detail.

The dynamic hard-to-track action of Overkill’s visual sensors became easier to interpret as he landed in Image City and stood still scanning the surroundings. Sensors located the target, the otherling data Horace fed to it, and the words “target acquired” flashed across the screen.

The visual feed blurred beyond interpretation again so Horace glanced between street cameras and radar. The blip representing Overkill was rocketing into outer space, away from Image City and away from Earth, just as he’d been programmed to do before releasing any attacks. He carried the otherling with him. Slasher and the other pillar ranks were a ravaged collection of bleeding, groaning bodies but they were safe for now.

“Get medical down there!” Horace barked. An operative followed instruction and drilled commands frantically into a console.

Overkill had impaled the otherling on a plasma saber and carried it beyond the stratosphere. A satellite feed recorded Overkill pushing the thrashing otherling into the void of space. They would reach the safe distance from Earth very soon. Only then would Overkill unleash his arsenal.

Horace leaned forward in his chair. He’d only witnessed Overkill in action once before and what a spectacle that had been. Overkill; firepower personified. A veteran of thousands of battles and the recipient of the medal of honor and a purple heart almost died in an ICBM strike leaving behind a shell of a man. He’d lost his legs, his arms, and his face, but his brain lived. Dr. Malwin, the foremost expert in robotic biology, had used that shell of a man as a platform to build a living weapons arsenal. His bones had been replaced with missile bays, his eyes with lasers, and his body packed with so many lasers, launchers, and bombs that he’d become an amalgam of death. An advanced 3D printer in his midsection produced ammo as needed. A fusion reactor provided his body with boundless energy. Rocket boosters in his legs provided twenty million pounds of thrust. His fragmented brain had been merged with targeting software and algorithms tuned to battle scenarios. Space age alloy tougher than any other formed his skin. When the transformation had been completed, Overkill could’ve destroyed every planet in the galaxy without stressing his systems.

In terms of appearance, Overkill resembled a burly metal cloud with countless weapons jutting out at odd angles. There’d been little thought given to practicality in his design. Dr. Malwin’s only focus had been installing as many weapons as physically possible per cubic inch.

Now Overkill reached a safe distance from Earth, he would unleash everything upon this otherling. The saber released the otherling and the monster bled from a clean hole in its chest. The wound closed and the monster extended spiked wings from some unseen crevice of its warped physiology. The alien beast roared and soared towards Overkill.

Horace had always believed there was no threat Overkill could not neutralize. He was, after all, a being designed for the sole purpose of delivering overwhelming and excessive firepower. But this otherling was a step above any they’d ever seen. He held his breath.

Overkill’s middle opened and he fired explosive tank rounds at the rate of a machine gun. A thousand rounds per second. New rounds were constructed as needed inside that bulging mass of metal. The otherling rocked back but endured, and then pressed forward, wounds healing as soon as they appeared. The tank rounds were only a minor deterrent to the monster.

Launching forward, Overkill punched the otherling while ejecting the plasma blades embedded in his palms. The hit sent the monster spinning thousands of miles and left a trail of purple blood. Overkill closed the distance in a blink of Horace’s eyes.

Even as the monster’s wounds began to heal, Overkill hit it with a blast of crackling electricity followed by a discharge of microwave energy. The monster’s many eyes swelled in its face before bursting but began to heal almost instantly afterward.

Overkill launched forward and circled the monster while impaling it with numerous spikes carrying millions of volts. The monster’s torso flexed and strained as it tried to free itself but froze and twitched as the spikes wracked its body with waves of electricity. The otherling’s wings flapped but it was trapped; pinned down in the cold void of space.

Overkill’s extended cannons and two orbs of light glowed in the barrels. The orbs grew larger, blocking out the weapons, and larger still, until they were almost as large as Overkill himself.

The otherling roared in terror or rage, Horace couldn’t tell. Overkill fired.

Two beams of blueish-purple light exploded forth and swallowed the otherling whole. The beams carried a mix of plasma, napalm, electricity, lava, steam, microwave energy, lasers, and nuclear fire. Even on screen, the beams were so bright they hurt to look at but Horace watched on with watering eyes. The beams stretched on and on, halfway to Mars, before winking out of existence. When they faded, there was no trace of the otherling remaining. They did it. They won!

Horace leaped to his feet and punched the air. The operatives in the control center hugged and cheered and celebrated. Horace high-fived his young associate, Billy, so hard his palm stung.

There was one last thing to do. Overkill always needed an active target. His target had been destroyed but all Overkill could do was kill. He knew nothing else; had no other function or design. Without an active target, Overkill would search for a new one. Horace’s heart quickened as Overkill’s sensors swiveled around to face the Earth. The words “target acquired” flashed on his visual sensors.

“Oh shit,” Horace said. He needed to hit the kill switch and hit it now. “The kill switch!”

The atmosphere in the control room shifted from one of jubilation to panic. Billy thrust the kill switch into Horace’s hands, they always kept it on hand when Overkill was active, and he quickly entered the code to open the box before flicking the switch. There was a moment of dread as Overkill charged his cannons. Then the fusion reactor shut down cutting off Overkill’s supply of power and the growing orbs winked out of existence. The visual feed went black. For now, Overkill was nothing more than a hunk of slag floating through space.

“We need recovery on Overkill. Get him back into containment. Quick, before another agency tries to take him,” Horace said. Eurasia or the Eastern Empire would love to assume control of Overkill. The operatives got to work shouting commands into headsets. Horace collapsed in his chair, exhausted. The Earth would live to see another day.

[LovetheFallenAngels]

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5

Vera Zorina had finished her daily self-care routine involving a healthy breakfast, yoga, and a lengthy swim, and now she was in the back of a limo on her way to meet with students at one of Image City’s poorer neighborhood schools.

She wore her iconic costume which marked her as Beguile. The support rank hero and pop star tearing up the charts with euphoria-inducing hypnotic bangers. Her team said using the same identity on stage and when fighting crime was ‘great synergy’ but she didn’t care so much about that. Vera just wanted her message to have the largest platform possible. Love without limits.

However, she did love her costume, which had been tailored specifically for her by Lucas Laurence the fashion designer. Long gone were the early days when she and Throng wore stuff they got at the local athletics outlet. She almost giggled as she remembered the spandex pants, sports bra, and dollar store mask.

Now she wore a tight white chest piece with gold highlight stitching along the bust that tapered out into a poofy tutu that did a much better job than most of covering her up even when she danced. Just to be safe, she wore a pair of tiny skin-tight stretchy shorts underneath. Beguile was a hero, not a sex symbol. White cotton stockings covered up most of her legs, save for a flash of thigh, and she wore well-made white flats on her feet. Originally, her costume had incorporated ballet shoes as homage to her formal training but they were just plain unpractical in the field. A white frilly choker with gold lace decorated her elegant neck and a large white bow flared out from either side of long, wavy pink locks. She stretched her fingers inside the soft white gloves that coated her arms past the elbow and halfway up her slim biceps. The fact her costume managed to be striking to the eye while still being comfortable always astonished her. Fashion and comfort were rarely adjacent properties.

She smiled at her partner, music producer, and best friend Calvin Green, known as the hero Throng, and he grinned back at her. He also wore his costume which was blue and green spandex layered with lightweight body armor over his legs and chest. The only difference here was Cal’s goggles rested on his forehead just beneath his messy bed of hair and his over-ear headphones hung from around his strong neck. Specially engineered, the goggles and headphones prevented Throng from falling under the enthralling effects of Beguile’s singing and dancing but he wouldn’t need them today.

“I’m happy we’re doing this,” Cal said. “Talking to a school, I mean.”

Vera sighed happily. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? We’re really making a difference.”

Cal held up his hands as if in surrender. “That’s all you.”

“No,” Vera protested. “You help too. You know I can’t fight worth a darn. You’re just as much a part of this as I am. You can split into a thousand copies and that’s insane!”

“If you say so,” Cal said, grinning broader.

“I do say so!” Vera exclaimed. “You also make all my beats. There would be no Beguile without Throng.”

Cal chuckled. “You’re so cute when you’re worked up but no. You’re the singer, you’re the star, and I’m just along for the ride.”

Vera wasn’t sure what to say. They’d had this conversation before but she never liked hearing Cal downplay his own accomplishments. She really meant it when she said there’d be no Beguile without Throng. They were a team.

“You should have more self confidence, Cal,” Vera said. “You’re amazing in your own right. I remember when you were just a goofball with messy hair always playing the class clown. Look at you now.”

“Thanks, Vera,” Cal said. “But don’t worry. I honestly don’t mind playing second fiddle. I’m just happy we get to hang out all the time.”

Vera scooted across the limo’s black leather seats until her hip bumped into Cals. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into a tight hug.

“You’ll always be my best friend,” she said.

Cal didn’t say anything back and his return hug was half-hearted so Vera squeezed harder.

“Cal?”

“BFFs,” he said finally.

“Dang right!” Vera exclaimed.

The limo pulled up to the sidewalk and slowed until it stopped. There were crowds of kids waiting outside and they started screaming as soon as the limo appeared. Hundreds of enthusiastic faces lit up in excitement. Hundreds of young lives just waiting to be inspired. High school students were just on the cusp of adulthood so now was the perfect time to teach them the power of peace, love, and hugs. Vera beamed at them through the blacked out windows.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

“How’s my hair?” Cal asked.

Vera chuckled and mussed it a bit. Cal’s hair never sat straight. She even tried fixing it one time with hair spray but that just made the messy bits stiff and sticky. “It’s great.”

“All right, let’s do this,” Cal said.

He opened the door and got out first before offering Vera his hand. She took it and stepped out only to get blasted by camera flashes. Reporters started shouting questions.

“Beguile, any comment on the recent attack on Image City?”

“Are you two a couple?”

“Over here Beguile. Look over here.”

“When can we expect your next album?”

Beguile posed and smiled for the cameras. She didn’t enjoy this part but it was a necessary evil. The media were a handful but they allowed her message to reach people all over the world and because of that she loved them. Even if they could be annoying. Did they have to use flash right in front of her face?

“No comment,” Beguile said. “We’re here to speak to the kids. Thanks.”

The students cheered and chanted her name as she shook hands with the school principal, Mrs. Havill. The woman styled her hair in a grey-flecked bun and wore a conservative cardigan but she had a warm face that lit up when she smiled.

“Nice to meet you,” Beguile said. “The students seem excited.”

“They’ve never been like this,” Mrs. Havill said. “You are all the students wanted to talk about for the last month. We’re so honored to welcome you to Point Pleasant. We’ve set things up in the gymnasium. If you’ll come with me?”

Beguile followed the principal up the school’s front steps and down a hallway. All the way, kids lined the walls and cheered and shouted at her. She made eye contact and smiled at as many of them as possible. She tried not to feel bad about missing any.

The gymnasium had been set up for her to give her talk. She stood at the podium and waited as students filed in to fill the bleachers. Members of media set up cameras and hung boom mics near her. After about fifteen minutes, everything was ready, and Mrs. Havill joined Beguile at the podium.
“I’m going to introduce you now,” she said.

“Great,” Beguile said. She waved back at any students who waved at her so she basically never stopped waving.

“Well, how are we feeling Point Pleasant High?”

The students answered with shouts of excitement and a flood of applause.

“We’re so honored to welcome Beguile to the school here today. Let’s get right to it. Students put your hands together. Beguile!”

Beguile stepped up to the podium with a beaming smile and her heart surged with joy and love for each and every one of the young, beautiful faces looking up at her. She wanted to take all the love they showered her with and pay it back tenfold.

When she first started doing talks about a year ago, she’d been so nervous she threw up in the limo beforehand. She needed Cal to talk her up before she could even exit the vehicle. Now she felt comfortable on stage.

“Hi, Point Pleasant!”

The students all said hi back and Beguile giggled. “I’m here to talk to you today about something very dear to my heart. I want to talk about peace, love, and hugs.” That was her catchphrase and also the name of her debut album. The audience cheered.

“As you know, I am a support rank hero and I have the honor of being sent in to disarm dangerous situations with criminals. I am proud to say that to date I’ve de-escalated and pacified over a hundred potentially violent crimes. I’m even more proud to say that I’ve done it without hurting a single person or throwing a single punch.”

The audience broke into applause and whistles.

“I want you all to know I’m just like you. It wasn’t so long ago that I was in high school. Throng and I only graduated a year ago. I’m nineteen, still a teenager like all of you. A lot of people, mostly adults, will tell you that teenagers are crazy. That we’re irresponsible, confused, and incapable. I’m here to tell you that they’re wrong. Each and every one of you is powerful beyond your wildest dreams. You don’t need some intense superpower or formidable fighting strength to do good in the world. All you need is a voice. You just need to speak up against violence and hate. I want you all to be agents of good, just like us. Can you do that for us?”

The audience roared in return, even louder than before, and Beguile fought back the happy tears that threatened to form.

“Evil exists in the world. I don’t think there’s any rational argument that it doesn’t. We’ve seen it. Coming through the Eye in the form of otherlings and sometimes we even observe evil in the hearts of human beings. But we don’t need to sink low to fight evil. We don’t need to become monsters to fight monsters. The best way to fight evil is with peace, love, and hugs. Violence is antithetical to peace. Fighting violence with violence simply creates more violence, more hate, and more pain. And that’s not what we want, is it?”

The students all shouted out “Nooooo!”

“So I’m asking you all today to pledge to be agents of peace. Champions of love. Givers of hugs. There’s strength in numbers. Just ask Throng.”

The audience laughed in response and Cal gave a dramatic bow.

“What will happen when the whole world embraces peace? What kind of beautiful future awaits us when we answer hate with love? When we return every punch with a hug? I don’t know the answer but I want to find out. I want to know so badly. I believe together we can create that future. Together there’s noth—“

Beguile cut off as a loud bang interrupted her train of thought and two men in black balaclavas entered the gymnasium. One held a shotgun and the other held an automatic rifle. They fired at the ceiling. A light exploded and showered sparks. Screams broke out from the audience as students scrambled to try and run away.

One of the masked men spoke into a megaphone. “Don’t fucking move.” Beguile noticed the armed men both wore sunglasses. Probably in an attempt to block her powers but they wouldn’t work. Only Cal’s goggles with their unique lenses blocked the effect of her dancing.

The fleeing students froze in place and sat. The other man pointed his rifle at Beguile and walked up to the stage. Actually, they were too small to be fully grown men. Beguile thought they were probably students. Cal tugged on her arm as he stepped in front of her.

“Don’t fucking do that,” the boy screamed at Cal. “I know what you can do. If you make copies I’m gonna shoot that fucking bitch!”

There was silence except for crying from the audience but Beguile focused entirely on the two young men in front of her. She didn’t feel anger or rage in response to their actions but sadness. What could have motivated them to do this? What sorrows darkened their minds? Her heart went out to them and she knew what she had to do.

Beguile took a deep breath when one of the boys fired another shot at the sky.

“Don’t sing. If you sing I’m going to shoot you,” the boy shouted. “We’re wearing earplugs!”

Wails of terror and despair came from the bleachers. Many students were hiding under their seats. The fact they were wearing earplugs said they didn’t understand what Beguile could do. Only Cal’s headphones blocked the mind-altering effects of her voice.

One boy pointed his shotgun periodically at the students while the one with the rifle trained the sights on Beguile.

“Okay,” Beguile said. She held up her hands. “I won’t sing but in return please tell me what you want.”

The hands holding the rifle were shaking and the boy paused to think. “Your full of shit!” he screamed. “Peace love and hugs is a fucking lie. No one ever cared about peace or love. People like me don’t get hugs. We get fed broken glass and told we’re worthless.”

“I’m sorry,” Beguile said sincerely. “I can feel your pain and I can tell it’s very real. I’m so sorry you have to feel that pain.”

The boy with the gun blinked at her through the holes in the balaclava. “You don’t know about pain,” he shouted. “You’re a fucking phony.”

“I want to know about your pain,” Beguile said. She put a hand over her heart. “I will listen to what you have to say. Please, tell me about it.”

“Everyone’s so fucking fake,” the boy said. His voice heaved with emotion. “I’m not like them. I’m not like anyone. I’m a freak. No one cares about me, not even my family. I’m like a roach. Whenever I come out of hiding everyone tries to stomp on me.” By the last sentence, the boy’s voice broke.

“That’s horrible,” Beguile said. She didn’t need to feign the sympathy. Her heart went out to this kid. Too many people were forgotten and tossed aside. “I can only imagine how hard that must be.”

“It’s the worst,” the kid said. “These people,” he screamed and pointed the gun at the students on the bleachers. “They spit on me every single day.”

“Forget about them,” Beguile said. “Look at me. Look in my eyes. It’s just you and me talking here.”

The boy’s shoulders slumped and he looked at her. “You’re just pretending to be nice to me,” he said. “So I don’t kill anyone.”

“No,” Beguile said. “Look in my eyes. Does it seem like I’m pretending?”

The boy studied her and she stared back at him unflinchingly allowing her emotions to sculpt her expression. The boy shook his head. “No.”

“That’s right. I’m not lying or pretending. I care about you. I love you.”

“How can you love me?” the boy sobbed. “I’m threatening you with a gun.”

“Because it’s not your fault,” she said. “Because I see the guy beyond all of that pain and suffering and he seems really nice.”

The boy sobbed and dropped a hand off the gun to wipe tears from under the mask and sunglasses. Beguile seized the opportunity and sang. She put all of her love into every word and the warm emotion granted her voice strength.

I love you despite your flaws

She started spinning and dancing, moving her body naturally in rhythm with the love in her heart, and her voice grew stronger. Her movements left behind spirals of incandescent light which resulted in an effect very similar to an optical illusion.

I’ll hug you and share my cause

The gun clattered to the floor as the boy fell under her spell. His partner’s weapon hit the floor too. Crying from the audience ceased as the students, teachers, and members of media gazed at her slack-jawed and completely transfixed. The boy who held the rifle tugged off his balaclava and glasses. He stared at her with a stupefied expression. He was maybe sixteen or seventeen and tears wet his cheeks but he was no longer crying.

Throng darted forward, splitting into several copies, and quickly collected the guns. One of his copies left the gymnasium, doubtless to call the police.

I’m sorry you have so much pain
I really want to know your name

“David,” the boy said. “My name is David.”

David, it’s so nice to meet you
I want to banish your blues.

Beguile slowed her dance and made her way down from the podium towards David. The danger had passed. They didn’t have weapons anymore and now they were just kids who needed help. She had no need to mesmerize him anymore. She wrapped her arms around the boy and hugged him. Her song faded and the spell ended. David broke down crying. Her shoulder got wet as the boy sobbed noisily. Beguile stroked his hair and murmured in his ear. “It’s okay. It’s over now.”

“I’m sorry,” David said. “I get so mixed up sometimes and it hurts so much.”

“I know,” Beguile comforted him. “It’s okay David. I hear you. I see you.”

The members of the audience were starting to regain their senses. Someone slow clapped and it turned into an uproar of applause as everyone realized what had happened.

One of Throng’s copies appeared back inside followed by a string of uniformed officers. David’s partner scattered trying to flee the scene but an officer tackled him.

Two officers approached Beguile but she held David protectively.

“We need to take him in,” a mustached officer said.

David jerked away from her and almost fell before regaining his balance. “You tricked me!” he shouted.

“No,” Beguile said, shaking her head. “I meant everything I said.” Turning to the officers, Beguile stood tall although she was only five foot seven. “I’m accompanying him to the station.” She turned to David and smiled. “I’m going to enter a plea on your behalf for lenience. I will also pay for your lawyer. We’re going to get through this, David.”

David’s eyes beaded with tears and he sniffled, trying to swallow his emotions. “Why?”

“You didn’t really want to hurt anyone, did you? You just needed to be seen and heard.”

“You’re too nice,” he mumbled.

“You deserve it,” she said. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. I can’t wait to see the good things you do with your second chance.”

Little did she know the cameras had been rolling the whole time.

[LovetheFallenAngels]

6

Slasher rested in the exclusive lounge for pillar rank heroes at the Hero Union HQ while Dr. Malwin did some final adjustments on his new right arm. The tall and handsome doctor spoke with a drawl that made him sound like a country bumpkin but it would be foolish to misjudge the savvy inventor for an idiot. After all, Dr. Malwin built Overkill. Dr. Malwin was the world’s leading authority on robotic biology and he loaned out his skill to the Hero’s Union if there was ever a dismemberment or a serious injury.

Bristling at the word dismemberment, Slasher ground his teeth together. He did the dismembering. He wasn’t supposed to be the one getting dismembered.

“You shouldn’t grind ya teeth,” Dr. Malwin said. “Can cause a whole host o’ problems.”

Slasher wondered if Dr. Malwin’s brain looked any different from the average persons. He imagined a muscle-bound steroid-infused brain doing dead-lifts in the man’s skull. If Dr. Malwin were anyone else, and if Slasher didn’t depend on the man to maintain his arm now, he would’ve cracked that skull open and found out. Brains were fascinating to look at, to hold in your hand, and the wrinkled thought raisins filled Slasher with curiosity.

“Make a fist,” Dr. Malwin said.

Slasher flexed his new metal arm and the fingers curled inward to form a ball. The arm didn’t seem so bad. The dexterity of the fingers weren’t so different from his fleshy fingers but it wasn’t perfect either. A persistent itch plagued the spot where the socket of his shoulder connected to metal.

“All right,” Dr. Malwin said. “All done.” The doctor stood up, packing away the tools he’d brought with him, a number of instruments that failed to interest Slasher. Tools designed for healing or repair were beneath him.

“Thanks doc,” Slasher said. “Anything I need to know?”

“Make sure ya use ya new hand every day now, ya hear?” Dr. Malwin said. “Do things ya used ta do with it.”

“You got it,” Slasher said. Choking, throttling, punching, throwing, slashing.

“Ma pleasure,” Dr. Malwin said. “The offer stands if ya want more comprehensive improvements. I’d love ta do more work on ya.”

Slasher had rejected the doctor’s offer in the past. He liked his body, his powers, and his strength. He was among the most powerful humans on earth, he didn’t need any help. But the encounter with Prince Xyzanara had changed his perception a bit. Now he thought for awhile before shaking his head.
“Well, I’m just a call away if ya change ya mind,” Dr. Malwin said before ducking out.

As the man left, Slasher found himself alone in the lounge. Normally the others would be there with him but they were all receiving emergency medical treatment in the cutting-edge HQ infirmary. Slasher had come out of that fight with the least serious injuries of a dismembered arm which spoke volumes as to how soundly they’d been beaten. Horace assured Slasher none of them would die but truthfully he didn’t care that much. The most badly injured, Garrote, would still likely live although she’d been badly burned. The skin grafts were unlikely to make her any prettier and she’d already been about as pretty as an eighteen wheeler.

Slasher leaned back in the leather recliner and turned on the large flat-screen TV hanging on one wall. The media had been abuzz over the attack on Image City but they didn’t know the truth. Horace worked hard behind the scenes to ensure the public never learned about Overkill. So Slasher and his team were getting the credit although they’d done nothing except lose. Still, real or not, Slasher basked in the attention. It was about time the world gave the pillar ranks their due. They put their lives on the line but rarely received any adoration or appreciation.

He expected the news to continue discussing the attack by Prince Xyzanara but found instead the story of the day had cycled onto something new.
“In an incident that is quickly going viral, members of Channel six were on location to capture Beguile talking down a potential school shooter.”
Beguile’s image filled the screen and Slasher squeezed the remote until it crumpled in his new hand. She was just a girl, too young to know anything, and nothing more than a pretty little airhead. Beguile was all the media ever wanted to talk about anymore. The hero who didn’t hurt anyone. Peace, love, and hugs. Slasher hawked back some phlegm and spat on the carpet.

“Fucking cunt,” he snarled.

“We’re now going to show footage from the incident but be aware that the video has been edited to mitigate the hypnotic effects of Beguile’s power,” the anchor said.

The silent footage showed Beguile being held at gunpoint and Slasher smiled to himself. His dick twitched in his trousers. But then the kid with the gun dropped it. The video blurred Beguile’s dancing form until she fucking hugged him. Slasher sat up straight, beside himself with rage, as Beguile stroked the kids hair and comforted him. If Slasher had of been there, that little shit stain would’ve been quickly relieved of his spine. Then Slasher might have fed him his own fingers. And yet there was Beguile acting like some kind of saint and teddy bear hybrid. Giving heroes everywhere a bad fucking name.

The channel cut back to the anchor who continued explaining the story. “Beguile promised the boy, David Widesmith, that she would vouch for him and pay for his lawyer. Then she actually went to the courthouse and spent the whole day assisting her would be attackers. Her show of kindness and understanding has touched hearts all over the world. Furthermore, this incident has only emboldened those who say Beguile should join the pillar ranks with her sidekick Throng.”

In the next segment, the news crew interviewed people on the street and Slasher threw his hands up. Who gave a fuck what these average joes and janes thought? They were insignificant. Fodder. Wheat for the chaff. The news should ask him what he thought and he’d tell the whole cocksucking world what was what.

“Beguile is the best of us,” a homely mother said, hands on her young son’s shoulders. “She’s a great example for the kids, not like the other ‘heroes’.” The way the woman said heroes made clear she thought they were anything but. “I mean compare Slasher and Beguile or Beguile and Deathkiss. Who do you want your kids to grow up to be like? It’s no question for me.”

Slasher’s vision filmed over red. He was sitting there with his fucking arm dissolved in the stomach acid of an alien freak but did anyone care? Did the public appreciate the sacrifices he made? Hell, no. They wanted Beguile with her bullshit idealistic approach. Hugs? What a fucking farce. Slasher would love to see Beguile try and hug Prince Xyzanara.

Part of him knew the real reason everyone loved Beguile and it had nothing to do with her pure heart. No, he was smart enough to play ‘spot the difference’ between her and the rest of the pillar ranks. Beguile was cute as a kitten. Pretty enough to stand out in any crowd with a bubbly personality. Always fluttering those bright green eyes full of life and warmth, flashing that sparkling white smile, and wearing a costume that showed off her thighs. She didn’t wear those thigh-high stockings to spread peace and love. Beguile didn’t flash her cleavage out of the goodness of her heart. Her tight white and gold costume wouldn’t fight any crime but it sure did let everyone know she had a great body. That head of long pink hair wasn’t natural but it sure was eye catching. Slasher coughed out a laugh as he remembered the bow she wore in her hair like she was a fucking christmas present. Everything Beguile did was manufactured to make her popular. The little idiot was nothing more than a big-headed attention whore. Slasher hated her with a burning passion that only grew more intense with every news story, every viral clip, and every bullshit fucking comparison between her and them.

The only reason Beguile could solve her missions without violence was because her missions were fucking amateur hour. Human criminals were child’s play. Otherlings didn’t respond to empathy or understanding. They needed to be put down like dogs not soothed. If Beguile had been there when Prince Xyzanara showed up, the otherling would have turned her into rainbow sprinkle roadkill on the street. Who would talk about her then?

The lounge door opened and Slasher turned to find Horace, the head of operations for the Heroes Union, standing there looking at the screen with an excited, child-like grin on his face.

“Oh, Beguile!” the man said excitedly. He walked over and sat on a couch beside Slasher. “She’s something, isn’t she?”

Slasher considered biting back his retort but decided to be real with Horace. The man needed a reality check. Horace was the only person who could promote Beguile and Slasher would make sure that never happened.

“Beguile’s nothing,” Slasher snapped. “She’s useless. Singing and dancing aren’t real powers. They’re a parlor trick, a traveling circus’ act, and she’s the clown.”

Horace frowned at Slasher. “She has a very good mission success rate. The best among the support ranks by a mile. A hundred percent actually. And not a single casualty. There’s no one in the pillar ranks with that low of a casualty rate.”

Slasher’s breath grew ragged as he turned to Horace. “It’s pretty fucking easy to do all that when you only need to stop a man with a gun,” he snarled.

“Well,” Horace said carefully. “Her success rate is better than yours on missions with human criminals. And again, her casualty rate on those missions is zero while yours is…” Horace trailed off.

Slasher stewed in a pit of rage and irritation before jumping to his feet and pointing a metal finger at Horace. “Fuck you!” he screamed. “You know what? How about you make do without me for awhile. You said the other pillar ranks were gonna be out of the picture for at least a week. I was going to shoulder the load. Well, forget about that. You love Beguile so much? Let her handle any otherlings. There’s no barrier for now. It’s busted right? I’m sure the incoming deluge will be a cakewalk for the pro peace princess.” Slasher gloated happily as he finished his tirade. Horace would show him the proper respect now.

“Okay,” Horace said. “I’ve been wanting to send Beguile on some pillar rank missions to see how she does. Now’s a good opportunity. Take however long you need Slasher. Get your head straight.”

Without saying another word, Slasher turned and stormed out of the lounge. He punched a hole in the hallway wall outside and boarded the elevator. Then his anger dissipated as he burst out laughing; he was getting what he wanted. That pink-haired nitwit would fall flat on her pretty fucking face when she fought a real monster and Slasher would watch with glee as it happened. He wouldn’t lift a finger to help when she pissed herself in fear. He couldn’t wait.

[LovetheFallenAngels]

7

Vera’s team had orchestrated a meeting for her with one of the movie industry’s premiere producers, a Mr. Patrick Cowly. He headed up one of the largest studios in town and wanted to discuss a Beguile movie. A great opportunity to spread love to even more people. She had wanted to wear her street clothes but the producer requested that she show up in costume so she’d obliged. Normally, her team accompanied her to all meetings but the producer insisted they meet man to man, whatever that meant.

Cal sat beside her in the waiting room and they were killing time by playing two truths and a lie. Most people played it as an icebreaker but Vera believed the game was much more interesting when you played with people you knew really well and she knew Cal better than anyone.

“You go now,” Vera said.

Cal thought carefully for a few moments before leaning forward. “Okay. Number one. I’ve never eaten a cheetoh. Number two. I have a one hundred percent win rate in chess. Number three. I’ve never been in love.”

Vera rolled her eyes. “That’s so easy Cal!” she hit him playfully on the shoulder. “I’ve never seen you eat a cheetoh and I know you’ve never been in love. So that leaves chess. A hundred percent winrate, bah, try harder next time, my dude. I know you too well.”

“You’re wrong,” Cal said with a sly smile. “I do have a hundred percent winrate in chess. I mean, I only played one game, and I’m pretty sure my mom let me win but the point stands. I’m undefeated. A chess prodigy, if you will.”

“What?!” Vera exclaimed. “I didn’t know that. Well played Cal, well played.”

“Thank you,” Cal said. “I am rather good. Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”

“If chess was a truth,” Vera reasoned out. “What was the lie? Unless you ate a cheetoh at this historic chess match?”

“Nope,” Cal said. “That’s true too. The sanctity of my mouth has never been befouled by a cheetoh.”

Vera squealed and drummed her feet against the floor. “You’ve been in love? Please tell! I want to know everything.”

Cal turned away from her and his cheeks went bright red which only encouraged Vera.

“Spill!” she shouted. “Now! Who is it? Do I know her? What’s she like? Oh my god, do you have a type? What’s your type?”

Cal opened his mouth to say something when Mr. Cowly’s assistant approached them. “Beguile? Mr. Crowly’s ready to see you,” he said.

“Saved by the bell,” Cal whispered under his breath.

“For now!” Vera said, prodding his chest. “I’m not giving up.”

Beguile lead the way into the office which was expansive and incredibly impressive. A massive solid oak desk dominated the space and the walls were lined with pictures of celebrities. Various awards including several Oscars and a few golden globes decorated a cabinet. One wall was entirely made of glass from floor to ceiling and looked out on the bustling golden rooftops of Image City. This man had a lot of money which meant he had a lot of power. Beguile grinned. That meant he had a lot of potential to do good, more than most, so she’d try to convert him to her ways.

Patrick Cowly stood as they entered. He moved nimbly for a man in his fifties with a wide middle and bulging stomach. His face wasn’t anything special to look at but had it’s own rustic charm. Beguile didn’t believe in judging people based on their looks. Appearances were innate and not at all a sign of character one way or another. Being good looking didn’t mean anything except that someone won the genetic lottery.

“Beguile!” Patrick said as he walked up to her. “I’m starstruck.” He held his hands to his heart and feigned a swoon. Beguile giggled.

“Nice to meet you Mr. Crowly,” she said with a bright smile. She held out a gloved hand. Cowly took her small hand in his larger one and held on.

“I hope you don’t consider me too forward,” Cowly said. “But can I have a hug? Your catchphrase is peace, love, and hugs, isn’t it? A handshake wouldn’t feel right.”

Cal grunted behind her but Beguile nodded enthusiastically. “Sure! I love hugs. I’ve always said we, as a society, should hug instead of shaking hands, right Cal?”

Cal nodded tightly.

Patrick Cowly wrapped his meaty arms around Beguile and pulled her in. She strained to wrap her arms around his generous middle as he squeezed her and then noticed, strangely, that the man was inhaling deeply.

“You smell just like I imagined,” he said as he looked down at her. Their faces were close and she could see every burst blood vessel on his nose. “Like strawberries and bubble gum.”

“Thanks,” Beguile said. She was starting to get a little uncomfortable. This hug was turning into a cuddle. She loved cuddles too but not with people she’d just met.

“My but you are a pretty, pretty girl,” Patrick said. “Absolutely stunning.”

Beguile opened her mouth to say something about the lingering hug when the beefy man released her and she sighed in relief.

“Please,” Patrick said, gesturing at his desk. “Sit. Let’s talk business.”

Beguile sat in one of his chairs while Cal sat in the other. Cal was glaring bloody murder at Crowly so she nudged his leg with her toe and gave him a meaningful look. Cal nodded glumly and looked at the floor.

“So, Beguile, you’re so hot right now. Your mentions and engagement are off the charts. Multi-talented too. We’re thinking we might have the perfect project for you. How would you feel about a Beguile movie universe? We have Aaron Hansen lined up to play Throng.”

Beguile did a double take. Aaron Hansen was an A list actor and a heart throb to countless young girls but that’s not what shocked her.

“Why do you need someone to play Throng?” she asked slowly. “Cal’s Throng. I’m Beguile. We’re a team. It wouldn’t feel right with someone else playing Throng.”

“Oh,” Patrick said. “That’s very sweet. Well, the thing is, Throng’s mentions and engagements aren’t quite on the same level as yours. We just thought it would be wiser to pair you with someone who has similar star power.”

Beguile glanced over at Cal and he was slouching in his seat looking grim.

“I’m sorry but that’s a dealbreaker for me,” she said. “If we’re doing this, Cal’s playing Throng. I want to get my message out there but it needs to be the right message. Swapping out my partner and best friend for someone ‘better’” — she made air quotes with her fingers — “doesn’t send the message I want.”

Cal smiled gratefully at her and she winked at him.

Patrick Crowly sighed and leaned back in his seat. “We can be flexible on the Throng casting,” he said. “We like you that much, Beguile.”

“Great!” Beguile said. “Cal’s playing Throng.”

“Sure, sure,” Patrick said. “That might limit the kind of directorial talent we can attract but I’m sure it’ll be fine. There is one other stipulation. Can I speak to you alone, Beguile?”

She exchanged a look with Cal and he shook his head. “It’s okay,” she told him, placing a hand on his arm. “I’ll be fine.”

Cal nodded, got up, and left the room. He closed the door behind him with a click.

“What’s up?” Vera asked.

Patrick stood up and rounded his desk to stand in front of her. “Well, here’s the thing. I know how important it is to you to get your message out there. You’ve also made it clear you want to get the right message out. But the studio doesn’t need to do things that way unless we” — he chuckled — “unless I have the proper incentive.”

“What do you mean?” Beguile asked.

“Well, you might own the name Beguile and you might own the trademark on your likeness and your story but those are truly only minor obstacles for the studio.”

“Okay,” Beguile said. “I’m not sure I understand your meaning.”

“We’d love to make the Beguile movie universe with you as the star, your name on the poster, and your creative input. We’d like to help you tell your story and spread your message. Peace, love, and hugs, right?”

“Peace, love, and hugs!” Beguile said with a smile.

“But we don’t have to. We could, instead, tell a story about a girl named, I dunno, Miss Hypno or something. We could make a cinematic universe about a manipulative, mind-bending girl with good intentions who ends up hurting the people closest to her. This Miss Hypno could be named Zera Vorina and she could be an anti-hero, maybe even a villain, who mind controls people behind closed doors to get what she wants. We could cast Heather Rose as Miss Hypno.”

Beguile frowned. Heather Rose was a woman who often made her way onto tabloid covers due to her various escapades with drugs, sex, and petty crime. Beguile heard rumors she’d starred in numerous adult films.

“That would be dishonest,” Beguile said.

“I agree. Such a story wouldn’t be good for you message at all, it might even be quite harmful,” Patrick said.

“Why are you telling me this?” Beguile asked. “Peace and love are good for everyone, including you.”

“Maybe,” Patrick said. “But either way, we’d make a lot of money.”

Beguile sighed. Mr. Crowly was another lost soul desperate to add more zeros to his already booming bank account. A sad man that she pitied. Such a life in the pursuit of more and more money would only leave him empty and rudderless. But what did he want? It seemed as if he were threatening her. So she decided to just ask.

“What do you want? I mean you’re telling me this because you want something from me. I don’t love that you need to be convinced but I will do what’s right for the world. I want everyone to feel peace, love, and hugs.”

“Excellent,” Patrick said. “All you need to do is suck my dick.”

He unbuttoned his trousers and tugged down his pants before pulling his penis out of the waistband of his underwear. Beguile was utterly floored. She froze in shock as he waved his fully erect penis in front of her face.

“If you let me fuck your face, I will make the Beguile movie you want to see. You’ll get your little boyfriend casted as Throng, you’ll get your sappy sentimental story, and I’ll get to cum down your throat. Everyone wins. What do you say?”

Beguile’s mind reeled. She’d heard a lot of bad stories about the movie industry but this was beyond the pale. She’d come here under false pretenses. This man was so lost and so sad that it broke her heart. He’d probably been a good person once. His mother probably loved him. She needed to get to the bottom of this so she’d play along but she would absolutely not be sucking this man’s penis.

“Oh gee, I dunno,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to be the first girl to take such a deal.”

“You wouldn’t be sweetheart,” Patrick said. “Half of the actresses in this town took me in their mouth to get where they are.”

So he had done this to other girls.

“Why do you do this?” Beguile asked. “Why me? I’m sure you could have your pick of many ladies.”

“You’re such a sweet little thing,” Patrick said. “I want to hear what it sounds like when you’re gagging on my cock.”

Beguile smiled and stood up, no longer attending a business meeting, but facing a criminal. She took a deep breath and Patrick’s eyes widened. He reached into his pockets and tried to fit earplugs in before she started singing. Not that earplugs would’ve made a difference.

I love you despite your greed
But sex is not what you need

Patrick’s eyes went glassy and a line of drool fell from his gaping mouth. He breathed deeply and steadily as if sleeping with his eyes open.

You will think Beguile sucked your dick
But really you will play with your prick

He turned around and started to mime out sex. He pumped his penis with one hand while the other mimed shoving something towards his crotch.

Film a confession that your morals failed
Admit to each actress blackmailed

“Oh yeah, that’s it Beguile, you little whore! Choke on it!” Patrick said between gasps. He was completely spellbound by her voice and lost in a fabricated fantasy.

You’ll tell the world the entire truth
Of things you did in casting booths

Patrick jerked and stiffened as he climaxed. “That’s not all little slut,” he gloated. Beguile’s eyebrows rose sharply as he peed on his office carpet. “You’re such a cute toilet!”

You’ll forget we ever had this meeting
From my exit back to our first greeting

Patrick started spitting on the floor and again Beguile was just taken aback. What a profoundly lost and confused soul. She had no idea people actually did stuff like that. Gross!

Having righted a wrong, Beguile rose proudly and walked out of Patrick’s office. Cal met her and she started laughing before they made it all the way to the elevator. On the way down she told him everything and by the time they reached the bottom Cal was laughing too.

[LovetheFallenAngels]

Beguile 8 cover.png (6.02 MiB) Viewed 2690 times

8

Horace Range, head of operations for the Heroes Union, requested Beguile and Throng meet him at HQ for a meeting about something important. That’s how Beguile found herself in his office on the top floor of the impressive Heroes Union HQ building downtown. Instead of sitting at his desk, Horace asked Beguile and Throng to join him on a long couch.

Picking up a crystal decanter, Horace poured himself a glass of amber liquid. “Want a drink? We’re celebrating.”

“Oh, thank you but I don’t drink,” Beguile said sweetly.

“I’ll have one,” Cal said.

“Cal!” Beguile punched him lightly on the arm.

“What?” Cal said. “We’re celebrating. Don’t you know what that means?”

Beguile turned excitedly to Horace. “You’re promoting us to pillar rank?”

“That’s right,” Horace said. He studied her over the glass, appraising. “There’s a bit of context I want you to know first, though. I want you to understand what you’re getting into before you accept. Pillar rank is very different from support rank.”

“Sure, I’m listening,” Beguile said. She watched as Cal drank from his glass and winced. She giggled. “Actually, you know what? I’ll have one too. A small one. Just a sip.”

Horace smiled and poured her a glass that was a fraction of Cals. Beguile took a sip and recoiled, scrunching up her face. She fought down the urge to spit. “I’m sorry but that’s disgusting. It tastes like smoke.” Cal nodded in agreement at her and put his glass on the coffee table.

“The value of scotch is lost on the young,” Horace said. “Anyway, about pillar rank. The reason I’m promoting you is twofold. First, obviously, your numbers are outstanding. You’ve completed over a hundred missions with a hundred percent success rate and without a single casualty. Truly impressive.”

“Thanks!” Beguile said. “We’re the best team!”

Cal offered his fist and she bopped it with her own.

“There’s another reason though. You’ve heard of the current pillar class heroes, right?” Horace studied Beguile seriously.

“Yeah, I mean, there’s Puzzle guy, Garrote, Dog beast man or something, Slasher, Deathkiss…” Beguile trailed off. They were heroes who many people whispered were worse than the things they were fighting. More than that they were extremely powerful people. Their powers were excessively violent and strong. Beguile’s skill in combat paled in comparison.

“Yeah, that’s them. Well, um, as part of their duties recently, every single pillar rank hero was seriously injured. A few almost died. That’s the rub. I’m not sure you’re ready, to be completely honest, but all of the pillar ranks are out of action and we need a protector. Otherlings are going to come through the Eye. The barrier has been destroyed. Nothing stands between us and them.”

Beguile sat up straight and steeled her expression. “I’ll do whatever I have to,” she said seriously. “We won’t let them hurt anyone!”

Horace nodded slowly. “You’re not afraid?”

Beguile tilted her head. “No, I am. But I don’t let fear control me. Image City needs us and we won’t let you down, Mr. Range. We’ll do whatever it takes to protect the people. We’ll do it our way. It might be hard, it might be painful, but with Cal at my side, I can do anything.”

Cal nodded at her and then met Horace’s eyes. “I’ll protect her with my life.”

Horace smiled at them and finished his drink. “Well, then, congratulations. Welcome to pillar rank. You can use the lounge and more resources will be at your disposal. From now on we’ll set you up with the emergency app and use transport drones to take you to missions. I’ve got high hopes for you.”
Beguile noticed a slight hesitation and words unsaid on the head of operations tongue and she thought she understood. He didn’t want anything bad to happen to her or Cal. But he would learn they were much more than they appeared. The power of love was stronger than anything.

“I’ll show you to the lounge but I wouldn’t recommend you spend too much time in there. The other pillar ranks hang out in there but I’m not sure you will all get along.”

Beguile exchanged a glance with Cal and read the subtext in Horace’s words. The pillar ranks didn’t like them. Beguile understood that perfectly. The pillar ranks were insanely strong heroes who put their lives on the line but Beguile was getting all the attention. Not to mention a total contrast in philosophies. But Beguile would win them all over. She would teach them all to appreciate peace, love, and hugs.

Horace handed Beguile and Cal an electronic key each and showed them how to swipe the maglock to open the door to the lounge. The space was large with an amazing view of Image City. The lights and tall buildings were beautiful at night. A pool table occupied one corner, there was a large TV on one wall, and against another wall, a fancy old-fashioned bar with countless liquor bottles decorated the shelves behind. A holographic display sat inert in the center of the lounge and there were comfortable chairs and couches all over the place.

“There’s also bedrooms if you need them,” Horace said. “I know you have your own place but if you ever needed to burn the midnight oil and spend the night here we have you covered.”

“It’s amazing!” Beguile declared. “We won’t let you down Mr. Range.”

Horace chuckled. “Please, call me Horace.”

“Okay, Horace. I’m Calvin,” Cal said. The two men shook hands and Beguile almost exploded from the cuteness of Cal trying to be all serious and businesslike.

She ran over and threw her arms around Horace giving him a big hug. He laughed uneasily and awkwardly patted her on the head like a cat.

“I’ll be in touch,” Horace said. “I have a feeling you’ll be called to action very soon.”

“I’m ready,” Beguile said.

“Me too,” Cal said.

“Great,” Horace said. There was that hesitation again, words unsaid, but then he was smiling and nodding. “Let me know if you need anything. Call me anytime.” With that, the head of the Heroes Union left the lounge.

“Let’s get a drink,” Cal said, gesturing at the bar with his head. “A tasty drink.”

“Oh yeah, I’m on board,” Vera said. “I need to wash the taste of that scotch off my tongue.”

Cal did some rummaging and came up with a pair of cream sodas. They twisted off the tops and sipped them while standing at the bar.

“We did it,” Vera said. “Now’s our real chance Cal. We can prove peace, love, and hugs really work. We can prove it against monsters.” Fear spiked her heart but the emotion passed. Beguile was no stranger to fear and she wouldn’t let it paralyze her.

“Shit Vera,” Cal said. “He said the pillar rank heroes were all taken out by the last otherling. All of them at once. That’s kinda scary. They’re really strong.”

“Yeah, it is scary,” Vera said. “But together we’re unstoppable.”

Cal smiled and then Vera hugged him. She squeezed him so long it became a cuddle but she didn’t mind. She liked to cuddle Cal.

The door to the lounge opened and Beguile separated from Cal, turned around, and expected to find Horace, but instead Slasher stumbled into the room. She recognized him from images she’d seen before. A man into the dawn of old age with a face like sun-worn hide beneath dark short hair tinged with grey. He wore his signature leather jacket and faded jeans and his dark eyes were furious. One of his hands glinted under the lights, drawing her attention to metal fingers, and she thought that was new. She could tell from his sloppy movements that he was drunk. His intense eyes found them and rage painted his face.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” he slurred. “Fucking pink princess and her puke sidekick in here. What a disgrace.”

Beguile knew immediately that Slasher was among the pillar rank heroes Horace warned them to avoid but she was never one to shy away from a challenge. He’d be the first one she would win over.

“Slasher!” she said brightly. She walked up and beamed at him. “It’s such an honor to finally meet you.”

Slasher looked from her face to something behind her head and back again as his head swayed on his neck. “Fuck off, christmas gift,” he said. His words tumbled together. “There’s no cameras around right now you don’t need to put on your sweetheart act.”

Beguile giggled. “I’m not. This is me. I’m always like this.”

“Fuck me,” Slasher said shaking his head. His eyes flicked towards the bar and lingered on their cream sodas. “What are you drinking?”

“Cream soda,” Cal said.

“And…?” Slasher asked. He waited but Beguile and Throng just shared a confused look. “Just cream soda?”

“Yeah,” Beguile said. She picked hers up and took a sip. “It tastes good. I don’t like alcohol. It doesn’t taste very good, does it?”

“You don’t drink, huh?” Slasher said. “Can’t handle the taste of liquor but you’re gonna fight an otherling.” The grizzled hero started laughing but there was no good humor in the sound. His mouth curled down and his eyes glinted with menace.

Beguile did what she did best and read the subtext of his actions and words to find the truth beneath the surface. She thought he was probably scared. He’d been hurt bad in the last mission, all of the pillar ranks had, and now they were depending on her. All she had to do was reassure him she could handle it and maybe they could be friends.

She walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He stopped laughing and looked between her gloved hand and her face. “It’s okay,” Beguile said. “I know you guys had a rough mission but I can hold down the fort. I’m not as strong as you guys but I will do whatever it takes. I’ll keep everyone safe, even you.”

Slasher’s face flushed tomato red and his eyes bulged in his head. “You’re gonna protect me?” he screamed. “You? What are you gonna do you fucking whore? You gonna fuck the otherlings? That’s all girls like you are good for. You’re pretty but that’s all there is. Nothing between your ears except empty air.”

Beguile tried to keep the frown off her face but she took a few steps back. He screamed at her at the top of his lungs. People had insulted her with words like that before, especially online, but it hurt more coming from a fellow hero. Cal stepped in front of her.

“Oh, you’re gonna protect her?” Slasher said, mockingly. He was grinning now, reminding Beguile of a wolf that cornered a lost lamb. “You’re about as strong as an MMA fighter right?”

Throng slid his goggles over his eyes, put on his headphones, and split into countless copies that filled the lounge to bursting. Suddenly, it was like a whole army was on their side.

“And if your copies die, it hurts you, but you don’t die, right?” Slasher said in a low voice. He was fingering the handle of a massive knife in a sheath on his belt.

“Just leave us alone,” Cal said from a hundred different throats.

“Why?” Slasher said. “This is a good test for you. If you can’t beat me you have no chance against the otherlings. None at all.”

Beguile didn’t want to fight. Slasher was not at all like she imagined, and her impression of him hadn’t been good to begin with. He was hurting so badly. His pain was so sharp and strong that it reflected out of him at everyone he met.

“I could just make you leave us alone,” Beguile said softly. “I don’t want to but I also refuse to fight you and I won’t let you hurt Cal.”

“Oh little miss moral high ground isn’t afraid to use her powers whenever it suits her. I’m not fucking surprised.”

“That’s right,” Beguile said. “I won’t hesitate if it means I can stop violence. I won’t feel bad about it either. I won’t hurt you but you’ll do whatever I tell you to.”

Slasher glared at her with such intense hatred. This man despised Beguile more than anyone she’d ever met. She truly had underestimated just how much he disliked her. The prospect of befriending this man now seemed a long shot at best. Still, she wouldn’t give up.

“Fine,” Slasher said, raising his hands. “I’ll just go.”

Beguile let out a long breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding.

Slasher drew his massive blade and cleaved off one of Cal’s copies’ head. He was so fast! The real Cal grunted in pain just in front of her. All his copies moved in to obstruct Slasher’s path and dove on him, dog-piling the old hero. The knife whistled as it sliced through the air and cleaved another copies’ head clean off. Cal’s copies flew out from Slasher as he kicked and batted them back. Beguile drew a breath and in that time Slasher made it halfway to her and past ten Cals. Then she started to sing and her feet found the steps of a dance.

I love you despite your hate
But we won’t take your bait

Slasher’s movements slowed as if he was moving through water and then he stopped. His hands hung at his sides and he blinked at Beguile as she twirled on the ball of one foot leaving glowing spirals around her waist.

Go home and cook yourself some food
Something healthy and yummy, dude

Slasher’s mouth fell open and drool pooled on the chest of his leather jacket. The knife slipped from his hand and stuck in the carpet.

Fix a bath with lots of steam
Have yourself the sweetest dreams

Slasher turned and walked out of the room. Beguile continued dancing until he disappeared out the door.

“Ow,” Cal yelled. “That hurt.” His copies were absorbed back into his main body. He rubbed at his neck.

“Yeah,” Beguile said, wincing. “He cut off a few of your heads.”

“What a prick,” Cal said. “You were just trying to be nice.”

“He’s a troubled soul,” Beguile said. An understatement. She pitied Slasher. Rare to meet someone so full of hate and rage.

“You should’ve done something to him,” Cal said spitefully. “Like tell him to make a cake with salt instead of sugar and eat the whole thing.”

“That’s not the way,” Beguile said. “We answer hate with love.”

Cal slowly smiled at her and let go of his neck. “You’re a special person, Vera.”

Beguile blushed and shrugged. “I dunno about that Cal. I’m just me.”

“You’re a treasure,” he said again, stepping closer.

She reached out and mussed his hair.

“Let’s go home,” Beguile said. “We can cuddle. That should help, right? Cuddles are the best medicine!”

“Yes!” Cal exclaimed.

[LovetheFallenAngels]

9

Slasher woke up without a headache, which made no sense because he drank a fifth, and the events of the previous night came back to him piece by piece. That little bitch mindfucked him! She made him do the worst fucking things. He had a goddamn, wetcock bubble bath, which he hated. The only baths Slasher enjoyed were blood baths. Then she forced him to cook a vegetable stir-fry which was disgusting. He’d eaten it all too. Slasher’s hands shook with anger and he imagined wrapping his fingers around that delicate neck and squeezing. Worst of all she’d influenced his dreams. Slasher usually dreamed of blood, street fights, shootouts, a lovely fest of gore and torture and pain. Last night, he dreamed of an idyllic valley where he cared for squirrels by treating their wounds and tending to their every whim. He’d never forgive that fucking cunt.

Even worse, she was way stronger than he thought. He never really understood what people meant when they talked about her hypnotic songs. One second, he had beheaded a copy of Throng, and the next thing he knew he was submerged in sudsy warm water. Maybe she did have what it took to fight an otherling. That thought pissed Slasher off more than any other. He didn’t think he could share pillar rank with someone like her.

The best solution to the Beguile problem dawned on Slasher and he broke into a genuine smile. A tent erected in the crotch of his pants. He needed to destroy her but not with violence. He wasn’t sure he could kill her, not when she could freely invade his mind unless he found a way around that. He’d look into it. Taking Beguile out using violence would only turn her into a martyr and that would spread her message everywhere. Killing the cunt would be like doing her a favor. He wanted to spit on her legacy, not immortalize her forever.

No, he needed to mangle her psyche. Break her mind until there was no trace of purity left. Crush her hopes and dreams under his boot. Corrupt her until she lost everything. It wouldn’t be easy, he’d never met a person so far up their own ass as Beguile, but he needed to ruin her.

***

Sitting in his office, Horace watched back the security tapes from the lounge and laughed out loud as Slasher left the pillar rank lounge as meek as a pigeon. That would teach him a lesson. He also started to see Beguile and Throng in a new light. They were strong. Not traditionally, like Overkill, or Slasher, or any other pillar rank, but they had their own unique strength and it was far more than he’d expected. He thought they really could hang against otherlings. Each of them covered the other's weaknesses almost perfectly. Apart, they would be good but together they were remarkable.

The familiar alarm blared above Horace and as always it made him jump.

An entity has breached the Eye. Prepare for contact. Estimated arrival is twenty-three minutes and thirty-four seconds.

He entered the command to evacuate Image City first. Then Horace sent out a drone to pick up Beguile and called her right away. It was the middle of the night. Only a few hours had passed since their run-in with Slasher but she answered on the third ring.

“Mmm-hello?” Beguile said.

“An otherling is coming,” Horace said. He opened the satellite feed of the eye on his screen. The otherling appeared similar to the last one and Horace’s heart sank. He’d hoped Beguile and Throng would get an easy one for their first mission in pillar rank.

“Okay,” Beguile said. All trace of sleep left her voice. “We’ll handle it.”

“The drone will be there soon. I’ll forward the coordinates.”

“Great. We’ve got this.”

Horace smiled as she tried to assure herself and nodded. He decided to try and encourage her. “I think you do. I saw how you handled Slasher. This should be in the same realm. Just don’t underestimate it.”

“Okay. Thanks, Horace.”

He hung up and watched the blip traveling from outer space toward the epicenter of Image City. This otherling moved at a similar speed to the one that decimated most of pillar rank. A true test awaited the young crime-fighting duo.

Overkill had been recovered so there was always backup. Horace prepared to activate Overkill as soon as it looked like Beguile was losing and told the containment team to be on standby. It wasn’t fair to throw her in the deep end like this and he didn’t want to watch her die. He felt different about her than the others. Beguile was genuinely good. He wouldn’t stand by while she perished or suffered grievous injuries.

He realized he was already preparing for her defeat and allowed himself a sliver of hope. Maybe she could pull it off. Then he got up and made his way to the control room.

***

Beguile stepped out of the drone with Cal at her side and they waited. The otherling would be making contact in less than five minutes. The evacuation was underway but Beguile worried the people wouldn’t make it out in time. There were still citizens waiting for large, slow drone transports to take them out of Image City.

Cal already wore his headphones and his goggles and he split instantly into a thousand copies. There were Cals everywhere. The only thing that brought more comfort to Beguile than one Cal was a thousand Cals.

“Hey,” Cal said. His main body stepped up to her and placed gentle hands on her shoulders. “If things go bad I want you to run. I will hold it back. I won’t let it hurt you.”

Beguile shook her head. “We’re in this together.”

“No!” Cal said in a loud voice. Beguile started and blinked at her best friend. He never yelled. Then he continued in his normal voice. “I can’t watch you die, Vera. I just can’t. So if things go bad promise me you will run or hide. Just get away.”

Beguile shook her head again even if it annoyed him. “We’re not going to need to run. We’re going to win.”

Cal’s shoulders sagged but he gave up trying to convince her. He knew her too well to expect her to run away when lives were in danger. “Okay. We win. No matter what. Right?”

“Right,” Beguile agreed.

“Promise?” Cal asked.

Beguile nodded at him. “I promise.”

One minute until contact. Beguile looked up at the sky. A blur moved very quickly towards them. She drew a deep breath and prepared to sing as soon as it landed. There was no time to spare. They had no idea what they’d be dealing with but it’d be powerful.

The blur struck the earth and sent out waves of obfuscating dust. The remaining citizens screamed. Throng rushed forward, a thousand bodies controlled by one mind, and surrounded the impact zone. Vera expelled the breath in her lungs, started singing, and her feet traced a circle. Her hips shook and she put all of her love into her words.

I love you though you’re not from Earth
Love the being that gave you birth

Cal’s copies waved hands at the lingering dust to disperse the obfuscating cloud but nothing had emerged from within. What was it doing? Waiting? Beguile twirled and threw her head back as she belted out the next words of her song. Her movements left super-bright spirals in her wake.

You came to destroy but it’s not the end
Maybe instead you could be a new friend?

The dust dissipated and gave Beguile her first look at the otherling. Fifteen feet of hard, ribbed, spike-infested muscle. A honeycomb of eyes dotted the top of its long, curled face, and five distinct mouths hung open. The otherling didn’t move, it just stood with feet planted staring at her.

“It’s working!” Cal shouted. “You’re doing it! Keep going!”

Is the place you're from not very fun?
I smile to greet you and I won’t run.

Beguile danced her heart out and put every shred of love within her into very word she serenaded the otherling with. The monster’s eyes were fixed firmly on her, countless tiny black pupils tracing her movements as she pranced around, and four arms hung limp at its sides.

I’m gonna teach you the nature of love
My favorite student from far, far above

Throng started laughing and Beguile studied the creature out of the corner of her eye even though she was whipping around in circles. The otherling was smiling? All five of its mouths had curved into smiles. A radiant grin brightened Beguile’s lips and she continued on her passion renewed a hundredfold.

You will exist peacefully here with me
Living loving with no fear we are free

Beguile danced forwards, towards the monster, and adjusted her tempo. This was no monster. Like so many other organisms it was a product of circumstance and environment. Doubtless, the place it came from, that otherling realm beyond the Eye, was a place of pain and horror but here she could teach it to love. The remaining citizens broke into cheers and applause as they saw what was happening.

You will do no harm to others
Every human is your brother

Beguile slowed her dance wondering if the hypnosis would last or if the otherling would instantly attack when she stopped. Two final lines would test how deeply mesmerized the alien was.

Show the Earth you’re no ruthless thug
Walk to me and I’ll share a hug

She held her breath, ready to sing, but watched carefully as she let the spell fade. Her spirals dissipated and she monitored the otherling as her whole body tensed up.

The monstrosity looked from Cal to Beguile and then walked up out of the crater created by its landing.

“Be careful!” Cal shouted. “Get back Vera.”

But Beguile was beaming because she could already tell they won. The monster gently pushed through Throng’s copies without attacking any of them and walked right up to Beguile. There was no menace or rage in its many eyes only peace and calm. Beguile walked forward to meet the otherling and wrapped her arms around its bony, spiky middle. She scraped her arms on sharp protrusions that shredded her gloves but she didn’t care.

“Hi,” she said. “You’re not so mean, are you?”

She felt the monster’s arms wrap around her and squeeze gently. They’d really done it. Peace love and hugs won again!

Happy tears ran down Beguile’s cheeks as she embraced the monster tasked with destroying her planet.

[LovetheFallenAngels]

10

Slasher had watched with disbelief, just like the rest of the world, as Beguile pacified and hugged the otherling. Without a doubt, the otherling she faced was weaker than Prince Xyzanara but she still wrapped the monster around her little finger. His theories and accusations had gone up in flames as if she poured gasoline on them and tossed a match.

He sat crouched in front of his crappy TV in his shitty little apartment which was located in a seedy part of Image City. Most heroes earned no income from the Union and so depended on donor generosity and endorsement deals to pay the bills. Slasher had been told time and time again he wasn’t ‘advertiser friendly.’ The media loved to make it known that Beguile was the richest among any in the Union thanks to her music career and endorsements. There was a knock at the door

Slasher picked his way through dirty laundry, discarded cans and bottles, and opened the door to welcome Garrote inside. Her normally imposing figure came across as more humorous with most of her skin wrapped in bandages but he decided not to antagonize her. He needed her for his plan.
“Well, the bitch did it,” Garrote said. She frowned as she looked around his apartment. “You need to clean. Get a maid.”

“Does it look like I can afford a fucking maid?” Slasher asked. He gestured at the couch, cleared some half-full chip bags off the cushions, and sat. Garrote joined him after brushing away some crumbs.

“I’m glad you’re on board,” he said. He wanted to make sure she really meant it. Killing criminals in cold blood was one thing but trying to corrupt and destroy a popular and beloved heroine was another thing altogether. If they got caught they’d probably be finished. What he had in mind was very illegal and Slasher enjoyed his freedom.

“I don’t like Beguile,” Garrote said. “She’s a puffed up self-important attention whore. I want to see her utterly humiliated.”

“Good,” Slasher said. “I’ve been in touch with some of the Union’s donors and they’re willing to help with funds and connections as needed. They don’t want to openly support the plan but they’ll provide resources and support.”

“Wow, what?” Garrote said. “Why?”

“They don’t like Beguile either. The donors in question deal in things like cigarettes, weaponry, and oil. There’s no money in peace, love, and hugs. They want to see her influence diminished before it starts to impact their bottom line.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Garrote said. “Peace is very unprofitable for the military-industrial complex.”

“Exactly,” Slasher said with a grin.

“So, what’s your plan, exactly?” Garrote asked.

“Yeah, what is it?” A chipper voice said. Garrote and Slasher jumped in surprise to find Deathkiss sitting on the couch beside them. She was always quick but they hadn’t even noticed her enter. Her arm was in a cast but she bounced in her seat. “Who are we fucking up?”

Garrote smiled. “I’m glad you showed up. I have a part for you to play in our plan. And we’re going to destroy Beguile.”

“Oooh,” Deathkiss cooed. “That sounds fun. I love wrecking pretty things.”

“Are you sure including her is a good idea?” Garrote asked. Her eyes lingered on Deathkiss.

“It’ll be fine,” Slasher said. “We need all the help we can get. Plus she has no morals whatsoever so she’s not gonna have a crisis of conscience and feel bad.”

“It’s true!” Deathkiss said, nodding rapidly. “I don’t give a fuck!”

“All right,” Garrote replied. “As long as the stinky little psycho can keep her mouth shut about it.”

Deathkiss mimed locking her mouth shut and throwing away the key before bursting into a flurry of laughter.

“So, the plan is fairly simple,” Slasher said. “We target Throng, Beguile’s sidekick.”

Garrote nodded. “That makes sense. She depends on him.”

“We’re going to kidnap him and replace him with Doppleganger,” Slasher said.

“Doppy!” Deathkiss cried.

“He’s in prison,” Garrote said.

“Yeah and you’re going to break him out,” Slasher said.

“Okay,” Garrote said. “Then what?”

“I have some tricks in mind for Doppleganger to pull on our pink-haired idiot to set her reeling but it will all culminate in a hostage situation where the criminals will request Beguile specifically. She will think Throng has her back but he won’t because he will have been replaced by Doppleganger. By kidnapping Throng, we will also have access to the Beguile-proof headphones and goggles. I’m going to have copies made. I have some theories about her powers after being on the receiving end of them but the diagnostics test at HQ will confirm everything we need to know about her,” Slasher leaned forward. “We can do this. She’s going to fall hard.”

“How will you get the diagnostics data?” Garrote asked. “Horace has those files under lock and key.”

“A bribe funded by our donors has provided us access to that sensitive, confidential information. What a shame that every detail of Beguile’s powers will become our intimate knowledge.” Slasher grinned.

Garrote chuckled. “You put a lot of thought into this. You really hate her, don’t you?”

Slasher laughed. “I can’t wait to ruin her.”

“As long as we all get a taste?” Garrote asked with a wicked grin.

“Me too! Me too!” Deathkiss cried.

“Oh, everyone is going to get a taste,” Slasher said, rubbing his hands together. His cock got rock hard in his pants. Beguile would be unrecognizable when he finished with her.

[LovetheFallenAngels]

11

On Horace’s request, Beguile rode the elevator at the Heroes Union HQ down to the basement and the diagnostics division. Horace met her and Cal at the entrance and led them deeper into a labyrinth of white walls, offices, strange machines, and devices the like of which she’d never seen before.

“Before I hand you over to diagnostics,” Horace said, “I thought you’d be interested in checking in on your otherling friend.”

Grinning at Cal, Beguile nodded. “Yeah!”

They followed Horace down a hallway into an observation room that looked in on a large, empty white room with a pane of observation glass separating them from the hulking beast within.

“He’s been completely passive since capture,” Horace said. “It’s really amazing. We honestly never considered the possibility of studying a living specimen but you made it happen. Having more information will aid us greatly in future engagements against otherlings.”

The gathered scientists broke into applause and smiled at her. Beguile clapped too because the hard-working scientists deserved recognition more than her.

“We’ve observed the most fascinating changes in its neurology,” one scientist said. A reedy man with a sharp, jerky way about him. “Check this out.”

He brought up two brain scans on a screen and slid them so they were side by side. “In the few days the otherling has been here, its right supramarginal gyrus has grown almost three hundred percent larger. That part of the brain regulates an empathy response. When we first received it, the gyrus was quite small, similarly proportional to a crocodile. Now it’s almost as large proportionally as a humans and it's still growing.”

Beguile beamed at the two images. She taught the otherling to love and it was still working. Cal squeezed her shoulders.

“Please take care of him,” Beguile said. “He’s a big teddy bear.”

The scientist laughed. “I dunno about that but yes we’re treating him well.”

“Okay,” Horace said. “It’s time to get you to diagnostics before Dr. Lowell blows a gasket. We’re already running late.”

Beguile placed a hand on the glass and whispered “I love you, big guy” to the otherling before following Horace away.

They entered a large department with only a few scientists working within. Diagnostics. A tall man wearing glasses approached them and addressed Beguile with a neutral expression. His gray eyes weighed her appraisingly. “Welcome. Nice to meet you. I am Dr. Lowell.”

“Nice to meet you!” Beguile chirped.

“Hi,” Cal said with a lazy wave.

“So, we ask all pillar rank heroes to go through our diagnostic intake for a few reasons,” Horace said. “I’ll explain so you understand why we’re doing this. Firstly, we find a lot of heroes don’t fully understand their own powers. They know how to use them well but they don’t necessarily understand the why or how of the things they can do. Dr. Lowell is amazing at analyzing the data and learning the ins and outs of your powers on a granular level. His analysis will doubtless reveal something helpful.”

“The results are confidential, right?” Beguile asked. She didn’t like the idea of her weaknesses and strengths becoming public knowledge.

“Of course,” Horace said. “Only two people have access to the data, which isn’t stored digitally, and it’s well guarded. There are layers of security.”

“Okay,” Beguile said with a smile at Dr. Lowell. “I’m putting my trust in you.”

“Yes,” Dr. Lowell said briskly.

Horace smiled at Beguile. “I’ll leave you in his hands. I’ll be back in a moment to hear the results.” With that, Horace slipped out of the room.

“Okay, what now?” Beguile asked.

“Into booth,” Dr. Lowell pointed at a structure similar to a phone booth made of tall glass walls and closed in with a glass ceiling. Beguile followed his instructions and got into the booth. “I attach neurodes,” he said. He taped some sensors to different parts of Beguile’s head, using stiff, businesslike hands. He wasn’t rough but he wasn’t gentle either. He treated Beguile like an inanimate object.

The doctor closed the door and walked over to a workstation with a microphone. The cold, calculating man spoke. “Do power now.”

Beguile started singing and dancing although it was hard in the enclosed space of the booth. She sang the lyrics to peace, love, and hugs. When she finished, the doctor typed into a keyboard before rounding his station and opening the booth. “Done. Next.”

Cal got into the booth and looked around awkwardly after he’d been fitted with the neurodes. “There’s not enough space in here to make all my copies.”

“Only one,” Dr. Lowell said into the microphone. “Only need one.”

Cal split vertically so his copy stood on his shoulders.

Beguile laughed and clapped. “You’re like a cheerleader!” she exclaimed.

“He can’t hear you,” Dr. Lowell said. “Quiet while testing.”

Beguile gasped and clapped hands over her mouth.

In a few minutes, Dr. Lowell again opened the booth and let Cal out. “Results ready.”

Horace returned and they all sat in chairs behind Dr. Lowell at his workstation.

“Beguile now,” the man said. “Your voice has hypnotic effect on brain, including your own.”

“Wait,” Beguile said. “My singing affects me too?”

Dr. Lowell nodded.

“That can’t be right,” Cal said. “She never goes all glassy-eyed and drooly when she sings.”

“There are two effects of voice,” Dr. Lowell said. “Change of thoughts and emotions. Stupefaction. No self stupefaction. Only change of thoughts and emotions.”

Beguile thought about it and realized the man might be right. Whenever she sang about peace, love, and hugs she always felt amazing. The power of love became amplified and her heart swelled with benevolence. Had she really been charming herself with love all this time?

“That’s really interesting,” Beguile said. “I had no idea.”

“The dance similar but create hypnotic effect with spirals.” The doctor droned tonelessly. “Spirals enter brain through eyes and change thought and emotion. Stupefaction.”

“There’s something you missed,” Beguile pointed out. She didn’t want to embarrass Dr. Lowell but he seemed very thorough and she thought he’d appreciate her addition

“Oh? Yes?” the doctor asked.

“I can control how intense the mental and emotional control is,” she said. “That’s how I make all my music with hypnotic effects but it doesn’t stupefy anyone and it doesn’t cause permanent alterations to them. I limit my power when singing for fans.”

“Most interesting,” Dr. Lowell said. “Yes, this did not show in data. Appreciate Miss Beguile.”

“No problem!” she said in a chipper tone.

Dr. Lowell clicked and the graphs on screen changed. “This one different,” he said gesturing at Cal. “Make copies from DNA and quickly replicate but only one brain. Bodies connected by telepathy link. Main body feel everything copies feel. Main body control copies. Simple power but good.”

“Well, I knew all that,” Cal said sheepishly.

“Yes, no complexity there,” Dr. Lowell said dismissively.

Beguile rubbed Cal’s back consolingly. “I think your powers are really cool.”

“Okay,” Horace said. “Quick and painless, wasn’t it? Dr. Lowell has analysis down to, well, a science.”

“Okay,” Beguile said brightly. “What’s next?”

“Now you meet some of our donors,” Horace said. “Follow me.”

###

“It’s a tradition that all new pillar rank heroes meet our donors,” Horace said. “These men are very rich, very powerful, and we owe a lot to them. They paid for this building,” he said, gesturing at the walls around them. “They fund our drones, the barrier to the Eye, and basically everything else. I need you to butter them up Beguile. This is a basic meet and greet so don’t sweat it. Just be friendly, be yourself, but remember we need them. Without them, there would be no Union.”

Beguile nodded, determined to do her best. “I understand.”

“They’re waiting in my office,” Horace said. “Come with me.”

Horace opened the door and led Beguile and Throng inside his impressive office where three older men were standing around talking. They all wore fine, tailored suits and their faces lit up as she entered.

“Beguile,” Horace said as he started shaking hands. “I want you to meet three of our most important donors.”

Beguile shook hands with the first man who was tall and thin with a gaunt face and puffy bags under his small, watery red eyes. “Hi,” she said cheerfully. “Nice to meet you.”

“Liam Anderson,” the man said.

Another person hedged in to her right and stood very close to her. He was in his middle years and overweight with large shiny eyes. He snatched her hand and massaged it in his.

“Darren Brightworth,” the second man said.

She felt hot breath on her neck and turned around to find the third man crowding her from behind. They were all really close and she decided to take that as a sign of their eagerness to be friends.

“Hi!” she said as she turned around.

“Ah, the lovely Beguile,” the third man said. Generous muscles bulged inside his tailored suit and he squeezed her hand hard, almost hard enough to hurt. “I’m Jack Kinsive.”

“Horace,” Liam said in a wheezy voice. “Be a good man and fetch us some coffee, would you?”

“Of course,” Horace said. “We have great stuff in reception, I’ll have—“

“I was thinking from Cafe Peaky,” Liam said. “I’ll have an espresso.”

“Caramel Macchiato for me,” Darren said.

“Americano. Black,” Jack said.

Beguile frowned. Cafe Peaky was down the street from HQ. They ordered around the head of the Heroes Union like an intern. But Horace nodded before rushing out of the office.

The three men still surrounded her and all of them faced her. “Have you met Throng?” she asked. “He’s my partner an-“

“You’re a gorgeous little thing, aren’t you?” Jack said. He reached out a hand and ran his fingers through Beguile’s thick pink hair.

Beguile tensed, totally shocked by the forwardness of the gesture.

Another hand settled on her waist, rubbing the side of her tummy with an open palm. Liam grinned at her as she looked up at him.

A heavy pressure pressed against her back and a pair of thick arms sprouted out from under her arms to stretch around and wrap thick sausage fingers around her breasts. The fingers squeezed. Darren was grabbing her from behind!

“Stop that,” Cal said. The men ignored him. “What are you doing?”

“This is extremely inappropriate,” Beguile said. She opened her mouth to start singing when Jack thrust his fingers between her lips. He pinched her tongue between two fingers. She narrowed her eyes and looked up at him.

“Don’t sing girl,” Jack said. “We know what you did to Patrick Crowly. We’ve instructed our people to monitor us after this meeting for changes and if we start organizing a confession tape, or anything of the sort, we’ve told our team to cut all funding to the Union. If you try and hypnotize us we’ll be filing a lawsuit. We have very good lawyers. You’ll lose the HQ, the drones, the infirmary, all the support we provide will be gone just like that.”

Beguile tried to talk but he pushed his fingers deeper into her mouth. She gagged as his fingertips tickled her tonsils.

“Leave her alone!” Cal shouted.

“Settle down boy,” Liam growled. “Unless you want to be the reason the Hero Union ceases to exist.”

“Try and attack us kid,” Jack said with a smirk. He felt around inside of one Beguile’s cheeks. “I’m sure you’ll do fine in prison.”

“Relax and enjoy it,” Darren said as he massaged her breasts through her uniform, squeezing her nipples between thick fat fingers. “It’s not like we’re going to fuck you. We just want to feel you a bit. Your body begs to be explored.”

Tears welled in Beguile’s eyes because they were molesting her and there was nothing she could do about it. They knew what she did to Mr. Crowly and took steps to stop it from happening again. Besides, she couldn’t sing with Jack’s fingers exploring her mouth and she couldn’t dance with Darren’s massive frame pinning her to his flabby chest. She tried to find Cal with her eyes but the three men dominated her vision.

Liam dropped to his knees before her and ran calloused, weathered hands up and down her legs. His fingers stroked the insides of her milky thighs and traced the inches of flesh beneath her tiny shorts.

Jack wrapped his hand in Beguile’s thick hair. He yanked her head back, holding her still, and shoved another finger inside her mouth before applying pressure toward her throat. She struggled to breathe with three in her mouth. Her eyes watered and not just from the tears.

“You can’t blame us,” Darren said. “You’re just too damn sexy. Lucky for you Horace will be back soon or we’d fill all your holes.” Reaching down, he grabbed her ass through her shorts and squeezed hard.

Jack pulled his fingers out of her mouth and she gasped in a breath but he didn’t give her enough time to recover. Using his grip on her hair, he guided her mouth into a kiss with him. The stubble on his chin scratched her mouth and his strong tongue dominated hers. He fucked her mouth with his tongue.

“Enough!” Cal roared. The office filled with copies and the men released Beguile.

“Stop being dense,” Jack said. Though his tone was harsh, fear painted his face with uncertainty.

“You can’t do that,” Cal shouted. “Touch her again and see what happens.”

The men’s hands fell to their sides and they took a step back from Beguile. Cal’s copies formed a tight circle around her.

The elevator dinged from outside of the office, the office door left ajar, and the three men cleared their throats and tidied their suit jackets. Beguile darted out of the circle. She wrapped her arms around the real Cal and buried her head in his shoulder. Cal’s copies vanished.

“Don’t be stupid girl, act normal,” Jack said. “Tell Horace and we’ll cut your funding. Bitch.”

Beguile took a series of deep breaths as Horace handed the three men their coffee and then she stood straight and hid any traces of sorrow behind a bright smile. Cal’s hand found hers and squeezed gently.

“Well,” Jack said. “We’ve become acquainted with the newest pillar rank heroes. Thanks, Horace. The lovely Miss Beguile convinced us to increase the funding we provide the Union. Peace, love, and hugs, right?” The way he smirked at her was disgusting. “I can’t speak for the others but I’m very busy. I’d better be on my way.”

“Same here,” Darren said. “Thanks as always, Horace.”

“Ditto,” Liam said. He shot a final lusty gaze at Beguile before turning and leaving with the other men.

“So, it went well?” Horace asked.

Beguile didn’t think she could speak while maintaining a happy facade so she murmured “mhm” and nodded her head.

Cal grunted.

“Great,” Horace said. “Good work you two.”

[LovetheFallenAngels]

Beguile 12 cover.png (6.02 MiB) Viewed 2496 times

12

Slasher sat in the back of the van provided by the Union donors on the street outside of Beguile’s mansion. The donors enthusiasm for his plan only increased after they met Beguile in person. They gave him more resources to carry out her destruction on the condition that he would share her with them. Slasher had been more than happy to agree.

Garrote and Deathkiss lounged up front while Doppleganger sat in the back with Slasher. Garrote and Deathkiss had no problem breaking him out of prison. Police were looking for Dopple but he wouldn’t be easy to find because the disgraced hero could look like literally anyone or anything. Currently, Doppleganger adopted the appearance of the most average man ever. Medium height, medium build, medium brown hair, medium brown eyes, not good looking and not ugly, wearing a baseball cap and a grey sweater.

Deathkiss had installed tiny spy cameras in every room of the mansion so they had a view of everything. Slasher watched the feeds which were connected to a computer and several screens in the back. They’d been watching for a few days. The time read seven thirteen a.m. Beguile would be coming out for her morning swim any minute while Throng would stay in his bed a while longer. They’d decided that her morning swim would be the perfect time to take Throng and replace him with Doppleganger.

On the camera, Beguile walked out of her house through the sliding glass door and paused to stretch on the pool deck. Hair up in a ponytail, she wore a pink and baby blue bikini that was modestly cut but very lewd on her. Her body truly was one of her best attributes. Toned muscle melded seamlessly into delicate curves.

“It’s time,” Slasher said. “Garrote, Doppleganger, you’re up.”

Before they left, Slasher grabbed Doppleganger’s collar and pulled him in close. “We got you out of prison but don’t forget we can put you back in. You do this job for us perfectly and we’ll make sure you stay out. We’ll even set you up with a house in Bali. And remember, under no circumstances are you to fuck her.”

Doppleganger grinned enthusiastically. “You got it, boss.” He did a messy salute and Slasher pushed him out of the van.

A shapeshifter and a puddle of blood walked into a bar. Slasher chuckled. The start of an absurd joke. No, the shapeshifter and a puddle of blood meandered towards the property and slipped past the gate. Doppleganger shifted into a pencil that the puddle of blood carried under the metal bars until they traveled under a side door. Easy. They were inside.

Beguile was none the wiser as she swam her laps.

Slasher switched to the feed in Throng’s room and watched on eagerly as the puddle of blood flowed under the door. Doppleganger reappeared as a perfect copy of Throng, equipped even with his powers, and stood by the door as Garrote rematerialized as a woman and wrapped the wire of her namesake weapon around Throng’s throat. The boy thrashed and struggled as he woke. He tried to make copies but they faded as his main body went limp. Not dead but unconscious. Doppleganger propped open the door to Throng’s room and then helped Garrote push his body over the gate encircling the entire property. Doppleganger climbed into bed, got under the covers, and closed his eyes mimicking sleep.

Garrote flowed through the bars of the gate as blood and rematerialized to carry Throng’s inert body to a pre-selected part of the road with heavy foliage. Deathkiss drove the van to the new location, Slasher opened the sliding door, and Garrote carried Beguile’s sidekick inside. With that, they were speeding away from her mansion. Slasher grinned around while his cock throbbed. Garrote sat back with her arms crossed and a look of supreme satisfaction. Deathkiss cackled. His plan could not have gone more perfectly. Without Throng at her side, Beguile had become extremely vulnerable, and the best part was she didn’t even know it.

Deathkiss drove the van up to the chainlink fence in front of an abandoned factory one of the donors had provided Slasher to carry out his plan. Garrote jumped out of the car and opened the gate. Deathkiss drove through way too fast. The van lurched to a stop feet from the front factor wall.

“You drive like you smell,” Slasher said.

Deathkiss bared her teeth like fangs and hissed like a street cat.

Garrote and Slasher carried Throng into the factory through the front door and towards an abandoned floor that had once housed a factory. They’d already transformed the space for their purposes. There were tables full of various tools and toys. One plastic tub held bondage materials like ropes, handcuffs, collars, leashes, zip ties, and countless other ways to restrain a person. A second tub held sex toys from vibrator eggs to dildos and several different gags. A sybian had been set up in the middle of the derelict floor.

They had already set up the chair where they would change Beguile forever. The chair was made of solid steel and leather straps had been installed on the legs and arms. She’d be unable to free herself from them. Having no super strength really was a crippling weakness for a supposed heroine.
A plastic case on one table contained hundreds of doses of sedatives and knock-out drugs. They’d keep Throng heavily sedated for now but Slasher had plans for him later.

He filled a syringe with GHB and injected it into the boy heroes thigh. They tossed his body on a dirty mattress and sat in chairs arranged near the center of the space. There was more work to be done to support his sinister plans for Beguile but they were making good progress. The first, vital steps, had already been completed. Slasher plucked Throng’s goggles and headphones off his limp body and tossed them to Deathkiss.

“Take these to Dr. Malwin. Tell him I want copies. We need the originals back before tonight.”

“Sure,” Deathkiss said. “But only if you tell me I smell good.”

“So, you want me to lie?” Slasher asked.

“Yes,” Deathkiss said. Her cheeks flushed and she softly licked her lips. “Lie to me slashy. Tell me sweet lies.”

“You smell amazing,” Slasher said. “I could use you as a deodorant.”

Deathkiss shuddered as a wave of apparent pleasure traveled through her body. “Okay. Dr. Malwin. We want more gogs and phonies.”

Slasher nodded and turned to Garrote. “We got the Beguile data from Lowell.”

“Anything interesting?” Garrote asked.

“Oh yeah,” Slasher said. “Get this. The bitch hypnotizes herself when she sings. She’s not immune from the effects of her own voice.”
Garrote’s broad features broke into a cruel smile. “Oh that’s good.”

“Yeah,” Slasher said with a satisfied nod. He walked over to Throng’s limp body and slapped his cheek playfully. “We’re gonna turn your little girlfriend into a depraved whore, son.”

[LovetheFallenAngels]

13


Beguile had a long hot shower after her morning swim and tried to stay focused on the day ahead of her. However, yesterday kept creeping up and breathing on the back of her neck. Those men had molested her body, she’d felt like nothing more than a toy, and she hated it. There was no recourse to right that wrong either. Cal saved her, and she was thankful, but she wished he’d acted sooner. She understood why he didn’t. The donor’s threats of litigation weren’t idle ones.

When she arrived home the night before, she’d spent hours hiding in Cal’s arms, and he’d been just as upset as her. She hated feeling powerless more than anything. Beguile resolved to never feel like that again.

She stepped out of the shower and toweled herself off before looking in the mirror. Trying on her brightest smile, she studied her reflection, but it seemed off. The smile didn’t seem genuine to her. Shaking her head, Beguile reminded herself that she was stronger than anyone knew. She’d been through hell before and come out hopeful and strong. There was no way she’d let some degenerate men bring her down. Not when she still had an amazing opportunity to spread love to the world.

Most importantly, she needed to make sure no one ever took advantage of her. Together with Cal, she could come up with a plan in case something like that happened again. She had a bad feeling those men would want to meet with her again and she needed to be able to escape from their clutches. She was not their toy!

As for the day, she had a lot of excitement awaiting her. That night, she’d be performing on the big stage at Image City’s largest concert venue, Tempo, and she couldn’t wait. It’d been too long since Beguile and Throng had performed together and having thousands of adoring fans vibing along with her message of peace, love, and hugs gave her so much strength and enjoyment. She needed to focus on the good in her life, not the bad, and the performance would be a fun and happy time.

After getting dressed in lazy time clothes; a small pair of shorts, a tank top, and a pair of bunny slippers, Beguile made her way down the several storey spiral staircase to the kitchen to make breakfast. No sign of Cal so she decided to check in on him. Normally, he’d be awake by now. On the ground floor, his room was situated next to one of eleven bathrooms. Beguile knocked before poking her head in. Cal was sitting on his bed completely naked with his hard penis in his hand. Masturbating! Beguile gasped, hit her head on the door, and slammed it. She paused with her hand on the handle breathing heavily. She’d never seen Cal naked before. Her cheeks flushed deeper as she realized she probably could have handled that with more grace. Of course, he masturbated. Guys masturbated, that was totally normal, just really surprising to walk in on it.

Caught between knocking again to apologize or walking away, she decided to make breakfast. Who knew if he’d stopped? He hadn’t seemed bothered at all by her intrusion on his private time. She didn’t want to peep in on him again and see something she shouldn’t.

Beguile cut some melon, oranges, apples, and fixed a small bowl of granola with oat milk before sitting at the table and eating.

The entire house had a faint, disgusting smell that was completely new to Beguile. She noticed it a few days earlier. The stench reminded her of when she lived at her mother’s house and a rat died in the walls. She tried not to let the foul odor put off her appetite.

Cal emerged from his room and sat at the table next to her.

Beguile picked up a piece of melon and placed it back in the bowl three times before she couldn’t handle the silence anymore and spoke. “I’m sorry for coming in like that.”

“No problem,” Cal said.

An uncomfortable silence followed and Beguile frowned down at her breakfast. Cal was acting weird. Normally, he defused things when they got awkward really easily but now he let them soak in it.

“Are you okay?” Beguile asked. “I know yesterday was really weird for both of us.”

“Yeah,” Cal said nodding. “I’m fine.”

Beguile shook her head sadly. No, her best friend wasn’t fine, it was almost like he was a completely different person. Apparently, the events of the previous day had impacted him more than she thought. She got up, rounded the table, and wrapped her arms around Cal while he sat and she stayed standing.

“You’re my best friend Cal. Forever,” she said. “I need you to be okay because if you’re not okay, I’m not sure I can be okay.” Her voice broke and wavered halfway through her words.

Cal nestled his face against her chest and Beguile squeezed him tighter. She would hug all the bad feelings out of him. Then his hand caressed her bum and she stood straight up. “Cal?” she said, astonished. “Did you just touch my butt?”

Cal nodded and grinned at her. “Sorry, but it was right there.”

Beguile didn’t say anything but this development was new. Cal never touched her like that before in all their years of friendship, going back to elementary school, so his hand stroking her bum shocked her. She thought back to the day before when all those men had been groping her in front of him and decided this must be his way of coping.

“Well, don’t make a habit of it mister,” she said sternly. She turned around to sit back down when Cal slapped her ass hard enough to make a sharp clapping sound.

Beguile squeaked and turned to look back at him. “Don’t do that Cal. What’s wrong with you? That hurt.”

“Sorry,” he said and his eyes were really sincere. She believed him. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s okay,” she said slowly before sitting. “You’re acting really weird.”

Alarm flashed in Cal’s eyes and he sat up straighter. “Yeah, I mean, that’s not a nice thing for a boyfriend to do.”

Beguile studied him feeling confused and increasingly concerned. “Yeah, a good boyfriend wouldn’t slap my butt so hard it hurt,” Beguile said. “And you’re my best friend Cal. BFFs, remember? I don’t want you to touch me like that. It feels so wrong.”

Cal nodded slowly, understanding filling his eyes, and he grinned. “Sorry, Beguile.”

Beguile went back to her breakfast but thought furiously as she chewed. Cal almost never called her by her superheroine name. He always called her by her real name, Vera. She couldn’t remember Cal ever acting this weird but she guessed it was to be expected. They’d both had a really hard day yesterday. She decided to move on and believed he would be acting like his old self soon enough.

“Let’s go over the set list for our show tonight,” she said.

“Do whatever,” Cal said. “You can do it.”

Beguile raised an eyebrow at him. “You deserve a say in what songs we do. You made all my beats and you’re going to be on stage with me. I don’t want to hear that it’s all me again. We’re a team.”

Cal nodded slowly and fear painted his face.

“What’s wrong?” she said. “We’ve gone on stage so many times together.”

“Well, there will be a lot of people there,” he said. A weird chuckle came out of him that she didn’t recognize. Beguile knew exactly what all of Cal’s different laughs sounded like and that wasn’t one of them.

“You always say it’s no big deal and that you’re just pressing buttons,” she said.

Cal’s face brightened and he nodded. “True, true, I can do that.”

“So, setlist?”

“You pick,” Cal said. He stood up and stretched. “I’ll press the buttons.” Then he wandered away.

Beguile shook her head and hoped he would snap out of whatever this was soon.

***

Beguile was getting ready backstage and they were going on in just a few minutes. Her hair and makeup had been done to perfection and she’d quarantined thoughts of the donors. There was no room in her mind for anything except focus. She needed to bring all of her love on stage for her fans. They were cheering and chanting her name; she could hear them from her dressing room. The backup act had finished and she was almost up.

“I’m excited!” she said to Cal. He stood in the corner wearing his costume and watched her with steady eyes.

“Here, you need to stay hydrated,” he said, offering her a water bottle. The seal on the cap was broken.

“Did you drink some?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Cal said.

Beguile shrugged and drank the water. They’d shared drinks before it was no big deal. The water tasted funny; there was a strong bitter aftertaste.

“This water is gross,” she said. “Right?”

“I thought it tasted okay,” Cal said.

Beguile looked in the mirror and her costume was almost ready except she was missing her tiny stretchy shorts that kept her act modest even when her tutu flipped up. She searched the bag where her team packed her costume but it was empty.

“Oh no,” she said. “My shorts are missing Cal!” She looked to him for help and he smiled.

“They’re right here,” he said. He tossed her a pair of tiny white stretchy shorts but they were a little thicker than normal. “Donna from the team said they had to get some new ones. All the old ones got wrecked in the wash or something and they stopped making them.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Beguile said. She pulled the shorts up and jumped to get all the way into them. They were a lot thicker in the front almost like the fabric had been double or triple-layered.

Normally Cal looked away when she changed but he just watched her with a small smile.

“Make sure you drink enough water,” Cal said.

Beguile made a face at the nasty bitter bottle of water but opened it and took a few gulps. Cal was right. She needed to stay hydrated because she was about to sing and dance for several hours.

Donna poked her head in the changing room. “It’s time. You ready?”

Beguile offered a high five to Cal like they always did before they started a show, but he just looked at her hand without reciprocating.

“Way to leave me hanging,” she said.

“Let’s go,” Donna said. “They’re waiting.”

Beguile followed Donna out as the host introduced her. She turned to her team member. “What happened to the old shorts? They stopped making them? The new ones are kind of itchy.”

“What?” Donna asked.

Beguile had no time to question anything as the host called her name and the crowd exploded into cheers. She bounced out on stage, grabbed the microphone, and started singing.

Beguile had enough control over her power to dictate the impact it would have on the people around her so when she did a show she removed the stupefaction and lessened the impact of the thought and emotion control. People loved her concerts because they said it was like being high without taking drugs. Concertgoers usually left with a renewed sense of love for the universe and everything in it.

Things were a bit rocky to start. First, Cal played the beat a few bars late for their song Hug Life, but no sweat, she just inserted some silence and dance moves to compensate. As the words, lyrics, and the flow of benevolence reverberated through her body, she forgot all about the day before and channeled the power of love. Beguile had been right to think that a performance was exactly what she needed. She felt incredible. Her cheeks were flushed, her heart was pounding, and she felt intense kinship with every member of the audience.

The transition to the next song happened sluggishly and she waited for Cal to figure it out but in the break between songs her head started to spin and the damp air of the club felt amazing on her skin. Her breath shallowed out and an intense tingling sensation traveled throughout her entire body.
She sang the first few bars of her second song, I Love You Hate Me, when her shorts vibrated and robbed her voice of breath. She stumbled in her dance and just managed to catch herself from falling. Beguile tried to keep singing but the shorts were buzzing away at her crotch and she could only deliver breathy half-lines. The audience started murmuring and the music cut out. Why did Cal cut the song?

Turning, she found him smiling at her and nodding. His face was so bright like a supernova and his shape wavered into two, three Cals, before snapping back into one. For a second she thought he was making copies, but no, something was wrong with her eyes. Her shorts buzzed and she groaned as her mind went blank with pleasure.

A new beat started up and Beguile recognized it. The song was called Suck and Swallow and it wasn’t hers. She tried to remember the name of the artist who sang it but the name kept slipping from her mind as waves of pleasure took over. The shorts continued their relentless assault on her clit and Beguile’s legs trembled as she tried to stay on her feet. Her thoughts were a muddled liquid mess and she was drowning in the pleasure emanating from between her legs.

“Beguile’s going to dance to a song now!” Cal said over the mic and the audience cheered.

The lights were so bright they almost blinded her and she couldn’t think very well so she just followed Cal’s voice and moved her hips in circles. The movement enhanced the pleasant, building sensation in her groin. In her state of intense lust and desire, Beguile forgot everything outside of her body. She raised her arms in the air and made small circles with her hips while twirling around to face away from the audience. The cheers had gone completely silent and were replaced by moans and whistles.

She bent forward at the waist and shook her hips from side to side, almost breaking into laughter as her long pink hair formed two curtains around her face. The vibrating intensified and she cried out as her body erupted and sent her eyes rolling back in her head. The moans from the crowd grew louder as Beguile turned around to face them. She no longer saw each individual happy face but a blur of motion. Her knees bent of their own accord, and she stood back up again, her hips thrusting in time with the repetitive snare, bass, and melody.

The synths electrified her body and her nipples hardened. She ran hands up her legs, fingers lingering between her hips, before sliding up to cup her breasts. Her eyes were blurry and unfocused and her sweaty hair clung to her forehead.

Beguile’s hips carried her up and down in an intoxicating circle. The shorts buzzed harder, faster somehow, and Beguile stiffened, falling to her splayed knees, hips thrusting up into the air. Her body seized up and her eyes rolled back in her head again as she screamed and came so hard that she saw stars.

A hand squeezed Beguile’s arm and pulled her to her feet. “Beguile!”

Anger flashed inside her at the person interrupting this amazing experience but her vision cleared into Donna’s concerned face. “You need to stop, Beguile.” Panic gripped her in post-orgasm clarity and she looked out at her audience to find a shocking sight. The crowd engaged in a wild orgy. They were all naked and everyone was having sex in various combinations.

Beguile dispelled her power and countless bright pink spirals vanished. The crowd woke slowly as if from a dream and the moans quickly morphed into shouts of anger, rage, and accusation. Donna ushered Beguile quickly off stage with Cal in tow. She noticed he had put on his goggles.

[LovetheFallenAngels]

14

Beguile paced back and forth in her living room while Cal watched her from his seat on the couch. Her mind ran wild with fear and guilt. She had essentially raped an entire audience of adoring fans by letting her powers control her instead of controlling them.

“I don’t get what happened,” she said for the tenth time. “I felt so weird. The shorts. I should fire Donna for giving me those shorts!” she said, angry. The anger turned to despair and guilt as she realized she was looking for a scapegoat. “Why did you play that song?” she asked Cal. Her pacing stopped and she shot him a helpless look.

“You were struggling to sing,” Cal said. “I was trying to help.”

“That’s such a weird song to pick though,” Beguile said. “It’s so sexual.”

“Sorry, I panicked,” Cal said.

She collapsed on the couch beside Cal and pulled her knees up to her chest. She buried her face in her knees. Cal’s arm wrapped around her and squeezed her. At least he was still on her side.

“It’s okay,” Cal said. “Mistakes happen. Let me get you a drink.”

“Okay,” Beguile said. She didn’t want to feel bad anymore. Her emotions were out of wack and rapidly changing directions with extreme intensity. The euphoria she’d felt earlier faded slowly and sank into an equally low state of disappointment.

Cal pressed a glass into her hand and she didn’t look at it or smell it before drinking. The taste made her gag. “Is there alcohol in this?”

“Yeah,” Cal said.

“You know I don’t drink!” she wailed. “What’s up with you, Cal? I need you right now but it feels like you’re not here.”

“Maybe it’s time to start drinking,” Cal said. “Don’t worry. I’m here for you, Beguile.” He hung an arm over her shoulders.

She considered his words and knocked the drink back.

“I’ll give you a massage,” Cal said. He’d never offered a massage before but Beguile was too tired to examine the weirdness in detail. She relaxed as he worked his hands over her shoulders, squeezing, massaging.

Her head swam back and forth and her version blurred so much that the world appeared to be underwater. She tried to lift her arm but had no strength at all.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Cal said. He lifted her up with one hand cradling her knees and the other supporting her head.

The world went black as Beguile passed out.

***

Doppleganger hooted in glee as he removed Beguile’s tiny white shorts and revealed the white triangle of her soaked cotton panties. This gig had been so much fun he almost forgot he’d only signed up to get his freedom and a nice house in Bali.

Slasher told him not to fuck the pink-haired superheroine but he couldn’t resist. A raging boner was straining his pants and she was such a hot little piece. Watching her prance around on stage drove him crazy. He hadn’t wasted a glance at the audience, his eyes had been totally transfixed on her amazing, supple ass. Her rear end was the closest thing to perfection he’d ever seen.

Doppleganger reflected again that this “Cal” character who he’d imitated was a real pussy and a total embarrassment to all men. Imagine being close to a girl like this every day and never slapping that fine ass. Imagine being friend-zoned into oblivion when he could’ve been hilt deep in her snatch.
Beguile twitched on the bed, her face a frown, cute eyebrows furrowed in concern. She wasn’t having good dreams but he could fuck some happiness into that sweet pussy.

The door to her bedroom banged open and Doppleganger froze with his fingers inside the band of her panties.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Slasher’s hard voice said.

Doppleganger froze and slowly turned around to face him. “I was just gonna fuck her a little bit,” he said.

“No, you fucking ingrate,” Slasher said. “I told you not to touch her. She needs to stay a virgin. I’ve got a friend who works for a sex trafficking ring, they call him Bitchbreaker, but he only agreed to train Beguile if she’s a virgin when he gets his hands on her.”

“This is bullshit!” Doppleganger shouted. “My balls are so blue right now.”

Slasher looked back at him with a humorless expression. “Lower your fucking voice. We don’t need the pink princess waking up.”

“She’s not gonna wake up,” Doppleganger said. “She’s out like a light thanks to that sedative mix you gave me. Knocked her out almost instantly. What was in it, anyway? I’m curious for…reasons.”

“Liquid GHB and ativan,” Slasher said. “I just don’t want anything to go wrong when things have been going so smoothly. You’re right, she probably won’t remember anything from tonight. ”

“Doesn’t it seem like a damn shame to let that go to waste?” Doppleganger said.

“You did do a really good job with her,” Slasher said. “Fine, you can jerk off on her but not on her costume.”

“Yes!” Doppleganger said. “Fuck yeah.” He looked sideways at Slasher. “What about her butt? Can I explore that a bit?”

“Don’t fucking push it,” Slasher snarled.

“Fine, fine,” Doppleganger said. He pulled down the spandex trousers of Throng’s costume and his cock bounded forth. The size was just average but slightly larger than Dopplegangers native cock. Still, he had some ideas for this body he’d stolen. Copies where he felt everything they did, huh?
Doppleganger climbed onto the bed and straddled Beguile’s gorgeous face. Her adorable frilly white collar made him groan with desire and he traced her plump, glossy lips with the head of his penis. Then he realized Slasher was still in the room with him.

“Can I get some privacy?”

“So you can fuck her as soon as my back is turned?” Slasher said. “Hell no.”

“C’mon, I promise to be good,” Doppleganger said.

“No,” Slasher said again. “I want to watch.”

“You don’t want to join in?” Doppleganger said. “We could do whatever we want to her.”

Slasher’s eyes gleamed and it seemed like he might say yes but then he shook his head no. “Not yet. Gotta stick to the plan.”

Doppleganger shrugged and started jerking off. Within seconds, his overstimulated dick jerked and shot rope after rope of thick white splooge onto Beguile’s face decorating her nose, her mouth, and her closed eyes. The heroine groaned in her sleep and opened her mouth allowing the thick viscous sludge to drip on her tongue.

“Well, that was fast,” Slasher said.

Doppleganger split into five copies. Unfortunately, while he inherited the powers of people he imitated, the inherited powers were a lesser version. Apparently, this kid could create a thousand copies, but Dopplegangers limit was ten. “I told you I had blue balls. I’m not done,” he said.

“Yes, you are. That’s enough. You had your fun. Clean her up and go to bed. Tomorrow is a big day. I’m going to be watching the cameras so don’t try anything.”

“Fine, fine,” Doppleganger said. “Kill joy.” He went to get a warm washcloth.

[LovetheFallenAngels]

All right, I've posted almost everything I've wrote so far. There's two more chapters and I will post them because why not? they're already finished. I know it's really slow. Maybe too slow for most people. Is anyone enjoying this? I won't be offended if not as I don't take it personally. I wrote this story over a couple of days so I haven't invested all that much time in it really.

I probably won't write anymore for now if no one is really having fun reading it. A nice convenience is that Beguile hasn't really been through hell yet. I sorta don't want to put her through what I have planned for her. I kinda like her and I want her to win and escape unscathed but that's just not the kind of story this is lol. Anyway, let me know what you're thinking good or bad, I don't mind either way.

15

Beguile was struggling to recover from the night before and she felt very disconnected from peace, love, and hugs. Her phone had been blowing up but she decided to ignore it. Doubtless, they were flaming her on social media and in the news but that wasn’t the worst part, not by half. She’d betrayed herself and her philosophy by using her powers on unsuspecting fans. Cal wasn’t around, he was hiding in his room, and Beguile felt like she was alone on an island. Maybe Cal was disgusted with her. Beguile was disgusted with herself so it wouldn’t be a surprise.

Her union-issued phone rang and Beguile hesitated before picking up. She didn’t want to answer but she still had obligations. In all likelihood, Horace would demote her and ask her what the heck happened at the show.

“Beguile,” Horace said. “We’ve got an emergency.”

“Oh?” She sat up straight. Someone needed help. She might be feeling sorry for herself and she might want to crawl into bed and stay there for a month but she’d never turn away when someone needed her. “What’s happening?”

“Situation at a recording studio. Some armed men broke in and they’re holding everyone hostage. They refuse to talk to anyone but you.”

Why did they want to talk to her? Strange but she couldn’t stand idly by while innocent people were in danger.

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

“This is your bread and butter, you and Throng have defused hundreds of missions like this, you’ve got this Beguile.”

She almost said something about the night before but decided against it. If Horace wasn’t bringing it up then she wouldn’t either. She wished she could erase her memories of the event.

“Okay.”

“You won’t have any police backup because we don’t want to spook the captors but I have full confidence in your ability to resolve this situation.”

“Thanks, Horace,” she said and she meant it.

“I’ll send the info to your phone.”

Horace hung up and Beguile jumped to her feet. There was no time to waste. She ran over to Cal’s room and knocked on the door. She waited for him to answer

“What is it?” he asked through the door.

“We got a mission Cal,” she called. She was excited. The best response to pain was helping someone in trouble. Doing good didn’t erase bad deeds but it was a step in the right direction and she had an amazing opportunity to start redeeming herself.

“Okay,” Cal said. “I’ll be right there.”

***

The drone set down on the street outside the recording studio which was located on the fringe of Image City in a seedy neighborhood and Beguile jumped out onto the street. She almost started running but waited for Cal. He followed lackadaisically behind. “C’mon,” she urged. “There’s people who need help, Cal!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said.

She tried to ignore his weirdness. Cal had changed so much in the past few days that she felt like she barely knew him anymore but she hoped she could still count on him. Cal had always been there for her. A shoulder to cry on. An ear to listen. A friend to play with. No matter how much he changed she knew the boy she’d always been closest with was still inside him.

They entered the building and the first floor was totally empty. Beguile considered taking the elevator but decided the stairs would be better. An elevator would announce her arrival. Why had she considered it in the first place? Beguile held a hand to her head and closed her eyes for a second. She needed to get it together.

The recording studio was on the top floor, the eighth floor. Beguile bounded up the stairs but intermittently needed to wait for Cal who lagged behind. He used to have better stamina than her but now he was taking his sweet time.

“Let’s go, Cal,” she urged.

“I know, I know,” he said. “There’s a lot of stairs, okay?”

Beguile waited for Cal in front of the entrance to the eighth floor. Then she kicked the door open and burst inside. There were a bunch of men wearing balaclavas armed with heavy assault weapons and they were holding studio employees at gunpoint.

“Don’t move,” the leader yelled. “We’ve got hostages.”

“I know,” Beguile said, holding out a hand. Normally, Cal would be stepping in front of her but he stayed behind. “I just want to talk.”

“Don’t try singing bitch,” one of them yelled. “We’ve got special guns here.” He shifted the gun to show that he was actively holding the trigger down but it wasn’t firing. Beguile didn’t understand. The weapon should’ve been spraying bullets. “These guns will fire if we stop holding down the trigger,” the man said. “If you sing, every hostage is going to die.”

Beguile’s eyes widened and a cold chill passed through her. If she couldn’t sing, she depended almost entirely on Cal to solve this situation. She glanced over her shoulder but Cal was nowhere to be seen. Beguile found herself facing down criminals with guns designed to counter her powers and she had no backup whatsoever. Where had Cal gone? She turned around completely and searched for him.

“Looking for this guy?”

She twirled back around and one of the men had an arm wrapped around Cal’s neck. He held a revolver to the side of Cal’s skull.

“No!” she shouted. “Cal!” Despair filled her. Everything had gone wrong. She was just as much at the mercy of these captors as the hostages were.

“If you want him to live, you’re going to do what we say,” the man holding Cal said.

“I’ll do anything,” Beguile said. “Just don’t hurt him.” Regardless of how weird Cal had been acting, she wouldn’t let him get hurt. She remembered the little boy who went as a pumpkin carriage for Halloween when she went as Cinderella. He carried around the little paper wheels she made for him the entire night even though he didn’t have to.

“Get in the recording booth,” the criminal said, gesturing with the revolver.

Beguile followed the man’s instructions and walked through the office area of the studio towards the insulated recording booth with noise-canceling walls. She had no idea what they were planning but a sense of dread weighed her down. Elements of their plan were tailored specifically for her. This was no random act of violence.

The criminal held Cal so she could see them from the operating station where all of the equalizers and recording equipment sat. A pane of glass separated them. “Now what?” she asked.

The criminal’s voice entered the isolated booth through speakers in the ceiling. “There’s lyrics on the stand there. Sing the song and we won’t blow his brains out.”

Beguile frowned at the man through the glass. Such a strange request. Why would they want her to sing a song? Her eyes widened. They were doubtless going to weaponize her voice and use it against someone. Her heart broke and she faced an impossible decision. Either give criminals her voice to do terrible things with or lose Cal, her best friend. She shook her head. It didn’t take long to pick which option would be easier to bear.

“Put your full power into it,” the man with the gun said. “If you lessen your power like you do at your concerts, we’ll know, and copy boy here is gonna take a dirt nap.”

How did they know about that? Beguile guessed they might have observed the difference between her singing as a hero and her singing as a performer. To notice nuance so small implied they studied her. Yes, this was no random attack. These men had targeted her. Everything was too premeditated to be a random hostage situation.

Beguile stood in front of the microphone and she sang each line as soon as she read it. She didn’t read ahead to prepare like she would have if she was recording a single, she just improvised and pushed on. She wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. Drawing in a big breath, the song flowed from her lips.

You’re just a pretty little slut
loving cocks up your butt

What the heck kind of song did they have her singing? Who was this for? Beguile considered they might use this to control prostitutes or something and the thought made her almost stop but she pushed through it for Cal.

Fuck your face, call you names,
The toy in all our sexy games
Take it like a worthless whore
Make em’ cum and beg for more

The kind of girl they described would be someone who got no respect from anyone. A sexual doormat. A ‘toy’ like they said who would be used by boys until they got bored of her.

Ass to mouth, gag your throat
No hands, they’re tied with rope
A stupid slut, a hapless hoe
Strip your clothes and give a show

Beguile’s heart broke for the poor girl these ruthless men would use this song on. They weren’t even really describing a human being with thoughts and feelings but a pet they could use for their own amusement whenever they pleased.

You’re always horny pussy slick
Living just to serve our dicks
Don’t feel right if you’re not naked
Used or abused you’re happy to take it

Beguile couldn’t believe what she was reading. These lyrics were the result of a twisted mind who only wanted to punish, humiliate, and abuse women. And she was helping that person. She glanced again at Cal to steel herself for what she needed to do. After they escaped, she could fight to get this song back. She didn’t know if she could live with herself if she put something like this out in the world.

Your pussy belongs to everyone
Your body’s purpose is others fun
You’re a public free use slave
Cock and pain is all you crave

Beguile had rarely been angry in her life. She usually saw the pain or the trauma behind the acting out but she was disgusted by whoever wrote these lyrics. They were sadistic and proud of it. Demeaning and cruel and truly sick. She shook her head and powered on. There was only one more stanza.

Fuck toy suck toy sexy pet
Savour every load you get

Beguile’s eyes widened and she stopped singing as she read the final two lines. Her breath grew hoarse in her chest and her head started spinning. No, it couldn’t be.

“Finish singing or I’m gonna blow his fucking brains out!” the man with the gun screamed. Cal’s wide, terrified eyes were impossible to ignore and Beguile deflated. She sang the last two lines as her voice cracked.

Pink hair green eyes gaping rump
Beguile the perfect cum dump

She heard the door to the recording booth open but she didn’t notice quickly enough. The realization of what she just did — the song she just recorded — had shocked her to her core. The girl these men wanted to use the lyrics on was her! Panic and adrenaline flared inside her too late and she turned to make a run for it when a hand yanked her hair and she slumped back into the arms of a giant man who held her tight in a bear hug. She squirmed and kicked his shins but he wouldn’t let her go. In a moment of panic, she tried to sing but noticed he wore exact copies of Cal’s goggles and headphones.

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” the man said.

A sweet-smelling rag covered her face, blocking her nose and mouth, and she went limp.

[VegaTaxeca]

I am reading this and I enjoy your writing style.
Unfortunately, thematically I am not interested in the story itself, as I am strictly only into f/f stuff. Nevertheless, I am following the story, since I think I can learn from your writing, especially the way you create slowburn. Also Beguile is an interesting character.
Thank you for sharing your talent.

[LovetheFallenAngels]

Thanks for commenting Vega. Feels good to know I'm not just shouting into the void.

I do have some f/f stuff planned later so you'll have something to look forward to even if it's not strictly f/f. The majority will be m/f and m+/f but yeah I have some stuff in mind.

I have really changed my view on slowly building sexual action since I wrote my first erotic story here years ago. My first story is the opposite of slow. After enjoying some various erotica, I really think slow build up is so much better than fast. The slower the better with the caveat that too slow will lose people as I think might have happened with this story lol.

An example is on my second erotic story, I told readers they can skip ahead two chapters to get to the sex stuff faster but I think it's better if they read from the beginning. More people skip ahead than read from the start. Not by a huge amount but the majority do prefer to skip the build up. So, obviously, with this story where it's like 16+ chapters before any real sex I'm sure there's people who lost interest or don't want to suffer through so much build up and I honestly can't blame them. There's probably a happy medium somewhere in there but I sure as shit haven't found it.

I still think slow build is hotter as long as you can get into it. There's more time to establish a status quo and a baseline before we get to the action. We get to know the characters better so when they get into sexually perilous situations we're more invested and the scenes have more impact.

Thanks again for commenting. I appreciate it.

[VegaTaxeca]

You are welcome.
And thank you for the information that there might be some f/f action in the future. Good to know.

I like a slow build-up. I try to use in my own stories as well (but sometimes I am too impatiemt to see it through ).

[ducky23]

Who did the cover art? It's fantastic!

[LovetheFallenAngels]

Thanks. Stable diffusion did the art I just guided it in the right direction.

[VegaTaxeca]

By the way, the is a little fun fact regarding the name "Beguile".
I know that there is a German word "geil", which would be pronounced similarly to "guile". The meaning of the word "geil" could be translated as "horny".
In connection with this story it makes me laugh that Beguile's character name therefore could be translated as "be horny".

[LovetheFallenAngels]

lmao that is very funny. I had no idea the name could be interpreted that way when I picked it but I think it's a happy little coincidence. Thanks for sharing that tidbit. :]

[LovetheFallenAngels]

Beguile 16 cover.png (6.02 MiB) Viewed 2193 times

16

Slasher hooted with glee as the final stage of his plan culminated in the delivery of sweet, unconscious Beguile into his waiting arms. The mercenaries he’d hired were professionals and they’d been paid handsomely enough to ensure their silence. Besides them, no one knew Slasher had Beguile except his inner circle and they were all as excited as he was. Garrote kept chuckling under her breath and shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe they pulled it off. Deathkiss sprinted around alternating into cartwheels.

He didn’t need anyone’s help to carry Beguile even if he hadn’t been gifted super strength. There was no way she weighed more than a hundred and twenty pounds. With her senseless and limp form in his arms, he wondered why he’d ever felt threatened by her. She’d seemed so fierce when she faced him and sent him packing that night in the lounge. Now she was just a lost girl who had no future as anything but a fuck toy. He would’ve killed to have been in the studio when she realized the purpose of the song he wrote for her. The mercenaries had told him about her reaction and he wished he’d filmed it but that would’ve been sloppy. It wasn’t enough to destroy her. He wanted the world to think her downfall was her own doing and for that, he needed to be subtle. Leave no trace and gift her no excuses.

Beguile’s pink hair hung over his arm as he carried her to the chair where she would be permanently altered. He plopped her bottom in the chair’s seat and got to tying her up. The leather straps he’d installed on the chair made it easy. Guiding one slim gloved arm, he slid it inside a leather loop and tightened the strap before buckling it up. Not tight enough to cut off her circulation. She would be stuck there for a long time. Two days, Slasher thought, would be long enough to completely rewrite her do-gooder brain into something much more fun. Her other arm was bound with equal ease and Slasher moved on to her legs.

Beguile’s legs were lovely and navigating them was easy in her unconscious state. Slipping one ankle in a brown leather noose, he snapped it shut trapping her stocking-clad leg in place. Her other delicate ankle followed and finally, he saw to her neck. Slasher carefully undid her frilly white collar and tossed it aside like the trash it was. He opened the leather belt affixed behind her head and guided it gently around her neck before securing the buckle in place. Beguile wouldn’t be going anywhere physically but her repugnant personality would be fucking off for good.

Now came the part he’d been really looking forward to. Slasher signaled Garrote and Deathkiss. “It’s time,” he said.

Garrote rubbed her hands together excitedly while Deathkiss jumped up and down. Garrote handed out copies of Throng’s goggles and headphones and they all put them on and checked each other to make sure they were firmly in place before proceeding.

The ladies followed him back over to the chair and Slasher picked up a bucket of ice-cold water. He threw it hard at Beguile’s gorgeous, peacefully sleeping face.

Her bright green eyes shot open and she gasped, breathing heavily, looking around in terror.

“Wakey wakey,” Slasher said.

Beguile took note of her bound arms and legs as she attempted and failed to move. Then she tried to lean forward but the neck belt cut off her windpipe and she coughed. A few frantic breaths later, her eyes met Slasher’s with uncertainty. “What is this?” she asked. Her normally chipper, sing-song voice broke and wavered.

“This is the end of peace, love, and hugs,” Slasher said. He walked up to her and grabbed a handful of her pink hair, forcing her to look up at him. Beguile’s glossy plump lips trembled from cold or fear or maybe a combination of the two.

“Let me go!” she shouted. She took a deep breath and started to sing but within a few words, her voice cut out. Finally, Beguile had noticed their goggles and headphones, lifted from her precious Throng. Her eyes shot wide open and her pupils flicked from Slasher to Garrote, focusing on their stolen gear.

“That’s right,” Slasher said. “Your little friend Throng had enough of your shit. He helped provide us a copy of those special goggles and headphones. Your voice won’t work on us.” Slasher leered in Beguile’s face as she shook her head.

“No,” Beguile said. “He wouldn’t do that. You’re lying.”

She still had fight in her. Even now, bound to a chair, soaking wet in a cold unheated abandoned factory, with her powers completely useless. Slasher had been right to take this approach. He needed to break her emotionally because that was her strongest power of all. Her belief in love and righteousness and all that sickeningly sweet bullshit made Beguile what she was. Slasher would take all of it away.

“Are you going to kill me?” Beguile asked. She gazed defiantly at him, not with anger or rage, but with sadness. That really pissed Slasher off.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Slasher snapped. “No, I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to destroy your sterling reputation. I already started when I had Throng drug you before your concert.” He grinned as understanding filled her eyes.

“That — you —“ Beguile tried to find words but couldn’t. That was the thing about people like her. They were so idealistic and cheery that they struggled to truly grasp the depths of deviance the human psyche could sink to. Well, Slasher would teach her all about deviance. Her face calmed again and Slasher almost laughed in surprise at her resilience but he needed to put on an unflinching act. “Are you going to drug me again?” she asked.

“Oh no, sweet, stupid Beguile,” Slasher said. “I don’t need to use drugs.” He leaned over and grabbed her chin in his cold metal hand. Her eyebrows furrowed and she gazed up at him with a mix of resistance and confusion. “After all, you gave me everything I need to fuck your brain when you recorded that song for me.”

A sharp gasp escaped Beguile and Slasher walked over to a nearby table. A pair of high-quality noise-canceling headphones were plugged into a phone. The phone had no service and only one purpose. It contained a single file. A twenty-four-hour loop of the song Beguile recorded which Slasher had taken to calling Slut Song.

“No,” Beguile said. Slasher enjoyed her expression as the gears were obviously turning behind that pretty face. “That won’t work on me,” she declared confidently. “My singing doesn’t effect me.”

“Oh, but it does,” Slasher said. “Nice try though.”

Beguile’s eyes darted down as she continued thinking. There was no sign of defeat or quit in the girl.

“Enough talk, slut,” Slasher said. “It’s time to say goodbye. I hated knowing you but I think we’re going to get along very well in the future.”

Carrying the phone towards her, he took pleasure in the fact she tried to shy away from the device, even with her limited ability to move.

“Horace called me to that mission at the recording studio!” she blurted. “He knows I’m here!”

“No, he doesn’t, silly girl,” Slasher said in the most patronizing tone he could manage. He pulled out the voice changer he’d kept in his pocket for this eventuality and lifted it to his mouth. “No one knows you’re here, whore,” he said in Horace’s voice.

Beguile stared at him in shock as she started to grasp the effort he’d applied to get her here, now, before him in this chair.

He dropped the phone in her lap and then placed the ears of the headphones over her ears, parting her thick pink hair out of the way so the seal was good.

Beguile shook her head violently, trying to upend the headphones from her head, so Slasher punished her. He undid the buckle around her neck and yanked it tight. Her tongue stuck out as she choked and her hands thrashed pointlessly in their bonds. The headphones had fallen and rested in her lap. “Don’t do that,” Slasher said. “Or I will tighten this.” He released her and Beguile gasped in breath. “You can have a sore neck when this is done or not. The choice is yours. Every time you try and shake the headphones off, I’ll tighten the belt by one hole.” He did as he said and Beguile’s lips trembled. “So behave.”

“Please,” Beguile said, still coughing. “You’re not like this Slasher. You’re a hero! This is evil. Please don’t do this. Not for me but for you. You can’t come back from something like this.” The beautiful optimist was pleading for his soul, not for herself. Slasher shook his head in disbelief.

“Hero doesn’t mean good, bitch,” he snarled at her. “Hero means strong. That’s the hard truth that failed to penetrate that thick skull of yours.”

“You’re wrong,” Beguile said.

“We’ll see,” Slasher said. He got out the blindfold and slid it over her eyes so it sat snugly around her head. Then he fixed the headphones so she couldn’t hear again and Beguile squirmed in her seat but she didn’t try and buck to unseat the headphones from over her ears. She learned her lesson.

He picked up the phone and pressed play before dropping the device back in her lap. The song began blasting its mesmerizing, brain-altering lyrics into her mind. The realm of sunshine, unicorns, hope, peace, love, and hugs would soon be full of nothing but fucking, serving, sucking, and eagerness to be abused.

“No!” Beguile shouted. “No, no, no, no,” and she just kept shouting the word over and over again as if trying to drown out the sound of the recorded lyrics.

Slasher drew Britney, yanked up the heroine’s tutu, and cut away her shorts. He threw the scrap of fabric away and sliced free her panties. He turned to Garrote. “Want to do the honors?”

Garrote nodded eagerly and stepped forward.

“No, no, no, no— mpghf.”

The big woman took the panties and shoved them between Beguile’s flapping lips. A muffled sound of protest and surprise escaped the girl and Slasher got out the duct tape. Cutting a length of silver adhesive, he slapped it over her glossy pink lips trapping the panties in her mouth.

She continued trying to speak, doubtless trying to keep saying “no”, even with her mouth blocked with her own panties, but Slasher doubted that would work very well. Beguile’s powers were impressive and now she was getting a full blast of them.

“We take turns watching her,” Slasher said to Garrote.

“Aw, Slashy, why couldn’t we hire some goons to watch her?” Deathkiss whined.

“We can’t trust them,” Slasher said. “The more people who know about this the more likely someone snitches on us. Why do you care? You’re going to be watching Throng.”

“Me?” Deathkiss asked. She looked around as if expecting to find another person. “Why me?”

“You don’t need to sleep,” Slasher said. “It’s really easy. You just inject him with the —“

“Sleepy juice!” Deathkiss said.

Slasher shared a long-suffering look with Garrote. “Sleepy juice, yes, you inject him with that when he starts to wake up. It’s really easy. Even for you.”

“Aye aye, Captain!” Deathkiss said with a salute before zipping out of the room.

“You want first watch or should I take it?” Garrote asked.

“I’ll go first,” Slasher said. “I want to enjoy this for a bit.”

“Wow,” Garrote said. “I’ve never seen you this content before. Are you happy, Slasher?”

“What can I say?” Slasher smiled. “Destroying Beguile is proving very therapeutic.”

[LovetheFallenAngels]

This is the last chapter for awhile. I gotta write the rest. The story will be moving in a mostly sexual direction moving forward. Again, feel free to comment positive or negative. I hope you enjoyed what's happened so far.

17

Calvin woke and he found himself on his back underneath a brown industrial ceiling weathered by water damage. He groaned, held a hand to his head, and sat up. A severe sense of disorientation overtook him. He held up his hands and struggled to count the fingers.

There were no memories of what he’d been doing other than sleeping. Vera and him had to meet the donors and they’d touched her which made Calvin want to punch someone’s lights out.

His eyes focused and he processed his surroundings. Calvin lay on a ratty mattress in a derelict industrial building that had been refitted for some other purpose. There were tables and chairs and lots of weird stuff on the tables including sex toys and bondage gear.

There was no one else in the strange space with him and a sense of danger came over Calvin. This couldn’t be good. He just woke up in a strange location feeling disoriented, like he’d been drugged, and he had no idea where Vera was. Calvin got to his feet shakily but before long his legs steadied. He glanced at an open garage door nearby where sunlight flooded in from the outside world and considered leaving. The sense that something bad was happening stuck with him though, and he decided to investigate. He couldn’t live with himself if he left Vera behind.

Walking slowly, he crept deeper into the derelict building until he saw someone sitting in a chair in the middle of a large empty room. Hiding, he surveyed the room and found a tall, heavily built woman standing in front of the person in the chair. The pink hair of the person in the chair made her identity very easily recognizable. Vera.

What were they doing to her? She had headphones and a blindfold on and a strip of tape covered her mouth. Calvin’s hands tightened into fists. He needed to get her free.

“Hey sport,” a man’s voice said. Calvin whirled around but a hard knock sent him sprawling. The taste of blood filled his mouth and he groaned. His vision was swimming again. A hand grabbed the shoulder of his shirt and flipped him around so he faced up. Fluorescent lights blinded him from above as Slasher grinned down.

“Deathkiss!” the man roared. “Where the fuck are you?”

There was a whooshing sound and then a tiny woman stood next to Slasher. “What’s up Slashy?”

“You had one job,” Slasher said quietly. “I only asked one little favor of you. What was that favor?”

Deathkiss thought about it. “You wanted me to bring you a salad?”

“No! Fucking idiot psycho bitch,” Slasher said. “Your only job was to watch this guy and inject him when he started to wake up. Well, nice fucking job!” Slasher ended in a shout.

The tiny woman knelt at Calvin’s side and hissed in his ear. “You made me look bad.” She pinched one of his nipples until he needed to grit his teeth to prevent crying out.

Calvin proliferated himself over and over until copies filled the empty abandoned space. All of them stood up at the same time, perfectly in sync, and he ran for Vera.

“Oh, this is fun!” Slasher said.

The thickly muscled woman standing over Vera turned and kicked one of his copies in the throat. Calvin hacked as pain gripped him but continued sending his legion of selves forth.

Pain wracked Calvin’s body, so intense he struggled to walk on, and it didn’t take long to find the cause. Slasher eviscerated his clones with cleaving swings of his massive knife. Calvin’s chest split into agony, then his arm, his shin, his thigh, his head, and the barrage continued. He fought through the pain by imagining Vera at prom.

Every popular guy and jock in school asked Vera to accompany them. Even then, Vera had been like a bright light in the dark. She made a deal with Calvin that she would only go with someone else if he got a date because she didn’t want him to go alone. Calvin had girls who were interested but he didn’t try very hard to secure a date. Vera ended up on his arm and it’d been one of the happiest nights of his life. He still remembered her baby blue dress and the earrings she wore. Hair up in an intricate bun, eyes full of life, smiling and laughing as they slow danced together.

As Calvin reached Vera’s body, only a handful of copies remained and he kept making more but his power was running out. They were killing his copies too quickly.

An iron-hard arm wrapped around Calvin’s throat from behind and a knife gleamed just beneath his eyes. “Yes, we’ve got your girl,” Slasher said. “Tough tits kid.”

“What the fuck are you doing to her?” Calvin asked. He stalled for time to make more copies but he didn’t know how he could beat all three of them. The identities of them all were clear to him now. Slasher, Deathkiss, and Garrote, three pillar rank heroes, and each one of them multitudes stronger than himself. What chance did he have? He forced the negative thought from his brain. He owed it to Vera to get her free at any cost, even if he lost his life in the process.

“I’m turning her into a slut,” Slasher said. “Do you want to fuck her after I let everyone else in the world have a turn? Would that be sweet for you? I know you’ve never been with her like you want. Well, you can have your shot at her when she’s all used up. How does that sound?”

Calvin’s body tightened and he threw his head back to smash his skull into Slasher’s nose. Slasher grunted and the arms holding Calvin loosened. He lunged forward, reaching for the headphones on her pink head of hair when a hard strike busted into his stomach and launched him a few feet off the floor. Blood spilled from his mouth and he collapsed on his face. His nose seared with pain and he struggled to breathe. He’d been utterly beaten by these much stronger, much more experienced heroes. Vera really needed him and she was only feet away but he couldn’t help her. Not with his lungs emptied of air while he writhed in pain on the floor.

“I’m gonna make you watch,” Slasher growled next to his ear. “While every man and woman has their way with this cunt. I won’t stop until her holes are as ruined as her brain.”

“Fuck you,” Calvin spat. Blood spattered the concrete floor below him. “She’s better than you.”

“Oh, is that it?” Slasher asked. “She’s better? We’ll see how much better she is when she’s Image City’s favorite cum dumpster.”

Slasher picked up Calvin by grabbing the back of his shirt and carried him like a handbag back over to the filthy mattress. The larger hero tossed Calvin down and pinned him in place with a foot on his chest. Calvin thrust his hands at the foot but his limbs wouldn’t move right. He’d taken some fairly serious damage in that fight. Blood rolled back down his throat and his vision refused to solidify.

“Put this dipshit back to sleep,” Slasher said.

Deathkiss zoomed forward and Calvin felt a sharp sting at his neck. The world went dark.