From Heaven To Earth (The Faith of the Fallen)

by Wall, Sherrod

  “Welcome to my class. You will find a change of clothes and a tub in your room.”

  “I will return soon then.”

  He nodded at her and left her to bathe and prepare.

  Chapter 41

  “I sense something different about you, lover,” Marylza said. Gerald tried to scoot away but he could not. She touched her lips to his, and in that instant she gazed into Gerald’s mind.

  “You... you love another? Eliza?”

  Gerald squirmed out of her embrace and scooted out of her reach. Marylza crawled for him on her hands and knees and grinned: perfect and white.

  “No matter. You’ve never resisted me before, and you won’t start now. You’ll forget this human after an hour with me.”

  I have to resist, I have to.

  Gerald tried to look away from her.

  “Everything has an end, Marylza,” he said. “My heart is Eliza’s, and it will remain with her till I fade.”

  She paused for a moment, a look of doubt on her face.

  “Look into my eyes, Gerald. Remember.” She grabbed his chin and twisted his face toward hers.

  “Your hallucinations won’t work on me!” Gerald yelled.

  Her undaunted green eyes flashed. Gerald’s filled with fright, relaxed, and he stared past her in a state of induced somnolence.

  * * *

  Gerald heard the door of his room creak open. He had dozed off in the chair he had been sitting in. He opened his eyes to see his succubus for the evening enter the room in a black robe. She closed the door behind her and sauntered into the middle of the room. He wanted to yell at her for being late, but his anger settled and boiled back up as lust after he saw her. He knew immediately the extravagant cost had been well deserved.

  He saw her green eyes glow through the hood of the robe. They remained focused on his. Her eyes flared. Her robe unraveled. As it did Gerald wondered what she wore beneath it: a lavender lacy bra and thong. Gerald thought they complimented her fair, purple skin perfectly. Marylza’s wavy black hair was tied up in a bun with two long red chopsticks.

  She fluttered her small wings. Torchlight reflected off of their black scales before she folded them behind her.

  She’s so beautiful. The most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid my eyes on, Gerald thought as he gazed upon Marylza’s body for the first time. She’s got curves and confidence. He licked his lips.

  She danced for him. Her voluptuous chest and hips moved to a slow, unheard rhythm. Marylza danced closer and leaned over for Gerald. He surveyed the curvature of her body. She rolled up gradually, spun her body around and rotated her hips. Gerald could not look away from her.

  If only I could touch her, have her for my own. I can only afford a dance though. Gerald shifted in his chair. Why should I hesitate? She’s no different from any other woman.

  She turned back around, smiled at him and moved closer. She danced only inches away from him.

  Gerald’s loins stiffened. Every fiber of his body drove him to take Marylza.

  Gerald tackled her, pushed her on the ground and ripped her meager amount of clothing off. She showed no signs of panic.

  “Don’t even make a sound. Or you’ll get it. I promise you that,” To Gerald’s surprise her smile widened into a grin.

  She hurled him into the air. Marylza flew after him, above him, wrapped her legs and arms around him and suckled his thin lips with her full ones forcefully. Gerald felt her long tongue enter his mouth and caress his own.

  Her wings slowed their descent to the bed. She tore his shirt off, threw it aside, dug her nails in his chest and gyrated on him as they landed on the bed.

  Gerald moaned and tried to push her over to get on top of her. Marylza held him down firmly.

  “Bitch...” He was cut short by Marylza’s slapping him across the face, the connection was like a thunderclap.

  “Call me by my name,” she demanded. “Marylza.”

  “Marylza,” Gerald moaned.

  Marylza’s nails shredded his jeans as she tore them off.

  “A commando huh? One less thing to take off.”

  She slid on top, held his arms down and leaned back. She teased him momentarily by rolling her hips over him in a circle before allowing him completely inside.

  They moaned together.

  “Yes.” Gerald breathed.

  She pulled herself off of him again and ran her hands up and down her sweaty body. He reached to touch himself.

  “No need to do that, love,” she said.

  She sauntered to the end of the bed, turned her back to him and spread herself on the bed.

  In a slow deliberate motion, she rolled backwards and opened her legs wide for his lusty eyes before settling on her knees. She laid her head on her folded arms.

  “Give it to me,” she whispered.

  She felt Gerald’s hands grip her buttocks and groaned when he knocked against her again and again.

  “No!” Gerald snapped out of the spell and found himself naked with Marylza riding him. She was lost in ecstasy, eyes closed, with a smile on her face.

  Gerald pushed her off, and the back of her head crashed against the ceiling before she fell to the floor.

  “You’re wrong,” he said. “I have changed. I’m your lover no longer.”

  A low grumble came from the foot of the bed. Marylza’s head rose over the end of it. Her eyes were aflame. Her skin wrinkled as it aged, boils formed, her teeth blackened, hair fell from her head in clumps. Saliva dripped from her snarl.

  Gerald could smell her fetid breath from the end of the bed. Her parasitic magic had been turned against her by Gerald’s victory. If she did not feed soon it would kill her.

  She pounced on Gerald and held him down. Gerald tried to push her off but could not best her strength, and she kissed Gerald’s lips. She forced her tongue into his mouth and he felt one of her rotten teeth enter with it. His body shook and grew feverish as she devoured his Inner.

  He grew cold and his vision dimmed.

  “It seems I’m needed elsewhere.” She dropped Gerald onto the bed. “I’ll be back for you though. I promise.” She kissed Gerald’s lips once more, bit down on his bottom one and drew blood.

  “Perhaps your angel friend will be more forthcoming.” She felt a wave of ecstasy flow through her body when she saw Gerald’s appalled face.

  “Drean, no,” he rasped. He passed out.

  She checked herself in the vanity mirror. Her skin was young and supple again except for a cold sore on her bottom lip. She tried to ignore it, opened a drawer pulled out a brush and brushed her hair until she calmed down. The sore healed. She smiled at herself.

  “Mmm, Drean. What a nice name.” Marylza closed her eyes and disappeared in a puff of perfumed smoke.

  Chapter 42

  Drean and Obe came to a stop in front of the west wing’s door: muscle and vein that pulsed, and bled profusely. The free-floating blood circulated around the entire door in perpetual motion.

  Drean cringed at the acrid smell of the living gateway. Obe turned to him, and even though the ghost could not speak Drean saw Obe’s concern.

  “I’ll be fine. Thanks for your sympathy,” Drean said.

  Drean took a deep breath and the headless ghost moved in front of the door. Its pulse quickened and intensified its blood flow. Bile and saliva built up in Drean’s mouth.

  Beyond the door were the innards of a giant animal, at least to Drean.

  A stream of blood was the hall’s floor. Chandeliers fitted with human skulls of different shapes and sizes hung from the ceiling. Red light flickered in them. Its walls and floor constricted and loosed like an artery: it was like standing inside of a beating heart.

  His senses overloaded, he vomited, and his ghost escort slowly turned around to face him.

  “I apologize.” Drean blushed.

  Obey handed him a small white handkerchief and floated through the doors.

  “Thank you.”

  Drean wiped his mouth and the
tips of his white hair. He slipped the handkerchief in his pants pocket. He swallowed, covered his ears with his hands and stepped into the hall.

  All at once the hall ceased to move: its flesh turned to stone, its veins, paint and the blood, carpet.

  “What happened?” Drean ran his hands over the blue streaks that had been the veins on the rough, deep pink walls as he walked down the crimson carpet.

  A loud hiss came from the end of the hall, followed by heavy footfalls.

  “Angel!” a gruff voice yelled from the end of the hall. “Where are you? I know you’re here.”

  “I’m here!” Drean called out, thinking the dean of the wing was greeting him as a guest.

  Drean heard metal bang against stone at the end of the hall, and he caught a glimpse of a bal’dir’s orange-red scales as it stepped under a chandelier.

  The demon ducked his head beneath the chandeliers. He made no attempt to fold back his wings, and their talons scraped chunks of the wall away.

  Drean’s sword hand went instinctively to his side, but he found nothing there.

  I’m a guest here, and so I’m charged with being civil, he thought.

  He tried to crack a smile but only managed to smirk.

  “Mocking me are you!” The bal’dir broke into a run. He did not pay any mind to the chandeliers, and his scales heated and burst into flame. He reached Drean, grabbed him by the neck with a long, gaunt arm and thrust him against the entrance. Flames on the demon’s claw squelched when they made contact with Drean.

  “I am just a guest here. My name is Drean,” Drean choked out, “I mean you no harm.”

  The demon’s claws sizzled from touching Drean’s skin, and he growled at the pain. He spit on Drean’s face. His saliva popped on Drean’s skin and evaporated.

  “I am Ran’nok. I welcome no angels into my wing!” He dropped Drean on the ground, flexed his injured claw and walked away. “Learn that well.”

  “Why am I labeled as such when it’s obvious I’m different?” Drean said, startled by his own voice. He hadn’t meant to protest out loud.

  “You’re no different, angel. Your existence promotes mindless unity under a tyrant. Your free will makes you unique, but you are what you are.”

  “I’ll be leaving then if I’m not allowed to stay here.” He turned back to the door. “I’m sure Obe will take me to a new room.” The ghost was gone.

  “No, angel, you’ll be staying here.” Ran’nok opened a door at the end of the hall, held it open with one claw and pointed into the room with his other. “Where I can keep an eye on you.”

  Drean walked to the end of the hall. He kept his eyes on the floor. Ran’nok watched him all the while.

  “This house fears you, angel.”

  Drean glanced up into the demon’s large green eyes and held them in his own.

  “It knows you’re up to something.”

  “Maybe this house has its secrets, but I keep none.”

  “Yes, I know you’re here to speak with the headmaster,” Ran’nok growled. “Something about traveling to Hell to give Satan what’s coming to him.”

  Why am I charged with this? What can I do if God Himself could not prevent Leoran from banishing Him from existence? Drean asked himself. Why did this demon say that Satan has it coming to him? Don’t all of these demons now owe their allegiance to him?

  “Possibly,” Drean said.

  “You keep no secrets, eh? It seems like you may not be so certain of yourself.”

  “Truthfully, I’m not. Although I feel awkward talking to you about this, since you hold me in such high esteem.”

  “Are you afraid, angel, is that why?” Ran’nok chuckled. “Do you fear the depths of Hell and facing the Deceiver? He and his band of squatters that dare to call themselves demons...”

  “Who am I to change the way these people think?” Drean said. “To tell them their faith is misplaced?”

  Ran’nok let the door close and folded his arms.

  “I’ve lived among them for little more than a week. I’ve learned about them more than you would think, but they’re a complex people.”

  Ran’nok growled at this and stomped a clawed foot into the floor.

  “They’re sheep, angel. To be raised, sheared and consumed. Some stray from the flock but only some.”

  Drean put the implication of the demon using humans for sustenance aside but took a mental note.

  “They live, unlike what we once were...”

  “As sheep,” the demon interrupted. “They are confined just as we were, but in duty’s stead it is vanity that blinds them. Their spirits are trapped in flesh, damned from the start.”

  “But they do have immortal spirits,” Drean argued. “If only the minute few that rise above temptation could teach them all to see that.”

  “Bah!” The demon stomped the ground again and folded his wings. “They are deaf, angel, like you it seems. You are proud and selfish, like your Father.”

  “Am I?” the angel wondered. “Am I doing this for my own selfish reasons? Is my desire to live selfish? Is that not what He would want?”

  Ran’nok opened the door again and pointed inside. “This conversation has been interesting, angel, but I have a class to teach. I have to start over. Your entrance ruined my summoning ritual.”

  “I apologize.” Drean walked into the room. It was completely dark.

  “Don’t disturb us again,” Ran’nok said.

  “I...”

  Ran’nok slammed the door.

  “...won’t.”

  Heat radiated inside Drean’s room, and he couldn’t see anything. He felt on the wall for a light switch and found none.

  Why is the darkness in this house so absolute? I cannot see past it.

  He considered using some of his Inner to light the room but thought better. The house would be afraid. The heartbeat of the wing gained strength with every second that passed. Drean’s eyes adjusted to the darkness.

  His room’s carpet and walls had not reverted. He saw a bed of straw in the corner, a sink and bathroom to his right. An AC unit about half his size was on the wall near the foot of the bed. Its vent was level with his head.

  “It’s sweltering in here.” He walked over to the unit to investigate it further. On the left side of the vent was a small knob. One side of the knob read “Cold”, and on the other side it read “Hot”. Its knob was currently switched to the “Hot” side.

  “Well colder would be nice.” Drean flipped the knob over to the cold side.

  The AC hummed to life. Cool air washed over Drean. He smiled. A groan issued from the unit, and the hum grew louder.

  “What is it doing?” Drean put his ear to the vent.

  Soon Drean thought he could hear a man yelling inside the AC. Air blasted Drean’s face.

  “Frigid!” He rubbed his face to try to warm it back up. He reached for the temperature knob, and flipped it back to the “Hot” setting. The AC turned itself off.

  “Make up your mind will you!” a voice from inside the AC called out.

  Drean jumped back.

  “Why are you inside the air conditioner?” Drean asked.

  “You fool, I am the air conditioner! Kind of. Look on the right side of the vent. There’s a lever,” the voice said.

  Drean was uncertain but curious about the being within the AC. He felt down the right side of the vent and found the lever the voice had mentioned.

  “Pull it.”

  Drean pulled the lever and the AC cover released. Inside was the spirit of a middle-aged man. Three metal clamps fettered him: one across his chest and two on each of his wrists, his arms pulled taut. Soft white light glinted in his eyes. His body was opaque and gray.

  “What are you doing in here?” Drean asked.

  “I told you. I’m the one that cools this room,” the ghost snapped.

  “How?” Drean looked him up and down.

  “These clamps are enchanted with a spell that agonizes spirits when they’re activated,�
�� the ghost said. “When I cry out my breath cools the room.”

  “I need to get you out then.” Drean put his hands on a clamp.

  “No!” the ghost bellowed.

  “But why? You’re a prisoner here,” Drean said and stepped back from the unit.

  “You truly are innocent aren’t you?”

  “I’ve only lived on earth for a short time if that’s what you mean,” Drean said.

  “I’m one of the damned.”

  Drean regarded the man with sympathy. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment.

  The ghost burst into laughter.

  “You don’t need to apologize on my behalf,” the ghost said. “More than likely I deserve my fate. Do you believe in fate, angel?” he asked.

  “I believe we’re all part of a plan,” Drean answered. “At least I used to.”

  “What changed your beliefs?”

  “My Father died.” Drean looked away from the ghost.

  “A death in the family? Those can be traumatic,” the ghost said. “I’m not really sure what drove me over the edge. I was like you. Devout. Had a healthy fear for God. But one day all that did not matter. I stole the innocence of so many women...”

  I’m not really sure how to respond to that, Drean thought. Maybe he does deserve what punishment he has been given if he’s committed all those atrocious crimes.

  “What I was getting at is, if you believe in fate you believe you have a purpose,” the ghost said.

  “I still believe I have a destiny,” Drean said. “That we all do. It’s just without my Father’s plan I feel lost.”

  “Well, but you have a memory of him, and if it’s his plan that’s driven you all this time you can remember where he left off,” the ghost said.

  “He was a mysterious person, my Father,” Drean said. “Do you mind if I lay down? I’m exhausted.”

  “By all means.”

  Drean fell back onto the straw mattress.

  “This straw is more comfortable than I thought it would be.” Drean yawned and stretched out on it.

  “It’s not straw,” the ghost said. “But yes, that’s what most of our guests say.”

  “Well, what is it then?” Drean asked. He ran his hands up and down the mattress.