Rain hammered the old city like it was trying to wash away its sins.
A man walked down the narrow alley, boots splashing through puddles, his long black coat plastered to his shoulders. Steam rose in thin ghostly columns from rusted wall vents, twisting in the wind. Neon signage pulsed and flickered—red, blue, that sickly green that made the standing water look like bile.
He paused at the corner and struck a match with gloved fingers, lighting a cigarette. The flame briefly lit the hollows under his hood. Water dripped steadily off the brim. Smoke curled around his mouth before the wind shredded it.
Behind him, sirens wailed somewhere deeper in the city. Not his problem.
Ahead was the building.
Old tenement block. Boarded windows. The top floors half-collapsed from neglect.
Condemned by the Bureau two years ago.
Their seals still clung to the cracked walls in pale, smeared paint:
___
[BSC WARNING: RED ZONE. ENTRY BY LICENSE ONLY.]
___
He didn't slow. Just read the warning out of habit.
Inside the coat, a badge knocked against his chest. The Bureau-issued metal was worn smooth at the edges.
___
Caspian Aureus>
___
He didn't bother flashing it. No one who stopped you here cared about your credentials.
A Bureau van sat at the curb, hazard lights blinking orange in the downpour.
Two agents waited, plastic ponchos slapped wetly against their uniforms. One leaned against the van door, cursing softly as his lighter refused to catch. The other straightened up when he saw the approaching figure.
"You took your time," the agent called.
He ignored it. Flicked the half-burned cigarette aside. It hissed in a puddle.
Under the van's side lamp, he stopped, water streaming off him in rivulets.
The agents exchanged a glance.
The older one cleared his throat, voice raspy. "This one's bad. Multiple sightings. Staff and tenants evacuated, but… not cleanly. Three unaccounted for. Probably possessed."
The younger agent's face twitched. "Confirmed Class III. Lust-type. Could be a cluster."
He didn't react much. Just rubbed his thumb across the palm of his glove, feeling the familiar ridges of old protective tattoos there. The ink pulsed faintly, catching a hint of Bureau-standard glow.
"Orders?"
The older agent held out a Bureau-issued tablet in a waterproof sleeve.
"Standard purge and containment. Keep structural damage down if you can. This zone's already on the watch list after last month's… incident."
He took the tablet. The rain drummed on the casing.
The contract glowed with bureaucratic indifference.
___
BUREAU MISSION #24351
TARGET: Class III Lust Manifestation (Cluster risk)
LOCATION: 17 Ironbridge Lane
ZONE: RED
CLEARANCE: Caspian Aureus
PAYMENT: 8,000 B-Credits
TERMS: Containment or Termination
___
He pressed his thumb to the signature box. The screen beeped once.
The younger agent cleared his throat.
"They said you use… unconventional methods."
He glanced at the kid. Flat-eyed.
"Not tonight if I can help it."
The older agent shifted his feet in the mud.
"Just… don't let it spread. The Bureau wants minimal civilian casualties this time."
He handed the tablet back and adjusted the gloves. The seals stitched along the wrists glimmered as they caught stray spirit energy.
"Any Bureau scouts in there?"
The older agent shook his head. "We lost contact with the first pair that went in. Standard issue gear. No response since last night."
He turned without replying.
Rain battered the street harder, a living sheet of cold water.
The tenement door loomed ahead. Peeling paint. Rotting wood. Bureau warning glyphs still visible but cracked and half-glowing, like dying embers.
He pressed a shoulder to it. The hinges groaned in protest.
Inside, the stink hit him.
Mold. Old sewage. Soaked plaster.
And underneath it—something sweeter. Sickly. Like spoiled fruit left too long in the sun.
He stopped just inside the threshold.
Training kicked in. Eyes swept the space.
Ward pole on the floor, split in two. Bureau sigils dead.
Figures.
He flexed his fingers, tattoos warming against his skin. Cheap Bureau-issue protective circle ink, but it had saved his life before.
He took out Bureau chalk. Slightly damp. Drew a circle just inside the door, humming the trigger phrase under his breath.
Seal it behind me. Standard protocol.
He stepped over it.
The hallway was a ruin.
Debris blocked half the floor. The walls were tagged with graffiti in clashing colors.
___
"BSC IS CORRUPT."
"GET OUT WHILE YOU CAN."
"HELP US."
___
Underneath the scrawls were older, official Bureau stencils in faded paint:
[RED ZONE – LICENSED EXORCISTS ONLY]
He moved carefully. Boots squelched in the puddles on the warped floor.
Somewhere upstairs, something scraped against plaster.
He didn't flinch.
He pulled out a folded ward paper. Bureau-issue but modified. His lines were tighter, layered, reinforced with personal sigils the inspectors never noticed.
He pressed it to the wall, whispered a short chant.
It stuck with a hiss. Glyphs flared and faded.
A ripple of pressure rolled through the corridor.
Spirits hated preparation.
He climbed the stairwell.
Second floor.
More Bureau seals, peeled and torn. Symbols cracked.
Whispers leaked through the walls like steam.
___
Come closer.
Touch me.
Feed me.
___
He sighed. Rolled his shoulders.
"Typical Class III behavior," he muttered.
He stopped in front of 2B.
The door was ajar. Hinges broken.
The sweet stench was strongest here.
He drew his silver-etched dagger. Bureau standard, but the runes down the blade were his own carving.
Didn't want to use the other method tonight.
Too draining. Too filthy.
Bureau barely tolerated it. Only because it worked.
Last time had been an Orange Zone brothel. He hadn't slept properly in weeks.
But this was a contract.
He pressed his palm to the door, felt the pulse of heat from inside.
Possession saturation. No question.
It would be a fight.
That was fine.
He kicked the door in.
Inside, shadows coiled and hissed.
The thing wore a woman's silhouette but wrong. Limbs branched and merged like melting wax. Eyes sprouted in clusters. Mouths opened along the arms, wet and grinning.
It smiled with too many teeth.
"Welcome."
He didn't smile back.
"Bureau contract," he said, voice flat.
"You're not authorized to be here."
It laughed, thick and wet.
"Then throw me out."
He drew in a slow breath. Let the smoke residue in his lungs settle him.
"Yeah," he said softly.
"That's the plan."
He shifted his grip on the dagger and stepped into the dark.
The thing moved first. Shadows flicked out like claws, raking the walls. Plaster cracked. He ducked low, slashing. The silver-etched dagger left glowing lines where it cut, spirit ichor sizzling on contact.
The creature recoiled, laughing.
You want to play?
"Don't want to play at all," he growled.
It lunged. Too many arms. Teeth where elbows should be.
He twisted, slammed it into the wall, tattoos flaring as they burned the spirit's flesh. It screamed, smoke pouring from the contact.
"Listen to me," he snapped. "You can make this easy. You let go of them. You disperse. I log it as contained."
It writhed, the female shape struggling to reform. Eyes blinked open along its ribs.
Why would I do that? You're here for blood. You're here for me.
He spat on the floor.
"Fuck's sake."
He stepped back, dagger still raised.
"Last chance. I bind you, you go quietly. No screaming, no… mess."
It smiled. Lips split in four directions.
I want you inside me.
He exhaled through his nose. Rubbed his temple with his free hand.
"I really don't want to do this today."
He sheathed the dagger with a click.
The spirit paused. Confused.
That's when he reached under the coat and pulled out the rope.
Deep red. Old. Etched with tiny Bureau sigils—half official, half personal. Sexorcist channeling rope.
It practically vibrated in the air.
The spirit's smile flickered.
What is that—
He tossed one end, the rope slithering like a live thing. It looped her wrist, burned a glowing sigil into the ectoplasm. She shrieked, half-ecstatic, half-agony.
"Bureau special issue," he said flatly. "Let's get this over with."
The rope snapped tighter, dragging her arms overhead. It looped her midsection, splitting her silhouette so it bulged and trembled in obscene ways.
Her shape distorted—then settled, forced by the binding into something almost human. Breasts, hips, limbs quivering with too many joints but locked into a woman's form.
She panted, black tongue flicking between sharp teeth.
Caspian didn't bother responding.
He walked forward, and he crouched in front of her, Bureau rope sizzling with burning glyphs, forcing the spirit into a quivering humanoid shape against the cracked wall.
Her half-formed body was a grotesque parody of a woman: oversized tits leaking black slime, hips spread unnaturally wide, ectoplasmic flesh twitching with pulses of raw Lust energy.
The rope cut into her, glowing red-hot where it bit.
She sobbed wetly, tears of black sludge rolling down her cheeks.
"N-no… please… please don't…"
Caspian's expression stayed stone cold.
He reached down, unbuckling his belt.
The spirit's eyes widened, flickering and multiplying in fear.
"Don't—please—no—I'll go—I'll disperse—I'll—"
He grabbed her chin, yanking her face up.
"Too late."
He spat in her face.
Splack.
The slime sizzled where it landed on her.
She whimpered, eyes glistening with black tears.
He dropped his trousers just enough, his cock bobbing free, hard already from the aura in the room.
She twisted against the rope.
"No—stop—STOP—"
He grabbed her by the hair and forced her to look down.
Her cunt was splayed wide by the rope, dripping black slime in obscene strings to the floor.
He lined up.
"Look at it. This is why I'm here."
"Please—n-no—"
SLAP.
He backhanded her.
Her head snapped sideways, slime splattering the wall.
She sobbed harder.
"A-agh—please…"
He slammed in without warning.
SCHLOP.
The sound was wet, revolting.
Her scream rattled the windows.
"AAAAAAAAAGH—NOOOO—"
He groaned low in his throat as he felt her clench, unnaturally tight, walls rippling and sucking around him.
The rope sigils flared.
She twisted, wailing:
"IT HURTS—STOP—GET OUT—"
He thrust again.
SLAP. SCHLUP.
Her hips tried to squirm away. The rope burned tighter, locking her in place. Her massive tits wobbled, slime spurting from blackened nipples.
He spat on them.
Splack.
They sizzled.
"Cry harder," he growled.
She sobbed, voice cracking.
"P-please… I-I'll do anything—just stop—"
He yanked her hair back so she had to look into his cold eyes.
"Too late."
He pumped brutally.
SLAP. SCHLORP. SCHLOP.
Each thrust splattered black sludge around them.
She let out a keening wail, tears running in inky streaks.
Then—her breath hitched.
Her sob turned into a shuddering moan.
"A-ah—n—no…"
He didn't slow.
"Yeah. Feel it."
She shook her head frantically.
"N-no—no don't—"
He slammed deeper, twisting his hips.
SLAP. SPLUTCH.
She shrieked—but this time it cracked, breaking into a sobbing moan.
"I—I can't—I… ah… aH—"
He grabbed her throat, squeezing.
"Say it."
She choked on her own black drool.
"N-no—I—ah—ah—"
He thrust in to the hilt.
SLAP.
Her eyes rolled back.
"AHHH—!"
He felt her walls ripple, clenching hungrily despite her sobs.
She shuddered, thick black slime drooling from her pussy.
"N-no—please—I don't—I can't—ah—ahh—ahhh—"
He sneered.
"Liar."
He twisted the rope glyphs. They burned hotter, forcing her hips to rock back into him.
She wailed, but her cunt contracted, milking him.
SCHLOP. SCHLUP. SCHLOP.
Wet noises echoed in the ruined room.
"AH—AH—AH—STOP—I—I CAN'T—"
He slammed harder, cock pistoning, slime splattering their legs.
SLAP. SLAP. SLAP.
Her voice broke.
"A-AAH—F-FUCK—no—no—more—AH—"
He saw it: the shudder, the clench, her hips moving in rhythm.
He grinned cruelly.
"That's it. Filthy fucking spirit slut."
She sobbed in horror.
"N-no… no—ah—AHH—ah—"
He grabbed her tits roughly, squeezing hard. Slime spurted from her nipples.
Splurt.
She screamed as she came.
Her walls convulsed, milking him with unholy suction.
Black ichor poured out around his cock.
She howled.
"AH—AHHHH—NO—NO—YES—YES—AAAH—"
He didn't stop.
He fucked her through the orgasm, rope crackling with energy, siphoning her corruption.
Her sobs turned into broken moans.
"Please—I—I can't—too much—ah—more—AH—"
He slammed her harder, the wall cracking.
SLAP. SCHLOP. SCHLAP.
"Beg."
"AH—no—please—ah—yes—ah—fuck—PLEASE—"
He snarled, teeth bared.
"Take it. Take it all."
She convulsed again, screaming, squirting ectoplasmic slime in messy gushes.
SPURT. SPLASH.
Her eyes rolled back fully, tongue lolling.
"AAAH—YESSSS—AH—AHHH—"
He felt himself peak. Tattoos flared white-hot.
He came deep inside her.
SPURT. SPURT. SPURT.
His purified essence burned away the last of the corruption. Black vapor ripped out of her mouth and cunt in clouds, screaming like a dying animal.
She sagged, limp, twitching, eyes glazed and drooling black sludge.
He pulled out with a wet, sucking noise.
SCHLUP.
Black goo oozed freely from her gaping pussy, pooling between her spread legs.
She whimpered.
"I—I'm s-sorry… ah…"
He wiped his cock on her thigh.
"Yeah. You will be."
He snapped his fingers. The rope uncoiled, slithering back into his coat, leaving her collapsed in her own filth.
He buckled up, exhaling.
"Bureau'll pick you up."
He didn't bother looking back as he walked out.
Outside, the rain kept falling, washing nothing clean.