Epilogue

The God Complex

Asmodeus

“You understand the terms?”

I watch the young woman who sits across the oak desk from me with narrowed eyes. All faded blonde streaks grown out to her dark roots and sallow skin that hangs below eyes that once sparkled now are dull. This creature is lost. There is no better place for her than Hell’s Gate. But she must prove to me that she needs my help before I allow her into my institute.

“I read the contract.” A faint degree of her previous bratty behavior ekes through her exhausted facade.

Except, her fatigue is real. She’s hit her limit. This is what’s left at the end of a long run of endless parties, greed, and drugs of a very specific variety.

I nod slowly, accepting that she needs the help only I can provide. “And you agree to the treatment? Once you’re in my care there is no simply walking away,” I caution.

My guest picks at lint baubled on her pink jumpsuit that fits to her lightly curved frame, so similar to her twin sister’s. “I understand. I can’t keep going,” she whispers.

A breath escapes me as my lips purse. “The program is arduous. It isn’t kind. I’ll need you to sign every page. Please take your time and read through each,” I say kindly, knowing she won’t.

Emma flips her hair back, but her dirty locks fall over her face as she leans forward and signs her freedom over to me with a shaking hand. Her brow creases as she reaches the last page. It’s always the hardest.

I place my hand lightly over hers. “It’s all right. I understand.”

Thick lashes flutter as she looks through them at me. “I don’t want to be alone anymore. Promise me?” A single tear falls.

In a previous life she might have used that move to intimidate or manipulate. Today she bares all in the most honest sign of trust I believe she’s ever given anyone.

I squeeze her fingers and lie to her face. “I promise. You’ll never be alone again.”

The corners of her mouth strain but she can’t smile. It will be a long time before that happens for her, if she ever can again in my care. Without reading the final clause on my contract, she signs her name, sliding her fingertips along the sheaf and tidying the pile as she hands them back.

A gasp escapes her lips as the sharp edges of the pure white paper designed to do exactly that slices her flesh open in the slightest of papercuts. Just enough to leave her mark on the page.

She stares at the bloodstain as more tears fall. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Emma. Welcome to Heaven’s Gate Rehabilitation Center.” I place the papers in the top drawer of my desk, shut and lock it, pocketing the key in plain sight.

Her eyes track the movement, an action designed to instil doubt on an already teetering subject. My program has begun.

“Maybe I—” she begins.

I cut her off. “Shall I show you to your room?” It’s not a question.

Emma nods, resigned, and lets me take her bag from her limp fingers. The moment her body is close to mine I feel it. Fainter than with her sister, but the same sense of possession. She is not Adreana, but she’ll do nicely to fill the spot my spawn stole from me.

She stops, her head tilted to one side and when she looks up at me, some of the old Emma is there, a spark of sexual awakening. No, that part of her isn’t dead, just worn through. Empty. That’s all right, we can top that up together. We have all the time in eternity, after all. Hours and days don’t matter at Heaven’s Gate.

She really should have read the terms more closely.

Her heart-shaped face tips back, her body so tiny I could place my hands around her waist and squeeze my fingers together easily on either side to touch them again, dwarfing her. Overpower her with nothing but literal size. Some part of me likes that imagery, and I file it away to play with later.

Her fingers raise to stroke the front of my pristine white shirt beneath the white overcoat. A professional-looking touch I like when I’m in this form. Her contact isn’t the usual for this situation, but her interest amuses me, and I allow it for now. An experiment conducted under controlled circumstances.

“You … you remind me of someone,” she whispers.

I match her faint smile. “It’s the eyes,” I whisper back, blinking slowly, allowing my irises to darken for an instant, letting her glimpse the similarities.

“Mana?” Her murmur, filled with all the hate, the confusion, the sexual longing of their past iteration hits me like a drug of its own.

Yes, Emma will be fun to play with during her stay.

“My son and I share many … similarities.”

I let that thought swim in the charged air between us. Picking a memory out of her thoughts, I trail my fingertips across her nape like he did right before he pushed her to her knees and filled her mouth with his thick cock once.

Not that she remembers the incident actively, due to the unusual qualities of his bodily secretions. Mine have other properties.

“Oh.” Her sigh lights my blood in a way I haven’t felt in an eon.

I continue walking, carrying her bag in a death grip that nearly tears the handle from the item with the need flowing through me. Control is the ultimate test, it won’t do to ruin her before I’ve had time torturing my new plaything.

“I believe you’ll find the facilities … hygienic.”

It’s not the word any of my wards expect, and I try to always keep them off balance. They’re more manageable and far more fun that way.

“All right.” Fresh uncertainty fills her voice.

“This is where you will eat.” I point out the empty cafeteria, with its bare row of never used bain-maries, and the spotless dining hall.

“That looks welcoming.” Her voice lilts before a small, dry cough evicts from her throat. “I’m thirsty. Is there something…?”

“It’s the air. It irritates everyone. Something to do with the evaporator.” I’m getting my quota of fibs in early today. “This way.”

I lead her along a bright white corridor that matches the entire decor of Heaven’s Gate, my footsteps absent in this place along with my shadow and hers, but she’s too overwhelmed to notice. White walls are the standard that seem to glow from within. This matches the floors, the ceilings, and as such there is no need for windows or lighting. My institution is completely blocked off from the outside world. From reality in every sense.

Once a patient walks in those doors, they will never leave, ever again. Not feel sunlight on their skin, not taste fresh air, or rain on their lips.

Nor will they be able to die.

She really should have read the terms before she signed.

I sigh my contentment as we pass closed doors. Twenty-two rooms, all white, all the same. Some are empty, while others are filled. Emma will bring our current total complement up to fifty percent capacity.

In the center of the corridor, I place her bag on the floor beside her door and swipe a card to the reader beside it. The lock clicks open to expose a stark, white room filled with basic furniture. Every piece, including the bed, has curved edges only. It won’t do to allow my patients to hurt themselves on sharp things whilst in my care.

No blankets, no sheets, no cushions. No carpet. Nothing, except for what she brings with her. A gesture of hope I allow for a while longer.

“Welcome,” I murmur, gesturing her inside the room.

Emma dithers at the threshold. This is my least favorite part. The need to push her inside strengthens with each breath, but I can’t make this decision for her. Signature or not, she must cross into the room of her own free will.

“When does the treatment start?” she whispers, staring through the doorway that glows at the edges.

The room itself has a radiance to it, though she won’t realize that never goes away until she tries to sleep, and can’t. That’s step one, and my program is endless.

“We have started, Emma,” I prompt her gently. “Please enter the room. I’ll be with you in a moment.” Ever in character, I smile kindly and dip a shoulder forward as if to touch her, crowding her space.

She shivers, and takes that singular step I so desperately need.

The door slides shut, her sectioned out on one side, me on the other with her things. Her eyes widen as she realizes the door is slightly opaque, that she can’t reach me though she can still see me.

First comes the confusion, then the begging eyes. After that, anger. It’s a beautiful cycle, and I wish I could relive this first time forever with her.

Perfection.

All too soon it’s over. Still, the pure panic on her features leaves me hard and aching. Her cry, soundless on my side of the silent, white corridor, is a beautiful thing. Tears well as she pounds the door uselessly, the last remnants of her rage turning her face darker than her jumpsuit. Soon that will be stripped from her too, and she’ll wear a uniform of my choosing.

I smile at her gently through the door as her image fades, the door closing out our vision of each other until I stand in a hallway of pure white silence.

Smiling faintly, I walk back to my office and sit with her bag beside my desk, unopened. She won’t be needing it, and I’ll throw it into a trash can the next time I visit my son in his hideous realm.

Until then, I hum softly to myself and plan all the ways I will enjoy breaking my brand-new toy.

And how much fun I’ll have introducing her to my other pets.

The End

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