Ars Goetia – Ep 5 (Public)

Words Count: 4217

A/N: Feeling blue-balled yet?

The morning following that whole debacle, I take to the skies on my wings, acknowledging both my adoring fans and the furious detractors with waves of my hand and a nonchalant smile.

Although I hadn’t caught up on the latest television broadcasts the previous night, the news of Vought’s restructuring have flooded various media outlets. While I have the ability to soar directly to the pinnacle of the building where the door awaits, exclusively accessible to the likes of me, Homelander, and all those elderly Vought executives, I choose instead to touch down at the revolving entrance, reveling in the cheers and jeers that engulf me.

Having soon realized the inefficiency of Vought’s marketing team, it ultimately falls upon me to take matters into my own hands. With their inability to effectively manage the situation, personally disclosing the news in a manner that allows me complete control and manipulation over the narrative is a given.

“What a warm reception we’re experiencing,”

I remark, attempting to bring some semblance of order to the rowdy crowd. Though my applause fails to silence the sensationalist reporters or the fervent religious zealots, my loyal fans, under the spell of my Supernatural charisma, obediently hush, as if anticipating profound insights. However I, regretfully, have no profound wisdoms to impart. I suppose they will have to settle for basking in my presence.

Adjusting my sunglasses, I offer a playful wink to the women and a casual wave to the men. “Mr. Goetia, here!”

One reporter begins after noticing my gaze on him, “There have been rumors regarding a restructure within Vought’s Heroes Division, and they say you are involved. Can you shed some light on these allegations?”

Although it’s not the only question, this basically sums up the general tone, as other reporters anxiously await my response, all eager to bring back the news so their outlets can take things out of context and frame my words to their preferred narratives. “I regret to inform you many of Vought’s former employees have been discovered embezzling money from the company and its Supes–”

In a rare moment of seriousness, I struggle to maintain the overly-polite façade for only a minute before bursting into laughter.

“Yeah, those ‘bitches’ were embezzling.” I state, a mischievous grin playing on my face. “If it weren’t for my unique ability to perceive Sins, they would have successfully escaped with their deceitful actions!” The words flow out with a blend of amusement and satisfaction. “Unfortunately, at the moment, we will need to focus on our… Backyard first, until then, all heroic activities will be suspended.”

Vought resorts to paying exorbitant sums each year to recruit a variety of unsavory individuals: Thugs, junkies, and gangsters, most of whom are desperate for a way out.

Their purpose? To create situations in which the ‘Heroes’ can demonstrate their valor and worth. This logic follows the idea that even the boldest individuals would reconsider attempting a bank heist when confronted with such a… Insurmountable odds.

However, people by nature are social creatures influenced by trends, whether driven by the desire for status or immediate financial gain. Periodically, Vought orchestrates scenarios in which the ‘robbers’ emerge victorious, claiming that their Supes, who can circle New York in a matter of minutes, are indisposed.

This blatant fabrication, though utter nonsense, oddly proves effective.

It’s like a gambling scheme, wherein the House allows occasional wins to entice participants, only to ultimately drain them of their every last cent.

With the heroes currently on a confirmed vacation, and Vought’s Villain Division working overtime, that delicate balance will definitely shift and every hook and crook will crawl out of the woodwork in hope of making it in one fell sweep… Vought will persist in pursuing their tried-and-true strategies, and as the crime rate skyrockets, the police and military will find they are helpless.

In the face of such chaos and lawlessness, public opinion will likely lean towards favoring us, the Heroes, as the only possible solution. Do I find their practices morally reprehensible? Of course, but odds as it may sound, it is a… Necessity. Vought alone makes up percentage of the US’ GDP, and if the Heroes were to fall out of favor, people will lose jobs, and the US may experience an economic dip rivalling the 90’s Great Depression.

The impact won’t stop in the States either, Vought has ‘International’ in their name for a reason.

In my youth, I too held a simplistic view of the world, seeing it in black and white terms. Yet, as I have grown older and gained wisdom, I have come to realize that certain evils, albeit morally questionable, may be necessary for the progress and advancement of Mankind.

It is a somber truth that people will have to grapple with at some point in their lives, for as upsetting as it is to admit, Life’s various shades of grey… More questions are shot at me, and promptly ignored as I start to address the fans. “Goetia, I love you! Please sign my breasts!” I oblige, grabbing the pen and writing something along the line of: ‘Property of Goetia.’

As the women in the crowd practically swoon, captivated by my presence, the men erupt in enthusiastic screams.

Amongst the clamor, one voice stands out, exclaiming, “I love your videos, man! Keep up the good work!” The affirmation from my adds to the exciting energy that surrounds us as I make to shake their waving hands.

As the situation unfolds according to my expectations, bottles filled with holy water are hurled above the crowd. A mischievous smirk dances across my lips as I discreetly activate my power, Worthlessness, and disintegrate the projectiles mid-air.

An unsettling gasp ripples through the crowd as a voice rises above the commotion. “GET OUT OF OUR LANDS, DEMON! YOU’RE NOT WELCOME HERE!”

Worthlessness could not destroy the holy water, causing it to trickle down from above and leaving those in attendance alarmed and perplexed.

Regardless of one’s personal opinions about the Church, they possess an understanding of power dynamics is a fact, not a question.

Throughout millennia, they have deftly played the game, grasping onto straws to maintain their authority. While extremism may assist them in retaining control, it fails to facilitate the spread of their influence.

This is precisely where the figure of Christ, whether based on historical reality or not, holds significance. His drivel about compassion and love, even though very few actually practice it, have assisted the Abrahamic Faiths in stealing Humanity’s Universal moral framework.

Through the fictitious character of Christ, religion has effectively appropriated morality, positioning themselves on a perceived moral high ground from which they condemn those who lack belief. They’d never have sent for a group to assassinate me publically, regardless of how large of a pain I am up their rear-end, not until I’ve proven a threat to the planet, but the ‘sheep’ are easily riled up, particularly when money are involved. “Now, why’d ya’ have to go and do that? That wasn’t nice.”

They think they can hide amongst the crowd, but their Souls- their God betrays them.

Sporting a confident smile, I effortlessly vault over the fences, disregarding the futile attempts of the guards to impede my progress. The crowd before me parts like the fabled Red Sea did for Moses and the Israelites, creating a path for me to navigate through, my command over Demonic Magic helping me to repel any unwanted advances.

It’s not about appearance or sexual orientation—I hold no prejudice towards ‘ugly’ or LGBTQ and whatever + individuals, but that does not grant just anyone the right to touch me all willy-nilly. Pretty women are, obviously, welcomed though. ‘Cup as many feels as you wish, ladies!’

I playfully intercept the hands of a few girls who… Align with my preferences, slipping a crumpled note into each of their palms. It isn’t difficult to guess the content: ‘Call me’, with my disposable Sim cards below. Putting my hand to my ear, I wink cockily before coming to a halt in front of a father and his congregation.

The ‘shepherds’ possess more holiness than the ‘sheep’, enabling them to bestow blessings upon water and the like.

Unfortunately, it is this very thing that makes them distinguishable in the bustling crowd… And you know what they say about the nails that stick out. Leaning slightly closer to the… Man of Faith, I challenge the man with a cocky smirk, my voice laden with confidence. “Why don’t you say that to my face, father?”

Suddenly, a woman, likely in her fifties, emerges from the crowd. I observe her disheveled appearance, donned in a faded flowered shirt and ill-fitting pants. While I usually hold a certain level of care and respect for women, as is customary for most men, there are differences between a woman and a bitch.

All that registers in my mind’s the latter as she wields her cross like weapon, trying to stab me in the neck while screeching Bible verses and Christ’s greatness.

‘I fucking hate congregation.’

“DIE, YOU DEMON!” She exclaims, her voice filled with animosity and fervor.

My response is unchanged, exuding a composed indifference, despite the cross piercing my neck and causing my flesh to sizzle and burn. I’ve contemplated numerous ways to handle situations such as these, but ultimately opted for this approach. In truth, I hold no blame towards the woman, just as I would not fault an ant for crawling on my arm or a panicking sheep in the presence of a predator.

Instead, I feel a sense of pity for her.

I consider myself… Fortunate to have embraced atheism from a young age, whereas she was not nearly as.

Like billions before her, she has been manipulated and exploited, trapped in the chains of a God who has long ceased any meaningful interaction to his ‘flock’; who can’t be bothered to send a ‘Hello’. Even her Faith, before my arrival, was shaking. The joy Misses Muriel must’ve felt as she caught sight of me on her screen–

“Pitiful…” I mutter, my voice tinged with a mixture of sympathy and sorrow as she drops on her rear-end, fearfully looking at the blood smeared over her palms. “How pitiful you all are.”

For many individuals, religious beliefs offer a sense of comfort and security, serving as a shield against the fear of death.

They find solace in the promise of an afterlife or the notion of divine protection. However, not all religious people truly seek to uphold the will of their respective Deities.

Some only do so to gain the favor or goodwill from their chosen Patrons.

In the case of Muriel, a woman who is battling cancer and unwilling to burden her loved ones with her prognosis, she clings to the hope that by killing me, God will grant her more time with her family. She is not evil, not good, just selfish as all living beings tend to be.

Yet, the actions of human beings rarely influence the will of a Deity. Despite all her prayers and sacrifices, “He won’t respond…” It is unlikely that God will intervene. “But… You already know that, don’t you?”

She’s gentle- afraid, yet desperate, and desperation can drive people to do insane things. Standing over her, I yank the bloody necklace poking near my vein, watching as it sizzles like a piece of chicken inside a boiling vat of oil. “God may’ve abandoned you, but I haven’t.” The backs of my hands gently caress her cheeks. “If God will not offer you help; if he will not allow you to stay with your family, why not accept the Devil’s?”

As the lady weeps, her congregation rushes towards us, only to discover an imperceptible barrier enclosing us. “No strings attached–”

A disconcerting gray hue, reminiscent of wriggling tentacles, permeates her skin, emanating an ambient power. “Consider this my good act of the day.” With a gentle touch, I bestow a kiss upon her forehead just as the burdens of aging and the tormenting pain that plagues her is negated. After Worthlessness, completes its task,

Muriel transforms into someone decades younger and million-times more aesthetically pleasing. Such is the effect of Demonic Mana, a powerful energy associated with sinning and temptations. While it can be destructive, it also presents allure and seduction, and what can be more irresistible to a dying woman than the… Promise of beauty and vitality. “Wh- What did you do to me?”

Grinning, I place the scorched cross gently into her palm. “Granted you a second chance at life. Cherish and make the most out of it.” I say.

I’m not doing this purely out of the goodness of my own heart.

There are cameras here, and had I reacted poorly, the Church would have been able to twist the narrative with the generational-wealth they’ve built up.

By helping Muriel- saving her, I benefit the most- build an image of a Demon that, while sinful certainly, is forgiving and merciful, plus after that display, her being ostracized by her congregation is a given.

And where will that lead her? Back to me. ‘Urgh…’ The Traits and Sins collectively groan at the meme as I hush. ‘Let me have this, you old crooks. Go back to the hovels where you came!’

Assisting Muriel as she rises to her feet, I let her to explore the transformations in tranquility before swiftly heading towards the entrance.

“Apologies, everyone. I still have tasks to complete. It’s my first day, and I wouldn’t want to push the boundaries too far!”

Before they can ask anything, I preemptively yell, responding to inquiries that have yet to be asked. “Yes, yes, I know, I’m a Demon. Money shouldn’t be an issue, creating gold’s in my list of powers, after all–”

I casually reveal. “But I don’t wanna flood the market until it’s dirt-cheap and tank the whole economy. You know how it is.”

A large section of my YouTube Channel deals with knowledge about wealth, nothing a quick Google can’t fix, but you’d be surprised how… Little people seem to care about their financial wellbeing, which is good for the whole actually, since the world simply can’t afford for everyone to be financially-responsible… The door closes shut behind me, as I quicken my pace, entering the elevator. “Mr. Goetia.”

The pretty receptionist greets, and I flash her my trademark smirk.

Even among the employees of Vought, there persists a certain level of reservation towards me, and that’s perfectly acceptable.

It would have been rather dull if everyone simply adored me without any.

Once inside the elevator, I hiss, clutching my bleeding neck. Normal steels can’t pierce my flesh, let alone the cheap, mass-produced filth used in that cross, yet it manages to penetrate my skin nevertheless. Not for the first time that week, I curse God, discreetly throwing the guy-upstairs the middle finger so the camera won’t catch my act.

The elevator chimes right on schedule as it arrives at the training room, where I anticipate finding the Seven. However, to my surprise, as the doors open, there is a noticeable absence of… Well… Anyone. Reaching into my pocket, I fetch my phone and dial Madelyn. “Madelyn, I am at the training room, and there’s no one.”

“– Now you understand my frustrations.”

I inform, not the slightest bit amused at the discovery as I pinch the bridge of my nose, all while holding back the urge to trash the floor. “Are they always this unprofessional?”

“– Noir and Maeve usually aren’t, but I’m guessing John has something to do with their absences. I’ll have our people look into it, in the meantime, do you want to… Have a talk in my office?” Despite the wording of her offer, I can’t shake the feeling that Ms. Stillwell has no intention of engaging in a conversation at all. Lust chuckles excitedly, bombarding me with visions of our extracurricular activities. “On my way.”

Revisiting the elevator, I patiently await its ascent to the top floor.

There, Madelyn graces the office on top of her desk, making a scene of checking out the stacks of documents held loosely in her hands, exuding a confident allure. Legs crossed, she offers a tantalizing glimpse of red beneath her black skirt. Her arms folded under her bountiful though not at all sagging breasts, serve merely to emphasize her well-maintained, and mature figure, while her choice of glasses adds to her commanding presence as the Lady Boss.

‘Bending her over’s going to be fun.’ A lecherous chuckle escapes from Lust’s throaty voice, while Pride, far calmer in comparison to his fellow Sin- restrained- follows suit with his remark. ‘Her kneeling before us will be quite the sight, as she’s ought to.’

“Mr. Reid…”

Madelyn Stillwell gazes up with a seductive glance, her glossy lips enticingly caressed by the tip of her tongue. To the uninitiated, such a gesture may have seemed innocent, but those more experienced could sense the underlying allure. “Take a seat.”

The Vice-President of Vought gestures towards the seat in front of her desk with clear anticipation. However, instead of complying, I purposefully bypass her and circle around the desk, before ultimately settling into her own comfortable chair. This course of actions, which I’d have never dared take as a regular human as it’d have obstructed my path of escape, is a power-move on my end.

Without uttering a word, I’ve told her I am obediently adhering to her perceived authority, not out of any genuine power she holds over me. Even the legal consequences that I seem to anticipate hold no real weight, as I am fully aware that should I desire to seize control of Vought, or even the entirety of the States and the world, no one except the powers-that-be could pose a true obstacle,

And considering the lack of intervention from any higher Entity since my arrival, I highly doubt any interference will occur now.

Madelyn shoots me a stern, penetrating glare, yet remains silent about my presence in the seat.

She leans back, extending her long, toned legs, and confidently rests her feet on my thighs and around my crotch. I raise my arms in a gesture that conveys surrender, as though silently acknowledging, ‘You’ve got me.’ All while my brain is being stuffed to the brim with imagines of a woman in her likeness moaning and mewling as I run my hands down her form. ‘Take her!’

Lust cheers, and for the first time, I comply.

My hands caress her feet for the briefest moment as our eyes meet, before I yank her off the desk, perfectly saddling me. How Ms. Stillwell’s landing is so smooth-sailing, I have Magic to thank. I’m smooth, but nowhere near that smooth. In more probable scenarios, she would have likely fallen in the wrong direction and gotten hurt… Nothing a little magic tricks can’t handle, fortunately. “You wanted to talk, Ms. Stillwell?”

Her heart races, pounding against her chest, as my hand glides up to her waist, our lips tantalizingly close- just inches apart. “Seems a bit too late for that, isn’t it?” Madelyn teases, grinding against my hardened member, arms thrown haphazardly over my shoulders. “A bit?”

A playful chuckle escapes me, echoing her words, as I pull her even closer, closing the enticing space between our lips. “Just a bit.” Madelyn says stubbornly, before leaving the ghost of a kiss on my mouth. One hand on her waist, one on her rear-end, I grin. “What do you say we leave the talking to our bodies instead, Ms. Stillwell?”

“That sounds– Ah~”

Madelyn gasps as my hand squeezes her cheek.

“Wonderful, Mr. Reid.”

“Do you have spare clothes?” I inquire, not actually interested in whether she does or not as sound of sloppy wetness echoes from her crotch. “I- I~”

“Never mind.”

Like a barbarian, I rip her skirt to shreds, silently sending a burst of Magic to scan the office for bugs and cameras that may be privy to our tryst. A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, after all. If I do happen to make sex tapes, it’ll be on DVD hidden in a location only I know so nobody can get the footage and use it against me. Not that blackmail would’ve worked, given my public persona.

I’m in the Heroes Division as a consultant and associate, not the NK’s Pleasure Squad.

With a harsh pull, I yank at her hair, forcing Madelyn to expose her neck to me as I trace gentle kisses down to her collarbone.

As the phone on her desk rings, I, with all the grace expected from a noble, answers the call, “Wait– No~” Completely disregarding Stillwell’s attempts to stop me as I put her hands behind her back- tied with Worthlessness. Moments later, a voice on the other end utters, clearly having had a guess at what we’re doing, “Ms. Stillwell? As per your request, the Seven have returned and are waiting in the training room.”

“Yesss~” Madelyn hisses- sounding almost frustrated as my fingers hook her lacy panties. Whether she’s addressing the receptionist or me, one can only guess. “Te- Tell the– Uhm!”

The next to go is her white blouse, discarded and thrown haphazardly on the floor to reveal she’s wearing the whole set beneath. “Should I be concerned my immediate superior seems to lust after my body?”

The receptionist comes to a halt, and I can almost imagine the intense blush adorning her face. “– Goetia, sir? Should I end the call or–” I squeeze Madelyn’s breast, causing the woman to lactate, leaving wet spots on her brassiere. “You don’t have to.” I ask, my tone remaining composed and unaltered, as if I’m not toying with her superior like a fiddle. “Are you alone, love?”

The voice doesn’t respond for a while, but I know she’s still there- listening to Madelyn’s heavy and labored moans. “– I- I am, sir… The crowd has vacated after you left, and- and–”

Spreading the stunning blonde’s ass-cheeks, my fingers caress her labia as she throws her head back. Private parts are delicate, and as much as some men would like to believe just shoving things in will be pleasurable, that’s not how it works.

Real life isn’t like those Japanese drawings, while a big member can be a huge plus for most men, knowing where to touch; when to touch matters. “Why don’t you let loose a bit then? Let your imagination run wild, we will be providing you with the contents.”

Madelyn looks like she wants to protest, but a gentle flick at her clitoris silences all objections in an instant.

“– The- The Seven, they’re–”

“If they’re there, put the phone on speaker.”

I order firmly.

I am a man of focus, commitment, and an sheer fucking will, but patience isn’t a virtue when it’s wasted on fools. I don’t appreciate having been made to wait, let alone have my authority challenged by a bumbling man-child that is Homelander. I hope he’s there. He can listen while I fuck the woman he believed was exclusively his. “– They’re not here, sir. But I don’t think they’ll appreciate being left in the training room, especially when we called them back to begin with…”

I pause for a moment, allowing a hint of amusement to flicker in my eyes before responding. “No guest, no Seven–” I echo, feigning confusion impeccably. As a Cryptid Hunter, it is essential to be a skilled actor so we can manipulate the narrative and ensure the public remain unaware. Although I can’t claim to have been an A-Class actor, this kind of things seem to come natural for Demons.

I lean forward, intensity permeating my voice as Madelyn’s back arches, her honeypot oozing all over my pants. “Then what’re you afraid of?” Like the snake that tempted Adam and Eve, I huskily whisper. “Reach down to your dress, love… Your body may be more honest than your tongue.”

Sensing a resentful gaze piercing the side of my face, I let out a chuckle, “Speaking of…” Letting Stillwell slide off my lap, resting snuggly under the desk. “Why don’t you show me what that tongue can do, sweetheart?”

People, men and women alike, are competitive. While the receptionist isn’t here, the mere fact she’s taking up so much of my attention is unacceptable for a woman who has been in control for the majority of her life. It’ll serve as decent motivation for Madelyn. “My hands–” I hush, interjecting. “You still have a mouth, right? Figure it out.”

It takes a while, but eventually she manages to unzip my pants, pulling it down using her teeth as my cock springs from the boxer-brief. “Work that tongue, sweetheart.”

I gently nudge the blonde to my member, then turn my attention to the receptionist. “Have you done as told?”

“I– Sir, I~” If there was doubt in me before, there is no longer as the woman on the line heaves heavily, clearly holding back a moan. “Do you need descriptions to work with? I don’t mind providing you some.” Casting a glance at Madelyn, who’s working hard to please me, I smirk.

“I’m sure Ms. Stillwell won’t mind either.”