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If you were walking past the Jade Blossom and looked through the storefront window, you could see them, to the left of the flickering neon OPEN sign and to the right of the roast duck and crispy pork belly hanging on display. Three young men, the oldest among them only about twenty-five, sitting at a wooden table, drinking from bottles that they clearly brought from outside the restaurant, slurping on chow mein or inspecting a piece of General Tso's chicken held inexpertly between chopsticks. They all had slim, youthful builds, with just the slightest hint of a tan on their skin. If it weren't for their disparate hair colors-one dark haired, one wheat-blond, and one auburn-you'd think they were brothers. The youngest of them, the blond who looked like he had only just turned eighteen, smoked a cigarette as though he was daring someone to tell him it wasn't allowed indoors.

You would think they were just college kids looking for a post-bar snack to get out of the rain, were it not for the golden halos hovering above their heads.

"He's taking his sweet fucking time," the blond groused. He exhaled through his nose, and cigarette smoke plumed from his nostrils.

"That's Isaac for you," the dark-haired angel said, with a resigned shrug. He slurped on a chow mein noodle, satisfied, before taking a swig from the bottle of beer he had brought in.

"How long's he been around again? Five millennia, right? You'd think he'd learn to be punctual after five millennia."

"You'd think five hundred years is enough time to learn how to give notice when you're bringing over one of your fuckbuddies, too," the dark-haired angel responded, a teasing smirk on his face.

"Shut it, Barnabas." The blond angel picked up a cube of pork from his plate and popped it into his mouth, glaring at his roommate, best friend and worst enemy.

"Maybe the MTA's on strike," the auburn-haired angel said, his tone dreamy and a little distant. The blond rolled his eyes, exasperated.

"We're angels, Eli. We don't need to use the subway."

"I use the subway sometimes," Eli said. "But that's usually when I'm in London. New York's subways are boring."

"That's 'cuz you're a fucking weirdo, though. Isaac's cool."

"'Oh, he's so cool,'" Barnabas said, in a girlish falsetto mockery of his friend's voice. "'I just want him to pick me up in his strong arms and-'"

"Barney, I swear to fucking God that I'll-"

"Zacharias!" a scandalized voice exclaimed. The three angels looked up, saw who it was, and groaned like the hall monitor just approached their table.

"What the hell are you doing here, Gabe?" Zach rolled his eyes and finished off his beer bottle.

Gabriel's youthful green eyes flashed with indignance, and he placed his hands on his hips. "Because you three weren't there when Aaron called muster this evening, and I took it upon myself to track you down."

Barney scoffed. "Aaron doesn't even give a shit about muster. He keeps tabs on us, muster's just ceremonial."

Gabriel seemed genuinely alarmed and confused by this breach of protocol. "Well, maybe you don't give a...a shoot, but I do! We're supposed to be exemplars of God's grace!" His voice was as soft and boyish as ever, but it was clear from the way that he talked that this was something the young angel was very passionate about.

Eli turned his head and spoke to Gabriel as pleasantly as he could. "We are exemplars of God's grace," he said, with the patient, gentle tone of a grade school teacher. "It's our job to carry out His will, and we do that job as best we can. Well, most of us." He spared a glance at Zach, who pretended not to notice. "But it's a job, Gabriel. We're allowed to punch out every now and then."

"But how?" Gabriel asked. His hands were balled up into fists, more out of tension than anything else (even if he was willing to hurt so much as a fly, the boy would lose in a fight to Shirley MacLaine). "How could God let you...punch out? He created us!"

"Have you ever met God?" Eli asked.

Gabriel blinked, and he looked aside sheepishly. "Well, no, but-"

"I have," Eli said. "Nice guy, very understanding."

Zach, who had been watching the exchange quietly up to this point, had an idea pop into his head. As soon as it came to him, he knew he had to speak up immediately; if he thought about it for more than a few seconds, he'd talk himself out of it.

"You know, speaking of God," he said, after taking a drag from his cigarette, "I saw His secretary the other day."

Gabriel immediately forgot about any infractions and turned his attention to Zach. Were he a dog, his ears would have been pricked up.

"Oh? You mean Raphael?"

"Yup," Zach said, a smile curling across his lips. "And he said that you've got a very interesting assignment coming up. God picked you for it Himself."

A look of disbelief came across Gabriel's face, swiftly replaced with sheer giddy joy. "Really?" He was practically hopping up and down out of excitement.

"That's right. I'm not gonna lie to you, though, it's a really tough assignment. Raph said he tried to talk Him out of it, but He insisted. He said you can handle it."

Gabriel knew that it wasn't proper to swell with pride like this, but he felt like he was going to explode! "What is it? What is it what is it what is it what is it?" His cute, freckled face beamed.

"Well, I dunno if I should tell you," Zach said. "It might be against the rules, y'know?"

"Oh, like that's stopped you before!" Gabriel leaned in across the table, wheedling Zach. "C'mon, pleeeeeeeease?~"

"Alright," Zach said. He leaned in, put his lips up against Gabriel's ear, and whispered.

For just a moment, the young angel's ecstatic smile faded. His green eyes were big and glassy, and his jubilant glow faded and turned pale.

"...really? H-him?" Zach nodded.

Then, as though that slip hadn't happened, Gabriel smiled again, waving to all three angels and giggling.

"Thanks so much for telling me, Zach! Have a blessed night, all of you!"

As Gabriel raced out the door of the Jade Blossom, Barnabas and Eli leaned in and goggled at Zach.

"What the hell did you tell him? What's he gonna do?"

Zach leaned back, with a smug smile on his face. "Our favorite little do-gooder," he said, his voice dripping with schadenfreude, "is going to meet Jacob Prince."

A silence came over the table. The only sound, for a moment, was the pen of the old Chinese woman writing down a take-out order.

"The poor thing," Eli said, finishing off his bottle.

"What can I say?" The blond angel shrugged. "It's God's plan."

---

When talking about someone like Jacob, it's often a good idea to start with the plain facts and work your way up from there. There's a comforting quality to plain facts, particularly when applied to people; they remind us that even the most elite members of society are human like the rest of us. Think about how much more approachable and mundane a description "5'7" brunette woman with blue eyes" is compared to "Angelina Jolie". And so, in that spirit, here are some of the plain facts about Jacob Prince:

Jacob Walcott Prince was born on August 5, 1998, to two exceedingly normal and decent Lucarios named Paul and Caroline. Paul Prince worked in middle management for a power tool company, while Caroline Prince (née Tarnowski) was a receptionist in a dentist's office. He lived in Creekwood, Ohio, a town ten miles from the Indiana border, until he was five years old, at which point his father's job required the family to move to a Columbus suburb called Browning. He had no brothers or sisters.

Jacob matured quickly, both physically and intellectually. While most Riolus don't evolve into Lucarios until they were well into their teens, Jacob evolved only a few days before his twelfth birthday. By the time he had fully grown, Jacob had grown into a toned, thick-bodied stud, and he had reached a towering 8'5" (anthros often grow taller than humans, and Pokemon still taller than anthros, but his height still raised some eyebrows). Despite this bulk, he had a sharp mind, and got strong grades in all his classes; he finished in the top 10 of his graduating class in high school.

Even then, though, his true talent was in sports. Jacob played three sports in high school, and excelled in all of them. As a soccer player, he was the standout player on a mediocre team; as a football player, he was a dominant defensive end for his team, helping them all the way to a statewide championship; as a wrestler, he was unbeatable, handling even the most skilled opponents and making them look like children. Almost all of the school's wrestling records belong to Jacob, and those plaques aren't likely to come down anytime soon.

These are all objective facts. But to really understand Jacob Prince, you need to know how he made other people feel.

Like how his classmates felt seeing him walk down the hall, the crowd of bustling students and confused freshmen parting like the Red Sea in front of him. How his cool grey eyes looked at his surroundings as though he was an army general surveying a conquered territory, how his jersey showed off blue-furred biceps that were as firm as a truck tire, how his sneakers thumped heavily on the linoleum floor.

Like how his teammates felt, ogling him in the locker room, gawking at his sheer size. Staring at his stocky form, thick with muscle and padded with fat. Sneaking peeks at his fat uncut dick, his heavy low-hanging balls, his gloriously fat, juicy, hairy ass. Experiencing an odd blend of fear and excitement when he caught them looking.

Like how his opponents felt standing across the wrestling mat from him, or on the other side of the offensive line. How they were manhandled and dragged about at will, how they were twisted into a pretzel until they tapped, how he stood up in that tight red singlet and his body rippled. How he looked like a faceless monster with his hand in the dirt waiting for the snap, how they dreaded every snap when he would burst into the backfield and completely ravage them, how they felt less like a player and more like a victim.

Or like how those he bullied felt when they caught a glimpse of his titanic form. How they were gagged with ripe, sweaty jocks, how they were used as seat cushions for hours and came away with concussions, how they screamed when he spread his hairy blue cheeks and ripped ass in their face, how their hearts sank when he stole their girlfriends, how he didn't seem to be angry or upset or even particularly worked up about the bullying. How he seemed faintly amused by their struggles, or their disgust, or their pain. How he imprinted himself on their psyches, even decades later. How he owned them, even now.

So. We have the facts, and we have the feeling. Now all we need is a victim.

---

Jacob had just returned from football practice, and he wasn't in any hurry to make himself busy for the rest of the day. It was a long afternoon; not particularly difficult, since Jacob didn't seem to find much of anything particularly difficult, but long all the same. It was right in the thick of an Indian summer, too, and the unseasonably warm weather made the Lucario sweat buckets. That wouldn't have been an issue, but the skinny towel boy that Jacob usually used as a sweat rag after practice was sick today, leaving the big guy to rinse himself off only to work up another sweat during the drive home. The absence of that towel boy (whose name he couldn't remember-Dan, Don, Doug? Something with a D) was what annoyed him more than anything; there was nothing more satisfying after a long practice than making that pencil-necked little bitch gag on his ripe, hairy armpits, and going without it just put him in a bad mood.

Well, no sense in dwelling on it. Jacob lay on the massive leather couch in his living room, reclining in the air conditioning with an ice cold bottle of beer. He was almost completely naked; the only things he wore was a pair of tube socks (red and white, the college colors) and a cream-colored jockstrap. Even now, the leather under his massive body squelched and stuck to his fur from all the sweat, but he didn't mind too much-right now, he just wanted to drink his beer, put on ESPN, and zone out for a bit.

Tp tp tp.

When the knock at the door came, he almost didn't hear it. The air conditioner was humming, the TV was droning on about AP rankings, and the knock itself was so timid and soft that it sounded accidental. Jacob shrugged his broad shoulders, took another swig of his beer bottle, and ignored it. He was in the middle of wondering when that needy little Glaceon cunt he stole from his team's backup quarterback would text him begging for dick pics when he heard it again.

Tp tp tp tp tp.

Jacob looked over to the front door and thought for a moment. If he kept ignoring it, would it go away eventually? Probably, but that never really satisfied him. The massive Lucario stud got a kick out of answering the door, preferably in just his underwear or even less, just to see the look on their faces. He felt personally responsible for the lack of Jehovah's Witnesses coming door to door in his neighborhood, and thinking about it made him glow with pride. But maybe one of them didn't get the hint?

Tp tp tp tp tp tp tp.

With a grunt, Jacob sat up off of the couch, getting on his feet and glaring at the front door. Unless it was the towel boy come back to give him an apology rimjob for missing practice, he didn't want to hear about it. He walked over to the front door, unlocked it, and opened it, looking down at the poor soul who decided to fuck up his post-practice peace and quiet.

"Yeah?"

Looking up at him was a short, boyish young man, with a curly head of golden-brown hair and big green eyes that grew bigger the longer he looked at the Lucario. He looked like any other college kid, were it not for the golden halo above his head and the white, feathered wings that fluttered nervously as he looked up at Jacob. The boy cleared his throat, tried to regain his composure, and spoke up.

"Um. Hello?"

Jacob leaned against the doorframe, taking another swig from his beer bottle. "Yeah?"

"Is this the home of Jacob Prince?"

"Yeah."

Gabriel took a deep breath, before checking the slip of paper that he held in his hands. "Jacob Walcott Prince? 233 Thorne Street, Browning, Ohio?"

"Mhm." Jacob crossed his arms over his bare, burly chest and frowned down at Gabriel.

"Student at-"

"You've got the right person," Jacob interrupted, his deep, authoritative voice cutting through Gabriel's boyish, hesitant one. His tone showed just a hint of annoyance, but just that hint was enough to silence the angel. For a moment, the only sound was that of the lawnmower, puttering across the grass of the house a few doors away.

Gabriel swallowed. "I've got the right person," he repeated. "Good." It sounded like he was trying to convince himself. He looked back down at the piece of paper in his hand before speaking up again.

"Jacob! Today is your lucky day." The angel's voice was louder now, and more confident. His voice still quivered slightly, but he was clearly in his element. "God, in His eternal grace and wisdom, is giving you a second chance. He is offering you the opportunity to rebuke your life of sin, and the opportunity to walk the path of the pure and righteous."

Gabriel looked up, hopefully, at Jacob, who stared at him impassively.

"Odd, they usually cheer," the angel said, under his breath, before returning to the confident evangelism of his script. "A man as strong and as smart as you would be a formidable soldier of God. It would be a tragedy to see a promising young man like you succumb to the seductive wiles of vice! Why, when you could have been spreading the Word of the Lord, you were..."

The angel continued on, but Jacob wasn't listening at this point. He was looking at Gabriel; at his porcelain-pale skin, at his honey-colored curls, at his big green eyes that seemed to shine with God's love. He was looking at the pair of wings that fluttered as Gabriel spoke, soft and feathery. He was looking at the halo above Gabriel's head, awash with a faint golden glow. He looked at the being in front of him, looking like a dream of an angel that a young child might have.

With a relaxed curiosity, Jacob wondered what it would be like to destroy such a creature as this, to crush his soul beneath his boot, to grind up his self-worth and spit on it, to rip him out of the arms of his creator and show him what it means to serve a true God. He imagined that it could be a great deal of fun, drawing the angel into his dark heart and poisoning every bit of him until nothing sweet and light remained. It would make for a nice little project, at least.

"So? How does that sound?" Gabriel, having finished his speech, returned to his eager, over-earnest self, smiling up at Jacob with a giddy sort of anticipation. It looked like he couldn't wait to get to work. The Lucario smiled, but not for the reason that Gabriel thought.

"Come inside."

Before Jacob could even turn around to go inside himself, Gabriel had made his way up the steps and ran through the door, practically bursting with enthusiasm. That enthusiasm faded only slightly, of course, when he looked over the Lucario's living room, wrinkling his nose.

"Smells a bit strong, doesn't it?" he said, quietly. The angel looked at the beat-up leather couch, at the scattered beer cans and fast food wrappers, at the basket of dirty laundry in the corner, and thought about doing a bit of tidying up. You can't cleanse your soul if you can't cleanse your living room, after-

Gabriel was in the middle of that train of thought when he felt a pair of strong hands grab his wings at the base. He yelped out like a dog, turning his head around to glare at the Lucario behind him, before he was lifted into the air, wings stretched out to the side and held in place with Jacob's iron grip.

"Ow! OW! OW! Let go of me!" Gabriel kicked his legs about, gritting his teeth from the pain of being held up by such sensitive wings. "I-I command you in the name of the Lord! I order you in the name of God to-GAAAAAAAAAAH!"

With the steely, brutal force of an ancient golem, Jacob began to pull at the angel's wings, yanking at them from the base and ignoring Gabriel's thrashing and crying. The angel may as well have been a fly trying to escape a spider's web.

"AH! AHHH! AUUUUUUGH! STOP STOP STOP PLEASE STOP PLEASE I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M-GYAAAAAAAH!" He threw his head back, wailing in agony as the Lucario pulled and pulled and pulled. The angel's voice, always so quiet and mousy and demure, was now shrieking as though he had been set on fire.

As the wings began to weaken, and as Gabriel's screams grew louder and more panicked, Jacob began to hear a curious sound. It was quiet at first, as though it was coming from another room, but as the sadistic brute continued to torment the angel it grew louder. Perhaps "louder" wasn't even the right word; there was simply more of it, another voice joining the first noise before being joined by a few more after that. Soon it was a choir, and soon after that it was another choir, and as Jacob kept yanking at Gabriel's wings and as Gabriel kept shrieking and keening and wailing there was still another choir, all of the voices shouting and singing and shrieking and moaning and gasping and choking and reaching a crescendo and howling and ululating and humming and hissing and reaching the top of their registers and sounding like they were being licked by hellfire and finally-

-with a sound like cloth being ripped in half, and with a burst of down feathers coming from Gabriel's back, the angel's wings were torn off, and the angel dropped to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. Where the wings should have been on Gabriel's back, there was a glowing golden light, and when it faded there were two big scars at what was once the base. Those wings twitched and spasmed in Jacob's hands until he dropped them on the ground next to the weeping creature, where they shuddered and went still. The chorus had stopped.

Jacob, on the other hand, was only getting started. He stepped over the shuddering, quietly sobbing angel, bending over and taking a closer look at the halo that seemed to hover a few inches above Gabriel's sweet head. It was gold, and if he listened closely Jacob could hear a very soft hum. If he was more curious about it, he would have inspected further. He wasn't very curious.

The halo was easier to pull off than the angel's wings. Then again, the halo wasn't physically attached to Gabriel, but there was still some sort of invisible force that kept it in place-it was like fighting a magnetic pull. Even so, Jacob only needed a couple of tugs before it came free in his hand, still glowing and still humming. Gabriel flinched once it was yanked free, but it didn't seem to hurt him much. Jacob frowned, and swung his leg forward. That made the angel yelp out, rolling onto his back and clutching his side. The Lucario stepped over him and lowered his head, smiling that small, close-lipped smile of his.

"Look at me," he said. Gabriel just cringed and turned his head, which earned him a slap to the face that made his ears ring. Jacob's strong, thick fingers clutched the angel's yellow curls, holding his head still. Dewy green eyes looked up into the Lucario's steel-grey gaze.

"I want you to take a good look," Jacob continued, in his calm, low voice that seemed to thrum from his chest. "This is the face of your new God." Gabriel's ragged breaths turned back to pitiful cries when he heard the Lucario's blasphemy, which only made him press on further.

"I am your Lord. I am your alpha and your omega. I am your stars, your moon, your sun. Nothing will come before me." Jacob chuckled, watching Gabriel writhe in terror beneath him. "I will take everything inside you that is precious and holy, and I will ruin it. I will coat your soul with grime and oil and coal dust until no light remains. I will crush you. Do you understand me, boy? Say 'yes, Master Jacob' if you understand me."

He watched Gabriel's face. His eyes were squeezed shut, tears ran down his freckled cheeks, and his lips frantically mouthed the Lord's Prayer.

Jacob shook his head and clicked his tongue.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Well, I'm in no hurry."

His grin spread wider, and Gabriel could see his wicked fangs.

"I've got all the time in the world."

---

It was appropriate that Gabriel's descent into the depths of depravity and despair began by being dragged down the basement stairs. Quite literally dragged, as a matter of fact; Jacob had a grip on the angel's ankle, and Gabriel barely put up a fight as his chin _bump bump bump_ed down the steps. He wasn't a fighter, he was a lover-of God, anyway. But he had the sinking feeling, bubbling in his stomach and growing stronger the more he thought about it, that this wouldn't be a problem he could power through with the love of God.

As Jacob reached the bottom of the stairs and continued dragging Gabriel behind him, the angel realized what he was thinking and immediately cut it out. How could he, a literal angel, infused with God's love, have so little faith? How could he let the nervous feeling in his gut override what he knew to be right, and just, and pure? He promised himself that, no matter what may come, he would go forward with the grace of the Lord.

Of course, that was before he saw the cage.

"Um..."

Jacob tilted his head as he looked down at Gabriel, as though he wasn't sure what the angel didn't understand about the situation. "Well? Get in there." The Lucario crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at the angel who gazed blankly up at the monstrous Pokemon jock. When Jacob's foot swung forward to kick Gabriel in the side, he made a noise so pathetic that the Lucario had half a mind to end it here instead of trying to break him, but seeing those lips move in silent prayer made him decide to continue. There was further this angel could fall.

"Get in there," he repeated, lower and slower. Gabriel shuddered, the cold air of the basement already making the naked angel shudder, before slinking into the cage like a poor abused little puppy.

"Puppy" was the right word. The cage was no bigger than the average crate one would use to house-train an unruly little dog; a child might have been able to fit inside, although there wouldn't be much room to spare, but to cram Gabriel into the cage seemed almost impossible. Yet those cold eyes of Jacob demanded the impossible, and what Jacob wanted, Jacob got. The bars of the cage were cold to the touch, and made marks against Gabriel's smooth skin, and he whined as Jacob closed the cage door and locked it.

"Now, I don't have time for you today, little worm," Jacob said; his deep, velvety voice had long since crossed the line from enticing to sinister. "I don't know if I can fit you in tomorrow, either. It might be a little while 'til I let you out. But patience is a virtue, isn't it?"

Gabriel gave another quavery little groan as Jacob smiled, his pearly whites glinting in the dim light of the basement. "I know, I know, you must be so disappointed," Jacob said. "But because I'm such a sweet guy, I'm going to give you a little something to keep you company through the long, cold night." Gabriel perked his head up, which Jacob thought was just adorable-the reflexive belief that people were good would be a hard one to break, but it would be fun work indeed.

The Lucario lowered his hands to his waist, hooking his thumbs into his white jockstrap and pulling it down the thick, beefy pillars that he called legs. He stepped out of them, watching Gabriel's eyes go saucer-wide, before sliding it through the bars of the cage.

"Say 'thank you, Master Jacob'."

His only answer was the shivers and ragged breaths of the fallen angel.

"Let me try that again." Jacob cleared his throat, the towering Lucario looking down at the little angel as though he was a pagan god and Gabriel was a sacrificial lamb at the altar. "Say 'thank you, Master Jacob', or I'm going to rip your tongue out and shove it up your asshole."

Gabriel's voice was thin and piping, but it was clear. "T-thank you, Master Jacob...!"

"Good faggot. See? You're making progress already." Jacob smirked and turned, making his way up the basement steps and swaying his hips, letting that fat blue hairy ass bounce and wobble as he moved. "Sleep tight," he said, calling back to Gabriel over his shoulder.

A sweaty jockstrap made for a poor blanket, but it was better than nothing, and Jacob was big enough that his jock would do a better job of it than the average person's. Gabriel cuddled it close against his body, wrinkling his nose from the uniquely pungent and masculine scent that practically radiated off of it, and tried very hard not to think about the mess he was in. As he so often did, Gabriel turned to prayer.

Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Blessed are thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of-

Gabriel blinked, and shook his head as much as he was able to in these strict confines. Temporary lapse of memory. Happened to the best of them (so he was told). He tried again.

Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, our daily bread...

Gabriel made a face and groaned. Maybe it was just stress. It had to be, right? He certainly wasn't forgetting his prayers-he had said them millions and millions of times over his years of existence, he couldn't just...

He didn't want to finish that sentence. He held the jockstrap closer to his naked body, the meager warmth it provided still not enough to keep him from shivering, and he closed his eyes. The only sound in the basement was the thrum of the dryer and the subconscious little whines from the imprisoned angel in the little cage.

And so began Gabriel's descent into Hell. It's a happy story, if you look at it right.

---

A few days went by before Gabriel was allowed out of the cage (he couldn't bear to think of it as "his" cage). The chill of the dank, dimly-lit basement made the angel boy shiver, and he tried to get as much warmth from the Lucario's huge jockstrap as he could manage. Since he was an angel, he didn't need food or water, and consequently didn't need to relieve himself. Jacob occasionally went down to the basement to flip laundry or fetch a case of beer, but no matter how much Gabriel whined and cried the Lucario acted like he didn't even exist. He would simply dump his laundry basket into the drum of the washing machine, or crack open a bottle with his teeth, before heading back upstairs without a thought.

All the while, the angel was being tortured; because Gabriel was naive and thought that torture was an active rather than a passive act, he didn't recognize it for what it was. The cramped, rigid confines of the cage were ideal for forcing him into stress positions; that is, making him contort into any number of uncomfortable positions, keeping him from stretching, making the muscles of his body raw and sore. After a day, he was screaming out in pain; a day after that, even screaming was too painful.

By the time Jacob opened the cage's gate and let the angel out, all Gabriel could do was lay on the cold, hard floor, his arms and legs so stiff that they were practically locked into position. He made no sound; he breathed, but only with great difficulty. Jacob, of course, was perfectly pleasant and sympathetic to the angel's plight.

"Get up, you little pussy," he said, aiming a kick at Gabriel's ribs that made the angel squeak like a worn-down dog toy. "You've had enough time to rest. Now, it's time to play."

Looking up at the Lucario behemoth, Gabriel could tell that this "playtime" would be fun for Jacob and only Jacob. There was that omnipresent glint in his icy eyes, the distant, vaguely amused sort of sadism that Gabriel imagined a demon would have; there was the clothes Jacob was wearing, his football jersey on top and nothing on the bottom; and there was that big, fat, flaccid, uncut dick, swinging pendulously to and fro in front of the angel's eyes. Gabriel gulped, and hoped that God would realize what was happening soon enough to sort it out.

He had soothed himself over the last few days with those thoughts-that God would send a big bolt of lightning down to strike Jacob and fry him to a crisp, that He would give Gabriel a new pair of wings and replace his halo, that He would be able to return all of this to as it was before. It helped keep Gabriel grounded.

And yet, as he crawled up the stairs behind Jacob and looked up at the Lucario's ass, Gabriel found himself consumed with icy dread. The Lucario's ass was simply gargantuan, bouncing and wobbling like a bowl of big blue Jell-O as he walked up the stairs. It was muscled, clearly, but there was enough fat that it looked like it could swallow someone's face all on its own. It was sweaty and hairy and juicy and fat, and looking at it Gabriel began to realize that this might not have an end, that this ass might completely own him from now until the end of time. He tried to shake that thought, but it would never go away for very long.

Gabriel knew about the basics of Jacob before embarking, but he had no idea why he had this much power over him. He was an angel! He was a conduit of God's will! Even if he abhorred violence, and even if he was woefully ill-suited to an actual fight, he should carry at least some authority. He should be able to use his powers to bring this nasty, sadistic jock in line and really put the fear of God into him. If he was operating at full strength, it would be trivial to do something like that.

But Gabriel wasn't operating at full strength, and what was worse was that he didn't know why. Why couldn't he summon the nerve? Why couldn't he smite him? Why did he feel so far from home, and yet, queasily, like he was right where he belonged? That fatty, bouncy ass bobbing up and down before his eyes held all the answers.

If Jacob knew what was going through the angel's mind, he didn't care. He yawned and stretched as he walked over to the couch, settling back down and grunting as he felt the leather cling to his sweat-kissed body. He had been up for some time before going downstairs to fetch Gabriel; a cup of coffee rested on the side table, as did a few Styrofoam containers that were filled with the crumbs of the morning's breakfast. The television was on, and a football game was being played by two teams that Gabriel, due to his general lack of common knowledge, couldn't identify.

"Let's see how well you can follow directions, fagmeat," Jacob said, with another yawn. "Go into the front room and fetch me my cleats." And, because the Lucario knew that the angel would try differently, he added clarifications. "Fetch them with your mouth like the dog you are." This insult wasn't said with much venom; it was, simply, the command of a man who knew his place in the world--and that place was on the strained backs of weaker beings like the angel before him.

When Gabriel nodded and went to fetch Jacob's cleats, the Lucario shook his head. "No," he said, simply. "Answer me when I give you an order."

Gabriel froze in his kneeling position, his blood running cold. "Yes, Master," he answered, demurely. Jacob rolled his eyes, snorting.

"Fuck 'Master'. Anyone can be a 'Master'. I'm Master Jacob. Got it?"

Gabriel winced, but nodded. "Yes, Master Jacob."

"Good faggot. Now, go." Jacob made a dismissive hand gesture, and Gabriel crawled into the front room, his bottom lip quivering.

The cleats were, unsurprisingly, massive; the Lucario had big, hefty, size 16 feet, and the cleats were heavy enough that it was almost difficult to pick them up even without using only your mouth. The angel placed his mouth over the foot holes in a way that could carry both cleats, and he crawled back out of the front room, looking for all the world like a poor, abused, angelically boyish puppy.

When he dropped the cleats in front of Jacob's feet, the angel looked up at the titanic Lucario expectantly. Jacob looked back in turn, and tilted his head.

"What are you waiting for?"

Gabriel swallowed, still trying to work the salty, sour taste out of his mouth. "Huh?"

"I said, what are you waiting for?" Jacob's voice remained at that smooth, even tone, but there was a tightness around the edges that implied something truly nasty.

"Um..."

Had the angel been a little more experienced and less naive, he would have phrased this next statement in a way that wouldn't have gotten his ass kicked.

"I didn't think you wanted me to do anything else?"

Back in the 18th century, Gabriel had misplaced some paperwork, which ended up causing a small famine in what is now known as Slovenia. As celestial mistakes go, it was fairly minor (the most notable result of the famine was that it set in motion a domino effect that, hundreds of years down the line, resulted in the birth of the current First Lady of the United States, and by that point the whole thing was water under the bridge). But Gabriel's supervisor at the time, an ill-tempered angel by the name of Sariel, was furious. He stood up in front of everybody and screamed at Gabriel for what felt like hours, ripping into him with a ferocity that brought him to tears in front of all the other angels. Nobody much cared for Sariel, and even the angels who didn't like Gabriel were on his side, but that was small comfort for the poor kid. He had never felt so small and powerless.

Until the moment, directly following Gabriel's ill-advised response, when Jacob narrowed his eyes.

By the time the huge Lucario lifted his hand, Gabriel was already blubbering out barely-coherent apologies and pleas for mercy, all of which were silenced the moment Jacob smacked him across the face. The angel fell face-down on the floor, going still for a moment as though he had been knocked out cold by a slap to the face. And yet, soon enough, he started to twitch and shudder, making a woozy noise somewhere between a sob and a wheeze.

Making a point to ignore Gabriel, Jacob reached down and began to lace up his cleats. For such a big man, his hands moved quickly and deftly; he was huge, but he wasn't clumsy. When he was done, he stood up to his full height, looking down at Gabriel, his cold grey eyes alive with something evil.

"I shouldn't have to tell you to put my cleats on," Jacob said, quietly. The angel gave another muffled sob into the carpet, which sounded a little like 'I'm sorry.'

"I shouldn't have to tell you to put my cleats on," Jacob repeated. "I shouldn't have to tell you to call me Master Jacob. I shouldn't have to tell you to sniff my cleats before you pick them up. I shouldn't have to tell you to thank me for the treat of hitting you. I shouldn't have to tell you anything." He stepped over in front of Gabriel, frowning down at him. "You really are a useless cunt, aren't you?

Gabriel tried to lift his head to look up at the Lucario who owned him, only to be greeted with a foot swinging forward. Something crunched, and Gabriel howled and cupped his nose, rolling onto his back. Jacob smiled.

"Say 'thank you, Master Jacob.'"

The angel was too busy hyperventilating and holding his nose together to say anything. Jacob repeated himself.

"Say 'thank you, Master Jacob."

"Thhhnyuuumaaaarrrjaauuub," Gabriel choked out. His eyes were squeezed shut, and his fingers were stained red.

Jacob shook his head. He circled back around the form of the fallen angel, standing over him and thinking for a second.

"No," he said. "That's not it, either."

He lifted his foot up, and Gabriel howled as the spiked cleats slammed down onto his naked stomach. His hands shot away from his face and went to grab at Jacob's ankle, desperately trying to pry that horrible trampling force off of him. His boyish, freckled face was a mess of blood and tears, and he made a noise like a fawn stuck in a wood chipper. Jacob just laughed.

"Calm down," he said. "It's not even breaking skin."

This was true; Jacob's weight combined with the metal cleats should have done something horrible to Gabriel's belly, and yet it seemed as though Gabriel's skin was made of hardy stuff. Perhaps with his halo on, he was invulnerable; now, it just made him an even better toy to play with.

One cleat became two, both of them barely fitting on Gabriel's belly as they were stood side by side. Gabriel's cries only grew higher-pitched, and he redoubled his efforts to pull the Lucario's trampling feet away.

"Say 'thank you, Master Jacob,'" he repeated, once again.

"Goff! Getough! Getoff! Getoff!" Half-intelligible, Gabriel kept trying to stop the huge Pokemon's crushing force.

"I wonder how many ways I could break those fingers," Jacob asked, casually, and those hands shot back like Jacob was a venomous snake, going back to covering the angel's nose.

Jacob looked down at his feet, lifting up his left cleat and placing it further up Gabriel's body. Now, instead of standing on his belly like the right cleat, it was standing on the angel's ribcage, those cruel spikes digging in. At this point, Gabriel's screams had turned to sobs, mixed with prayers in languages Jacob didn't understand.

"I'm still not hearing a 'thank you,'" Jacob said. Gabriel didn't answer. The Lucario sighed, and stepped forward.

As all eight hundred and sixty pounds of the gargantuan Pokemon settled on Gabriel's ribcage, all the crying and begging and praying cut off immediately. It was replaced with a more immediate concern, which he could barely even move to stop. As the pain set in, Jacob looked down at him and grinned.

"You angels are made of hardy stuff," he remarked. "I could've killed you with that kick earlier, but all it did was break your nose. And you took the cleats on the belly better than I thought you would." He rocked back and forth on his heels, just to make things worse for the angel. Gabriel felt sick looking up at the sadistic beast on top of him, but how could he ever look away?

"How much can you take?" Jacob asked. "As tough as you are, these can't last forever." He lifted his toe up, tapping on Gabriel's chest. "How long before I crush your ribs into powder beneath me?" He smiled again, that small, dreamy little smile. "How long before that cute little body of yours can't take it anymore?" He crossed his arms over his beefy chest, leaning his head down a little.

"Do you want to find out?"

"Thank you Master Jacob!" The angel's voice was shrieking and panicked. He sounded like a wild animal. "Thank you Master Jacob! Thank you Master Jacob! Thank you Master Jacob!"

The Lucario paused, and with a small chuckle he stepped off of Gabriel's chest. As the fallen angel gasped and choked and clutched his sore ribs, Jacob watched as something curious happened.

Gabriel's nose, which had been gruesomely misshapen from the kick, began to pulse for a few seconds with a dim light; Jacob thought he was imagining it at first. Then, it began to emit a soft, gentle glow, like a yellow nightlight in a child's room. The light grew brighter and brighter, emitting a high-pitched hum all the while, until it looked like a star was floating in front of Gabriel's face. When it faded, there was Gabriel's nose, good as new. He was panting, and his face was covered in dried blood, but he was healed.

Jacob's face split into a big, eager grin.

"Oh, this will be fun."