The moon had long since hidden behind a veil of clouds, as if the heavens themselves turned away in disgust or reverence. The rooftop altar pulsed beneath them, carved in ancient languages too old for angels to remember. Wind hissed like a warning, thick with the stench of sweat, blood, and sin. Lucifer hadn't moved from where he knelt beside her limp body, hands stained with her ruin. His hunger, however, had grown darker. Hungrier. Not just for her flesh but for her soul.
Ella trembled. Barely conscious. Her body was a map of bruises and glowing runes. Lips bruised, thighs trembling, cunt aching and red from the endless torment he'd poured into her. And yet, he wasn't done. Not even close.
"Open your eyes, little leech."
His voice was velvet-wrapped cruelty. She whimpered.
"I said, open."
A sharp slap cracked against her cheek—not to punish, but to humiliate. Her eyelids fluttered open, lashes wet with tears. Her gaze was distant, broken.
"There she is," he purred. "My pretty little disgrace."
He rose to his feet, towering over her collapsed form. The enchanted sigils beneath them responded to his movement, blooming with color—sickly purple, cursed gold, deep abyssal red. Runes crawled along her legs like vipers, searing into her skin with every orgasm she had surrendered to him.
Around them, the rooftop bloomed into a cathedral of torment. Mirrored portals hovered mid-air, each one showing a different angle of her shame: her face slack with pleasure while she was split on his cock, her own voice pleading for more as tendrils made her gush again and again. Another showed her begging him to stop even as she moaned his name like it was divine.
"No—" she croaked, eyes darting between reflections.
"Yes," he whispered, stepping behind her. "Look at yourself."
The mirrors hissed with cruel delight. One whispered, You used to hunt mortals. Now look at you—kneeling, dripping, ruined. Another sneered, You're not a vampire. You're a vessel. A fuck-toy for something greater. You're nothing but a cumdump.
Lucifer grabbed her hair and wrenched her up onto her knees, pushing her toward the glowing circle.
"I'm going to make you scream," he said, voice like silk dragged across blades. "Not from pain but from recognition. From knowing exactly what you've become."
Then the ooze came.
Black, glistening, alive.
It slithered from the cracks of the rooftop like a summoned god, wrapping around her ankles, thighs, arms. It moved like it had purpose. Worship. Obsession. It knew her body. It knew where she was weakest.
It slid inside her with ease.
She moaned and hated it.
She moaned and loved it.
The ooze curled around her nipples, sucking and tugging as more tendrils teased her clit, her ass, her open cunt. Another crept along her spine, cold and wet and intimate. Her back arched. Her fangs pierced her own lip.
Lucifer walked around her slowly, like a high priest preparing a sacrifice. Or a king admiring his favorite pet.
"You didn't need chains," he said. "You were mine the moment your cunt throbbed when I said your name."
The ooze pulsed inside her. She shuddered, her orgasm tearing through her like a curse.
Her body convulsed.
The runes burned brighter.
A glowing sigil ignited across her collarbone—Lucifer's symbol, etched in infernal language. Now, every time she said "please," her body would betray her. Her pussy would tighten. Her nipples would sting. Her clit would throb until it hurt.
"Say it," he ordered. "Say what you are."
She gasped, drool trailing from her lips. "I'm—I'm your filthy little leech—your cum-drunk—"
"Wrong," he snarled. "Say it right."
"I'm a…fuck….I'm a mirror-whore," she sobbed. "I'm your branded pet. I'm your cumdump. I like it. I like when they laugh at me. I like when they watch. I like when you break me."
"Good girl."
The mirrors applauded.
A tendril slithered into her mouth, feeding her a cocktail of her own slick and Lucifer's cum. She gagged then swallowed.
Lucifer walked to her, grabbed her face, and spat directly into her mouth. Then he kissed her like she was holy. Like she was the altar.
And then, he cut his lip.
Not with magic. With a fang.
And pressed it to hers.
Blood dripped into her mouth. Copper, molten, divine. Her eyes rolled back as power surged down her throat.
Then he bit her.
Her neck. Right above the collarbone.
His fangs pierced deep. She screamed. Her blood filled his mouth.
The moment was raw. Sacred. Her blood was thick with lust, magic, and need. He drank deeply—then pulled away, lips red, teeth gleaming.
"Mine," he growled. "By blood. By filth. By fate."
He bit his wrist next. Let his blood run into her mouth.
"Drink."
She did. Without hesitation. Her throat moved greedily.
Their bond sealed in the oldest language—blood and ruin.
Across her womb, a dark sigil burned. A mark of ownership. A claim that would never fade.
"You are my personal slut," Lucifer whispered, kissing the mark. "Not a toy for others. Not a whore for others. But MINE. The one I desecrate. The one I'll ruin again and again."
He bent her over the rooftop altar. This time, no magic. No runes.
Just his cock.
He slammed into her, brutal and deep. Her scream echoed off every mirror, every corner of the sky.
"No spells," he hissed in her ear. "Just me. Just my cock rewriting every thought you have."
"I—I can't—"
"You can. You will."
He rutted into her like an animal. Like a god. Her body folded beneath each thrust, her mind cracking wider.
"Please—please—please—"
The rune activated.
Her pussy clenched.
Her clit throbbed violently.
Her nipples ached with every bounce.
"Again."
"Please—please—"
She came. Then again. Then again.
By the time he painted her insides with another load of cursed cum, she was drooling, twitching, gone.
The mirrors whispered:
You'll never be clean again.
You don't want to be.
Lucifer pulled her limp form into his arms. Blood still on his lips. Cum still leaking from her.
He cradled her like something precious.
And whispered against her ear:
"You're not broken, Ella. You're perfectly desecrated. And you'll never be alone again."