Bab 100: VOL.4- An Angel Fallen on Stage
Just before the sinner night at the Purple Velvet Venue, two figures met behind the velvet curtains. One was a woman who looked like a swan with her vintage hat and lace black dress, the Duchess. The other was a young gypsy man dressed in beads and colorful fabrics, Fanfar.
"Do you want to further, Fanfar?" The Duchess asked, the sharpness in her expression nearly cutting through the black veil covering her face. The poison green glinted in her narrowed eyes. A thin smile played on her burgundy lipstick lips. She took a drag from the cigarette attached to her long holder and blew the smoke onto the young man.
The smoke transformed into dancing girls, caressing him with their hands and kissing. He courageously met the Duchess's gaze, saying, "I do."
"In that case, you'll do this job," the Duchess said, pressing the cigarette into the ashtray to extinguish it. "Our noble clients have reserved all the VIP opera boxes. For just to watch the special show you'll present."
"Can't I go stage and play my flute naked?" Fanfar said in annoyance.
"That's what you always do," the Duchess said, leaning back gracefully into her seat. "If you want to chase your tail, go on. It's up to you."
"Yes, this is a big decision," Fanfar said thoughtfully.
"No time to think, Fanfar. The stage is ready, the actors are all in place. Only the lead is missing," the Duchess said, lifting the curtain to look out of her private box into the hall below. "The great hall is already full. Do you see the customers? They're all important figures. All they want is to witness a dark fantasy. Of course, it's entirely fictional. It's all just a game, darling."
"Ah, I'll need to get high, with your permission," Fanfar said, bowing to the Duchess.
"Permission granted," the Duchess said with a satisfied smile.
After leaving The Duchess, Fanfar grabbed a bottle of wine and slipped into the dressing room. The costume prepared for him stood on a platform, shimmering in the spotlight - a white armor adorned with crystals.
"Wow!" he said, approaching the armor. "You've gotten close to the real thing this time."
"I'm glad you like it. But," said the glasses-wearing, braided-haired seamstress, busy making final adjustments to a pair of angel wings. "I'm not sure this role is fit for you, buddy."
"Nothing to be done," Fanfar sighed. "To sit on the throne of stars, I have to climb to the sky."
"They're going to hurt you and humiliate you," the masked woman said, appearing in the doorway. Her dark skin was adorned with roses and thorny vine tattoos, and her hair was white.
"Thanks for the encouragement, Beatrix," Fanfar said sarcastically, holding the helmet of the armor in his hand.
"Whatever," Beatrix said, tossing a knife into the air, spinning it once, and catching it by the handle. "If you want to die after the show, I'll be waiting."
"A great example of friendship," the seamstress joked.
The makeup artist came in at that moment. He was a thin guy with a thin mustache. "Let's get started," he said, clapping his hands. "The makeup will take a while. You need to get him into the costume."
"Maybe I should drop a bop first," Fanfar said, trying to stay on the edge of the hectic atmosphere.
"Oh, you're that sure, huh? How unfortunate," Beatrix said, stepping into the room with a small potion bottle. "Drink this."
"Thanks," Fanfar said, uncorking the potion and drinking it down. From that moment on, the colors before his eyes began to liquefy, flowing together. And all the flaws, bathed in the pure light shining in his eyes, turned into beauty.
The actor's assistants—the dressers—quickly gathered around Fanfar.
"Best of luck," Beatrix said, and then she disappeared under the bright lights.
As the grand curtains slowly opened, the murmurs in the Purple Velvet Venue died down, replaced by a low, anticipatory hum. The circular stage in the hall's center gleamed under the golden spotlight, casting an ethereal glow on the crystal-adorned platform. Noble guests seated in their velvet-lined theatre boxes leaned forward, their gazes sharp, while the rest of the audience enjoyed their drinks at the surrounding tables, eager to witness the spectacle that had been whispered about for weeks.
A soft chime rang out, signaling the show started. Fanfar -as the angel- began slowly descending from the ceiling above, his white crystal-embellished armor catching the light and casting shimmering reflections across the venue. His long, pure white hair flowed behind him like a cascade of snow, and his oceanic green eyes scanned the crowd below with a serene yet sorrowful expression. His innocent and strikingly handsome features made him look like a celestial being fallen from heaven. The audience gasped in awe, as he hovered majestically in the air, slowly lowering towards the stage.
The soft rustle of chains echoed through the room as Fanfar's boots finally touched the platform. A hush fell over the crowd. He stood alone, illuminated by a beam of light, his wings—impossibly white and grand—spread wide behind him.
The hall darkened, save for the singular light on Fanfar, and from the shadows, dark figures began to emerge—demons. They were dressed in spiked erotic leather costumes, their faces were covered in grotesque masks that snarled and leered. They moved with predatory grace, circling the fallen angel like wolves around prey. The low hum of sinister music began to rise, filling the air with tension.
Fanfar swung his sword at the demons, lighting the stage with silver light. His movements were swift and graceful.
The demons multiplied, swarming the stage, and Fanfar's strikes began to slow. One demon grasped his arm, another his leg, and soon they overwhelmed him. His sword fell from his hand, clattering to the ground with a ringing echo that silenced the hall. The symbol of purity and power was brought to his knees.
From the back of the stage, a towering figure appeared—a demon lord was wearing an outfit that showed all his body lines, his eyes glowing with malevolent fire. He carried heavy iron chains, and as he approached, the crowd leaned in, breathless.
He threw his chains to the ground and ordered the demons, "Chain him!"
They grabbed Fanfar and lifted him. First, they tied his wings and feet and hung him on the stage by his arms.
The demon lord roared, "Strip him!"
As Fanfar's white armor was ripped off piece by piece by dark hands, the audience's excitement rose with the beat of the music.
They slowly stripped him. The nobles watched with rapt attention as the demon actors roughhoused Fanfar, their hands roaming his body possessively.
Only a thin piece of cloth remained on the Fanfar when the demon lord's voice rose, "Prepare it for me!"
Fanfar, now hanging naked, was touched by the demons—they were females and males. The most innocent one was plucking his wings. One licked his cheek, one caressed his abdomen, and one started sucking his nipple. They traced his muscles and thighs, teasing him with their touches and making the fallen angel squirm. Their masks glinted under the lights, and they were laughing and leering.
Signs of their horniness began to appear under their leather clothes - erect nipples, and dicks. The audience held their collective breaths.
The demons kept on harassing Fanfar with rubbing, biting, scratching, licking, and vicious kisses. Fanfar was in a lot of discomfort and his skin was already red, scratched, and bleeding.
While the hands were hiding under the tablecloth and moving, the thin piece of cloth on Fanfare was blown by a secret breeze. One of the demons caught the movement.
"Hah! His purity is not that pure!" cried a demon.
As Fanfar struggled to free himself, the Demon Lord approached him. The demon lord ran his fingers down Fanfar's body, starting from the base of his neck and moving down to his belly.
While inserting the tips of his fingers into the thin fabric he said, "Now I'll take your virginity!"
Fanfar knew what was next. He knew that it was a dangerous show. He knew that he could be injured. He was high as he played the leading role in a show full of blood and lust.
The guests were wanting to see him get pounded and fucked on stage. They were wanting to see his semen dripping from his cock.
They wanted his meat.
They wanted him.
Hadiah
-- Hadiah diterima Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone