The Monster Girl Heroines And The Hero Hub

Author's Note: Hey guys, so, this part is dark. I did my best researching a lot to try and bring something disturbing out. It was too dark, so I exaggerated some things and removed some things, but the final product might still be disturbing for some. Just brace yourselves, just in case.

***

There was a procession of people moving through a dark, torch-lit hallway. The hall was cold, and the people--they all wore black cloaks. There was a light hum echoing. The cloaked people were humming and whispering. It was ordered and in time, almost like a chant. At the head of the procession was a cloaked person with a distinct red and purple sash around their neck. Behind that person were four others carrying a transparent sedan chair with a smaller, child-sized person in it.

This procession of twenty people--they were reaching their destination. The closer they got, the louder their humming and whispers became. By the time they reached the next chamber, it was clear that they were chanting.

The leader of the procession lit the torch in her hands.

"I bring fire into the sacred chamber."

She touched the torch to the ground, and a rig of fire blew up, tracing the perimeter of the circular chamber. The chamber was lit, and the cage in the center of it was visible.

"Wake, maiden," the leader said.

The red-haired and naked woman tied to the cage's wall lifted her head.

"Are you prepared, False Maiden?"

"I am prepared to bring paradise onto the world, Holy Madonna."

The leader smiled. "May our Messiah descend."

The child formally stepped out of his chair, cloaked in black robes, with two mittens tied to his wrists.

The leader's words--the words of the Holy Madonna--were all that would be said as she directed the proceedings.

"Our Messiah is unshackled."

Two cloaked women walked to either side of the child and undid his bindings, and removed the old mitten.

"The tools of his mercy are revealed."

The child's hands were revealed, and the nails filed to appear like sharp claws could be seen. Some in the crowd stirred, many squirming and moaning at the sight and thought of the child's mercy.

"Our Messiah enters the Realm of Proving."

A cloaked member opened the door to the cage, and two cloaked members ushered the child into the cage.

"Our Messiah bares himself to the world."

The members stripped the child down to a loincloth. The child was pale, his ribs visible, his eyes sunken in, and his gaze unfocused. His arms seemed weighted down by his nails, and his legs looked like they would snap beneath the weight of his body. It was nothing short of a miracle, his ability to stand without wobbling.

"Our Messiah will now show an act of restraint."

The members pressed the child against the cage's wall, opposite the False Maiden. They shackled him to the cage and stripped him of his last remaining dignity, all while salivating over his body.

The members, having secured the child, stepped out and shut the door, locking it thrice.

"Our Messiah becomes a receptacle for the Envoy of Paradise."

A member held out a small case. Another opened it, and yet another pulled a needle and syringe out. That member walked over to the bound child and slipped the needle into the child's neck. The child let out a pained cry, the discomfort shocking him out of his daze.

The member stepped away and stood behind her leader.

"The aspect of Baphomet descends."

The fire suddenly disappeared. One second later, bright, otherworldly orange flames burst out from where the red flames once blew. Growls came from the cage--from the child. He started thrashing against his binds, exhibiting a strength his tiny frame could never muster.

"Our Messiah, channeling the power of the Envoy, is unleashed."

The two cloaked members behind the child undid his shackles from the safety of the other side, and the child fell forward.

"Come to me, my Messiah!" the blissful False Maiden screamed.

The child showed his mouth, revealing filed teeth and bloodshot eyes to the False Maiden. She pressed her legs together, letting every person hear the sound of wet thighs slipping against the other.

"Our Messiah storms into the Garden of Eve, to pluck from her Sanctum, the forgotten fruit."

The child rushed forward toward the False Maiden, growling and rabid.

"Our Messiah searches for the sake of his flock."

The child's claws, veiny and throbbing, sank into the False Maiden's stomach.

"Our Messiah drenches his hands in blood so that we may be forgiven."

The False Maiden let out a blood-curdling screech as the child tore into her. His hands pulled before tearing once again, and his head dug into the cavity his hands created.

The False Maiden screamed, her eyes rolling into the back of her head--any traces of euphoria a distant memory.

The Holy Madona scowled. But she still had a job to do as the sound of flesh splashing on the ground echoed.

"Our Messiah plucks the forgotten fruit from the garden."

The child's head flew backward as a guttural, distorted growl echoed and shook the walls. In his mouth was an apple core, still painted by bile and blood.

"Our Messiah takes into his body, the holy key and receives the path to Paradise."

The child ate the apple core, and as soon as he gulped, the chamber shook, and the flames grew more intense.

"Behold! Our Messiah evolves and takes his place as the Bringer of Paradise! Behold! Throw yourselves, my followers, for I have brought--"

Then the flames went out, and the shaking ceased. The Holy Madona's arms fell, listless, and she scowled. Things had not gone the way she wanted, but one would never know.

"The False Maiden was unworthy, and her fruit, unripe. Paradise will not come for us today."

***

The child lay still in his bed. A cold beam of light fell into the room from a small slot eight feet above him. A loose black tunic covered his body, black mittens bound tightly around the wrists covered his sharpened nails, and black mouth guards covered his filed-to-a-point teeth.

His eyes were devoid of any light--he could never muster up emotive force after a Holy Ritual.

The taste of iron was still in his mouth, and he knew it could very well linger there for days.

The child wiped his eyes and sniffed back his sadness, whispering, "I'm sorry," soon after. He stayed there, motionless, until his door opened, and a woman in black robes walked in.

It was the head of the procession--the Holy Madonna. She had come to the boy's room in a lacey black dress and with a cold, distant look in her eyes.

"Sit, child."

At her command, the child lifted his body. His arms were wobbly, but he got to his spot in front of the woman. She looked down on him, her cold gaze like spears that skewered the soul.

"Do you think I'm a joke, Messiah? Do you think my convictions--my life's one true purpose is a sham to be laughed at?"

"No, ma'am," the child whispered.

Anger flashed, and it moved her hand. She slapped the child across his face, the slap dry and loud. The boy's face jerked from the hit, his cheek burning and reddening, and his lips quivering as his eyes watered.

"Am I a joke to you, Messiah? Answer me properly!" she screamed.

"No, ma'am!" the child cried back.

Tears streamed from the woman's eye, and her black eyeliner ran. "Then why do you ruin this for me? Why do you not bring salvation upon us, Messiah? Why do you stand in MY way?!"

"I don't know, Ma'am!"

"Am I nothing to you? Do you look down on me and laugh?!"

"I'm sorry, Ma'am!"

"Do you hate me, Messiah? Do you believe I am not worthy of your salvation? Me? The person who brought you into this world?"

"You are worthy, Ma'am!"

"You OWE me, Messiah. You owe everything to me! This room, those clothes, your followers, your life!"

"I know, Ma'am! Thank you, Ma'am!"

The woman sucked in air and stood up straight, lifting her chin as she looked down her nose at the shaking boy.

"Pathetic," she spat. "Quivering like a child unburdened by destiny. You do not have such luxury."

The child tried his best to avoid making any anguished sounds.

The woman sighed and went to a chair in the corner of the room. "Come here," she said.

The child got up from the bed and stood before her, his eyes locked on his feet.

She smiled softly and held her arms out. "Come to your Mother, my son."

"Yes ma'am," the child whispered.

She sat across her lap and held his arms close to his tiny body.

"Hug your mother. I am deserving of that much, aren't I?"

The child wrapped his arms around her neck and rested his head against her chest as she wrapped her arms around him.

"Do you hate your foolish mother?"

"No..."

"This is for your own good, my son. You make me so angry because I just love you so much that I can't bear the thought of you not living up to your potential... You know that, right?"

"Yes, ma'am--"

"Not ma'am, you can call me what I am."

The child hugged her tighter, chasing warmth. "Yes, Mommy."

"Yes... there... I love you so much. That is why I must correct you. Our flock is depending on you to bring them salvation, my son. I depend on you to make me the Mother of the Messiah who brought us salvation. You are the only one who can do so. You know that, don't you? You're the only one who can bring meaning to my life."

"Yes, Mommy."

"And it's not just me who depends on you. Our flock is scared. They worry that salvation will not come in time. Don't you think it's cruel to deny them their salvation? To let them die to this cruel world?"

The child was silent.

"My son, do you not find it cruel what you're doing?"

"Yes, Ma'am," the child replied.

"Thank you for your honesty," she said, cracking a smile as she stroked his hair.

"Hmm..." she said, letting out a hot breath. "My hand still stings... It rebukes my act of disciple... I know it was out of turn of me, but I had to act..." She stroked the child's cheek. "I know what I did was wrong--striking the Messiah. I won't beg for forgiveness because I will humbly accept your retribution." She shifted and pulled down the shoulder of her garment, revealing pale skin marred by scars. Then she slipped the flimsy strap of her bra off, ensuring nothing was between her and her retribution. "Now," she said, her face reddening. "Exact your retribution, Messiah," she said as she removed the child's mouth guards. "Drink the blood of your pious Mother and sustain yourself."

She guided the fearful child's head to her shoulder. He, with teary eyes, opened his mouth and sank his teeth into her shoulder.

"Ahh, yes," she groaned, her eyes shimmering with euphoria. "Drink, My Messiah. Mix my blood with your own. Allow me to be part of your eternal glory..."

The child didn't drink the blood. He just kept his mouth there until his mother was satisfied. She stroked his head, blissfully unaware. "Messiah, oh my Messiah; exact your holy vengeance..." She let out a breath. "Have I not satisfied you?"

The child took that as his cue to remove his mouth from her bloody shoulder.

"Your rage has been quelled... And now, we can perform our duties." She stroked the child's head further. "Our flock, Messiah. They are afraid. They are afraid that they will not be saved... It is not good to be afraid. Do you agree?"

"I do," the child whispered.

"Has your manhood made itself known, yet my child?" she asked, her hand traveling up his leg.

"No, ma'am."

"Tsk, in its absence, the only thing that can protect them is your blood. The blood of the Messiah will safeguard their souls... Do you agree?"

"Yes, ma'am..."

"Good." The Madonna stood up, cradling the child. "Let us quell our panicked flock with the blood of our savior."

"... Yes ma'am."

The two left the room in silence.

...

..

.

***

The child lay still in his bed. A cold beam of light fell into the room from a small slot eight feet above him. A loose black tunic covered his body, black mittens bound tightly around the wrists covered his sharpened nails, and black mouth guards covered his filed teeth. White gauze slipped out from beneath his mittens, the reopened wounds on his wrists stinging.

A tear rolled out from his eye. He knew that there was another life than whatever this life was. He also knew that life was out of his reach. The tear rolled off his cheeks, and fell onto his stiff bed.

It was at this moment that the child lost all hope. And from here on, dizzy, exhausted, and wounded, the child deteriorated.