Time to go back
Undeserved Ascendance
chapter 15
by
copier
· original author:
an188
Angel surveyed the carnage with clinical detachment. Four bodies lay sprawled in awkward poses—limbs bent wrong, skulls misshapen, blood already pooling dark under floodlights. He bent, scooped them up one-handed like sacks of laundry—two under each arm—and carried them to the center of the clearing. He arranged them in a neat pile, heads together, arms overlapping, like a grotesque campfire circle.
“Group photo,” he muttered, amused.
He strolled to a mound of scrap metal—old engine blocks, fenders, rebar—easily thirty tons compacted into a jagged hill. He gripped the base with both hands, lifted the entire pile overhead in one smooth motion, muscles popping into brutal definition. Veins throbbed across pecs and biceps like blue rivers. He set the scrap down gently beside the bodies, then plucked a rusted “DANGER – KEEP OUT” sign from a nearby fence post and jammed it upright in the pile of corpses.
“Welcome to the new world order,” he said to no one.
He gathered the four backpacks—cocaine bricks still pristine inside—and slung them over one shoulder. He sliced one open with a long chrome nail, scooped a fat line, and snorted it theatrically—head thrown back, eyes fluttering.
“Exquisite,” he sighed.
He scooped another line onto the same nail and extended it toward Cherri.
She stepped forward without hesitation—eyes glassy, pupils blown. She leaned in, pressed her nose to the claw, and inhaled deeply. The rush hit her like lightning; she laughed—bright, breathless, almost manic.
Angel joined her—low, wicked giggles blending with hers as they walked out of the junkyard, leaving bodies and twisted steel behind.
They passed rows of abandoned warehouses—broken windows, graffiti, sagging roofs. Cherri’s smile turned sharp, feral.
“Angel,” she said, voice low and teasing. “Destroy them.”
Angel paused, eyebrow arched.
Cherri stepped closer, wicked grin widening. “Come on. Show me what my Superman can really do.”
Angel snorted another line straight off his nail, eyes gleaming. “Challenge accepted, Sugar Tits.”
He set the cocaine bags carefully beside her, then sauntered toward the first building—hips rolling, muscles flexing with every step. He stopped at the corner, laid one delicate palm against the brick.
The wall cracked under his fingers like eggshell.
He pushed.
The entire corner buckled inward—brick and mortar exploding outward in a cloud of dust. He laughed—bright, cruel—and punched straight through the load-bearing wall. Concrete shattered; rebar snapped like string. He grabbed a steel I-beam inside, ripped it free, and swung it like a baseball bat. The upper floor collapsed in a thunderous cascade—roof caving, windows bursting, debris raining down in glorious ruin.
Cherri whooped, clapping, eyes shining. “More! Harder!”
Angel blurred to the next building—leaped twenty feet straight up, landed on the roof, and drove both fists downward. The structure folded inward like wet cardboard—walls imploding, floors pancaking, dust billowing in a mushroom cloud. He tore through the wreckage, ripping steel girders free and twisting them into pretzels, hurling chunks of concrete like confetti.
The third building he simply shoulder-checked—seven feet and several tons of muscle slamming into brick at supersonic speed. The facade disintegrated; the entire structure tilted, groaned, and collapsed in slow-motion domino perfection.
Cherri cheered—voice raw, exhilarated. “Yes! Fuck yes!”
Angel emerged from the rubble unscathed—dust clinging to his skin like glitter, white hair wild, muscles gleaming with sweat. He strutted back to her, pecs bouncing, abs flexing with every step.
He snorted another line, then bent and lifted Cherri effortlessly—one arm under her thighs, the other around her back. She wrapped her legs around his waist, hands roaming his massive pecs, feeling the unyielding power beneath velvet skin.
Their mouths crashed together—deep, wet, desperate. Cherri moaned into the kiss, grinding against his hardening cock. Angel growled, low and possessive, and carried her to a flat slab of broken concrete.
He laid her down—gentle despite his size—and entered her in one slow, relentless thrust.
Cherri arched, crying out as he filled her completely—monstrous length stretching her to the edge of pain and pleasure. He moved—deep, powerful strokes—each thrust sending shockwaves through her body. His cock pulsed inside her, veins dragging against every sensitive spot. She clawed at his back—nails useless against unbreakable skin.
Angel leaned down, lips at her ear. “Cum for your god, baby.”
He angled his hips—hitting that perfect spot—and Cherri shattered. Her orgasm ripped through her—back bowing, scream echoing off ruined walls, vision whiting out. The intensity was too much; consciousness slipped away mid-cry.
She went limp beneath him.
Angel eased out carefully, cum dripping in thick ropes from her swollen entrance. He gathered the cocaine bags, scooped her unconscious form into his arms, and considered.
An idea sparked.
He scanned the horizon—city lights perhaps three miles away. A tall office building rose nearby—twenty stories, flat roof.
Angel grinned.
He pointed his still-hard cock skyward and fired a thick, sticky rope of cum. The strand shot upward—fifty feet—sticking to the rooftop ledge with a wet slap.
“Spidercum, take two,” he muttered, amused. “Eat your heart out, web-head.”
He leaped—vertical jump clearing the full height—caught the rope one-handed, and pulled himself up. He fired more ropes—thick, taut lines arcing between rooftops—swinging high above streets, white hair streaming like a comet’s tail. No one below noticed; he moved too fast, too high, a naked giant dancing across the skyline.
He landed en pointe on Cherri’s balcony—soft as a falling leaf. The sliding door was unlocked. He stepped inside, set the cocaine bags on the floor, and laid Cherri gently on the couch. She stirred faintly—eyes fluttering, lips parted in post-orgasmic bliss.
Angel’s stomach rumbled—loud, insistent.
“Hungry work, being a god,” he muttered.
He padded naked into the kitchen—opened the fridge, frowned at the meager contents. He pulled out his burner phone, scrolled contacts, then dialed.
The line rang twice.
A bright, bubbly female voice answered. “Crystal’s Pizzeria, this is Crystal! How can I make your night delicious?”
Angel’s voice shifted—high, breathy, perfect Valley-girl inflection. “Hi, Crystal! Like, oh my god, I’m having the biggest party ever and I’m totally starving. Can you do, like, ten extra-large pepperonis, five meat-lovers, three veggie supreme, and throw in a bunch of those cheesy bread things? Extra sauce. And ranch. Lots of ranch. Like, drown me in ranch, babe.”
Crystal laughed. “You got it, hon! Address?”
Angel rattled off Cherri’s apartment number in the same bubbly tone. “And can you make it super fast? We’re, like, dying here.”
“Twenty-five minutes, tops!”
Angel hung up, voice dropping back to his normal velvet purr. “Pizza for the apocalypse. Perfect.”
He sauntered to the balcony hot tub—oversized, thankfully—and turned the jets on full. Steam rose in lazy curls. He stepped in, lowering his massive frame into the bubbling water with a long, satisfied sigh. Hot water enveloped him—chest-deep even sitting—muscles relaxing for the first time since the transformation.
He leaned back, arms draped along the edge, pecs floating like twin islands, cock bobbing lazily beneath the surface.
The night hummed around him.
Pizza was coming.
Cherri was sleeping off the best orgasm of her life.
And the world?
The world had no idea what was waking up.
Angel closed his eyes, a slow, wicked smile curling his lips.
Soon.
Very soon.
Angel is...
“Group photo,” he muttered, amused.
He strolled to a mound of scrap metal—old engine blocks, fenders, rebar—easily thirty tons compacted into a jagged hill. He gripped the base with both hands, lifted the entire pile overhead in one smooth motion, muscles popping into brutal definition. Veins throbbed across pecs and biceps like blue rivers. He set the scrap down gently beside the bodies, then plucked a rusted “DANGER – KEEP OUT” sign from a nearby fence post and jammed it upright in the pile of corpses.
“Welcome to the new world order,” he said to no one.
He gathered the four backpacks—cocaine bricks still pristine inside—and slung them over one shoulder. He sliced one open with a long chrome nail, scooped a fat line, and snorted it theatrically—head thrown back, eyes fluttering.
“Exquisite,” he sighed.
He scooped another line onto the same nail and extended it toward Cherri.
She stepped forward without hesitation—eyes glassy, pupils blown. She leaned in, pressed her nose to the claw, and inhaled deeply. The rush hit her like lightning; she laughed—bright, breathless, almost manic.
Angel joined her—low, wicked giggles blending with hers as they walked out of the junkyard, leaving bodies and twisted steel behind.
They passed rows of abandoned warehouses—broken windows, graffiti, sagging roofs. Cherri’s smile turned sharp, feral.
“Angel,” she said, voice low and teasing. “Destroy them.”
Angel paused, eyebrow arched.
Cherri stepped closer, wicked grin widening. “Come on. Show me what my Superman can really do.”
Angel snorted another line straight off his nail, eyes gleaming. “Challenge accepted, Sugar Tits.”
He set the cocaine bags carefully beside her, then sauntered toward the first building—hips rolling, muscles flexing with every step. He stopped at the corner, laid one delicate palm against the brick.
The wall cracked under his fingers like eggshell.
He pushed.
The entire corner buckled inward—brick and mortar exploding outward in a cloud of dust. He laughed—bright, cruel—and punched straight through the load-bearing wall. Concrete shattered; rebar snapped like string. He grabbed a steel I-beam inside, ripped it free, and swung it like a baseball bat. The upper floor collapsed in a thunderous cascade—roof caving, windows bursting, debris raining down in glorious ruin.
Cherri whooped, clapping, eyes shining. “More! Harder!”
Angel blurred to the next building—leaped twenty feet straight up, landed on the roof, and drove both fists downward. The structure folded inward like wet cardboard—walls imploding, floors pancaking, dust billowing in a mushroom cloud. He tore through the wreckage, ripping steel girders free and twisting them into pretzels, hurling chunks of concrete like confetti.
The third building he simply shoulder-checked—seven feet and several tons of muscle slamming into brick at supersonic speed. The facade disintegrated; the entire structure tilted, groaned, and collapsed in slow-motion domino perfection.
Cherri cheered—voice raw, exhilarated. “Yes! Fuck yes!”
Angel emerged from the rubble unscathed—dust clinging to his skin like glitter, white hair wild, muscles gleaming with sweat. He strutted back to her, pecs bouncing, abs flexing with every step.
He snorted another line, then bent and lifted Cherri effortlessly—one arm under her thighs, the other around her back. She wrapped her legs around his waist, hands roaming his massive pecs, feeling the unyielding power beneath velvet skin.
Their mouths crashed together—deep, wet, desperate. Cherri moaned into the kiss, grinding against his hardening cock. Angel growled, low and possessive, and carried her to a flat slab of broken concrete.
He laid her down—gentle despite his size—and entered her in one slow, relentless thrust.
Cherri arched, crying out as he filled her completely—monstrous length stretching her to the edge of pain and pleasure. He moved—deep, powerful strokes—each thrust sending shockwaves through her body. His cock pulsed inside her, veins dragging against every sensitive spot. She clawed at his back—nails useless against unbreakable skin.
Angel leaned down, lips at her ear. “Cum for your god, baby.”
He angled his hips—hitting that perfect spot—and Cherri shattered. Her orgasm ripped through her—back bowing, scream echoing off ruined walls, vision whiting out. The intensity was too much; consciousness slipped away mid-cry.
She went limp beneath him.
Angel eased out carefully, cum dripping in thick ropes from her swollen entrance. He gathered the cocaine bags, scooped her unconscious form into his arms, and considered.
An idea sparked.
He scanned the horizon—city lights perhaps three miles away. A tall office building rose nearby—twenty stories, flat roof.
Angel grinned.
He pointed his still-hard cock skyward and fired a thick, sticky rope of cum. The strand shot upward—fifty feet—sticking to the rooftop ledge with a wet slap.
“Spidercum, take two,” he muttered, amused. “Eat your heart out, web-head.”
He leaped—vertical jump clearing the full height—caught the rope one-handed, and pulled himself up. He fired more ropes—thick, taut lines arcing between rooftops—swinging high above streets, white hair streaming like a comet’s tail. No one below noticed; he moved too fast, too high, a naked giant dancing across the skyline.
He landed en pointe on Cherri’s balcony—soft as a falling leaf. The sliding door was unlocked. He stepped inside, set the cocaine bags on the floor, and laid Cherri gently on the couch. She stirred faintly—eyes fluttering, lips parted in post-orgasmic bliss.
Angel’s stomach rumbled—loud, insistent.
“Hungry work, being a god,” he muttered.
He padded naked into the kitchen—opened the fridge, frowned at the meager contents. He pulled out his burner phone, scrolled contacts, then dialed.
The line rang twice.
A bright, bubbly female voice answered. “Crystal’s Pizzeria, this is Crystal! How can I make your night delicious?”
Angel’s voice shifted—high, breathy, perfect Valley-girl inflection. “Hi, Crystal! Like, oh my god, I’m having the biggest party ever and I’m totally starving. Can you do, like, ten extra-large pepperonis, five meat-lovers, three veggie supreme, and throw in a bunch of those cheesy bread things? Extra sauce. And ranch. Lots of ranch. Like, drown me in ranch, babe.”
Crystal laughed. “You got it, hon! Address?”
Angel rattled off Cherri’s apartment number in the same bubbly tone. “And can you make it super fast? We’re, like, dying here.”
“Twenty-five minutes, tops!”
Angel hung up, voice dropping back to his normal velvet purr. “Pizza for the apocalypse. Perfect.”
He sauntered to the balcony hot tub—oversized, thankfully—and turned the jets on full. Steam rose in lazy curls. He stepped in, lowering his massive frame into the bubbling water with a long, satisfied sigh. Hot water enveloped him—chest-deep even sitting—muscles relaxing for the first time since the transformation.
He leaned back, arms draped along the edge, pecs floating like twin islands, cock bobbing lazily beneath the surface.
The night hummed around him.
Pizza was coming.
Cherri was sleeping off the best orgasm of her life.
And the world?
The world had no idea what was waking up.
Angel closed his eyes, a slow, wicked smile curling his lips.
Soon.
Very soon.
Angel is...
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·
June 13
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