Someone is coming
Undeserved Ascendance
chapter 14
by
copier
· original author:
an188
Angel stepped out from behind the crushed cars, moonlight turning his seven-foot frame into a living sculpture of porcelain and power. The four smugglers froze mid-stride—backpacks sagging, faces slick with sweat. Their eyes widened, confusion twisting into fear.
The leader—a scarred man with a neck tattoo—dropped his bag first. “What the hell is that?”
Angel tilted his head, white hair cascading over one massive shoulder. He took a slow, sensual step forward—hips rolling, pecs bouncing lightly with each stride, cock swaying heavy and half-hard between thick thighs.
“Evening, gentlemen,” he purred, Brooklyn accent thick with mockery. “Nice night for a stroll. And you brought gifts.”
The men exchanged glances. One reached for a knife; another’s hand hovered near his waistband. But Angel’s scent hit them first—pheromones rolling off him like heat from a furnace. Musky, sweet, overwhelming. Their pupils dilated. Breathing shallowed. Cocks stirred against their will, hardening painfully in their jeans.
Angel smiled—slow, wicked. “Feel that? That’s just the appetizer.”
He flexed once—subtle, deliberate. Pecs swelled, veins pulsing across striated muscle. Nipples hardened into sharp peaks. The men gasped in unison, hips jerking forward as unwanted orgasms built like a storm. One dropped to his knees, clutching his crotch, groaning. Another leaned against a car hood, trembling, pre-cum soaking through denim.
Angel laughed—low, cruel, delighted. “Look at you. Hard and helpless. Just from looking at me.” He cupped one massive pec, squeezing until the muscle popped. “This body? It’s a weapon. And you’re already cumming in your pants without me even touching you.”
The leader tried to speak—voice cracking. “Who… what are you?”
Angel closed the distance in a blur—suddenly inches away. He leaned down, lips brushing the man’s ear.
“I’m your new god,” he whispered. “And you’re my entertainment.”
He exhaled—hot breath carrying more pheromones. The leader shuddered, eyes rolling back. A wet spot bloomed across his crotch as he came hard—knees buckling, body convulsing in helpless release. The others followed—moaning, hips bucking, cum staining jeans in dark patches.
Angel stepped back, satisfied. “Test complete. New sexual power: confirmed. You didn’t even last ten seconds.”
The leader, still shaking, pulled his pistol with trembling hands. “You freak—”
Angel moved.
He blurred behind the leader—massive arm wrapping around the man’s throat. With a casual twist, he snapped the neck—wet crunch echoing. The body dropped like a ragdoll.
The second man fired wildly—bullets ricocheting off Angel’s abs with metallic pings. Angel laughed, grabbed the gun mid-burst, and crushed it into scrap between his fingers. Then he lifted the man one-handed by the skull—fingers sinking into hair and scalp. He squeezed slowly. Bone cracked. Brains oozed between his fingers like wet clay. He tossed the corpse aside.
The third tried to run. Angel extended his arm—cock throbbing—and fired a thick, sticky rope of cum. It shot twenty feet, wrapping the man’s legs like a lasso. Angel yanked. The runner slammed face-first into gravel. Angel sauntered over, placed one massive foot on the man’s back, and pressed down. Spine snapped like dry wood. He twisted his heel—grinding the vertebrae into dust—then stepped off. The body twitched once and stilled.
The last smuggler dropped to his knees, sobbing. “Please… take it. Take everything.”
Angel crouched—still towering—cock dangling inches from the man’s face. “Everything?” he purred. “You don’t have anything I want… except maybe your screams.”
He grabbed the man’s head—fingers threading through hair—and slammed it downward onto the cocaine brick. Skull met cocaine with a wet crunch. The package burst; white powder exploded outward. Angel held the head down, grinding until bone gave way. Brains mixed with cocaine in a grotesque paste.
Silence fell.
Angel stood, wiping blood from his hands on a nearby tarp. He plucked a fresh brick from a fallen backpack, sliced it open with one long nail, and snorted a thick line straight off the claw. Head thrown back, eyes fluttering.
“Exquisite,” he sighed. “Almost as good as murder.”
Cherri stepped out from hiding—face pale, eyes wide. But something had shifted. The shock was still there—deep, visceral—but beneath it burned a new fire. She watched him—blood on his hands, cocaine dusting his lip, body gleaming with power—and felt a twisted thrill coil in her gut.
She took a step forward. Then another. Her posture straightened—shoulders back, chin up. A small, shaky smile tugged at her lips.
“He’s… he’s unstoppable,” she whispered. Then louder, voice gaining strength: “No one can touch him now.”
Angel turned, eyebrow arched.
Cherri met his gaze—freckles stark against flushed cheeks. “You’re perfect,” she said, voice steadier. “And I made you that way.”
Angel’s smile widened—sharp, approving.
“That’s my girl,” he purred. “Getting bold. I like it.”
Cherri laughed—short, breathless, almost manic. “Let’s go bigger. Let’s break more.”
Angel extended one massive hand. Cherri took it—small fingers wrapping around his, fearless now.
He pulled her close—chest to her face, scent overwhelming.
“Together, Sugar Tits,” he whispered. “We’ll burn it all down.”
They walked into the night—god and disciple—leaving bodies and broken steel behind.
The city lights waited.
And they were coming.
The leader—a scarred man with a neck tattoo—dropped his bag first. “What the hell is that?”
Angel tilted his head, white hair cascading over one massive shoulder. He took a slow, sensual step forward—hips rolling, pecs bouncing lightly with each stride, cock swaying heavy and half-hard between thick thighs.
“Evening, gentlemen,” he purred, Brooklyn accent thick with mockery. “Nice night for a stroll. And you brought gifts.”
The men exchanged glances. One reached for a knife; another’s hand hovered near his waistband. But Angel’s scent hit them first—pheromones rolling off him like heat from a furnace. Musky, sweet, overwhelming. Their pupils dilated. Breathing shallowed. Cocks stirred against their will, hardening painfully in their jeans.
Angel smiled—slow, wicked. “Feel that? That’s just the appetizer.”
He flexed once—subtle, deliberate. Pecs swelled, veins pulsing across striated muscle. Nipples hardened into sharp peaks. The men gasped in unison, hips jerking forward as unwanted orgasms built like a storm. One dropped to his knees, clutching his crotch, groaning. Another leaned against a car hood, trembling, pre-cum soaking through denim.
Angel laughed—low, cruel, delighted. “Look at you. Hard and helpless. Just from looking at me.” He cupped one massive pec, squeezing until the muscle popped. “This body? It’s a weapon. And you’re already cumming in your pants without me even touching you.”
The leader tried to speak—voice cracking. “Who… what are you?”
Angel closed the distance in a blur—suddenly inches away. He leaned down, lips brushing the man’s ear.
“I’m your new god,” he whispered. “And you’re my entertainment.”
He exhaled—hot breath carrying more pheromones. The leader shuddered, eyes rolling back. A wet spot bloomed across his crotch as he came hard—knees buckling, body convulsing in helpless release. The others followed—moaning, hips bucking, cum staining jeans in dark patches.
Angel stepped back, satisfied. “Test complete. New sexual power: confirmed. You didn’t even last ten seconds.”
The leader, still shaking, pulled his pistol with trembling hands. “You freak—”
Angel moved.
He blurred behind the leader—massive arm wrapping around the man’s throat. With a casual twist, he snapped the neck—wet crunch echoing. The body dropped like a ragdoll.
The second man fired wildly—bullets ricocheting off Angel’s abs with metallic pings. Angel laughed, grabbed the gun mid-burst, and crushed it into scrap between his fingers. Then he lifted the man one-handed by the skull—fingers sinking into hair and scalp. He squeezed slowly. Bone cracked. Brains oozed between his fingers like wet clay. He tossed the corpse aside.
The third tried to run. Angel extended his arm—cock throbbing—and fired a thick, sticky rope of cum. It shot twenty feet, wrapping the man’s legs like a lasso. Angel yanked. The runner slammed face-first into gravel. Angel sauntered over, placed one massive foot on the man’s back, and pressed down. Spine snapped like dry wood. He twisted his heel—grinding the vertebrae into dust—then stepped off. The body twitched once and stilled.
The last smuggler dropped to his knees, sobbing. “Please… take it. Take everything.”
Angel crouched—still towering—cock dangling inches from the man’s face. “Everything?” he purred. “You don’t have anything I want… except maybe your screams.”
He grabbed the man’s head—fingers threading through hair—and slammed it downward onto the cocaine brick. Skull met cocaine with a wet crunch. The package burst; white powder exploded outward. Angel held the head down, grinding until bone gave way. Brains mixed with cocaine in a grotesque paste.
Silence fell.
Angel stood, wiping blood from his hands on a nearby tarp. He plucked a fresh brick from a fallen backpack, sliced it open with one long nail, and snorted a thick line straight off the claw. Head thrown back, eyes fluttering.
“Exquisite,” he sighed. “Almost as good as murder.”
Cherri stepped out from hiding—face pale, eyes wide. But something had shifted. The shock was still there—deep, visceral—but beneath it burned a new fire. She watched him—blood on his hands, cocaine dusting his lip, body gleaming with power—and felt a twisted thrill coil in her gut.
She took a step forward. Then another. Her posture straightened—shoulders back, chin up. A small, shaky smile tugged at her lips.
“He’s… he’s unstoppable,” she whispered. Then louder, voice gaining strength: “No one can touch him now.”
Angel turned, eyebrow arched.
Cherri met his gaze—freckles stark against flushed cheeks. “You’re perfect,” she said, voice steadier. “And I made you that way.”
Angel’s smile widened—sharp, approving.
“That’s my girl,” he purred. “Getting bold. I like it.”
Cherri laughed—short, breathless, almost manic. “Let’s go bigger. Let’s break more.”
Angel extended one massive hand. Cherri took it—small fingers wrapping around his, fearless now.
He pulled her close—chest to her face, scent overwhelming.
“Together, Sugar Tits,” he whispered. “We’ll burn it all down.”
They walked into the night—god and disciple—leaving bodies and broken steel behind.
The city lights waited.
And they were coming.
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June 13
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