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The Seven Sins

Chapter 1 - Sloth

Written by Leo_Todrius

Supported by my Patrons

If silence was golden, it was a currency that had lost all value in the city of Themis decades ago. Even at a distance there was the sound of the acidic ocean lapping at the eastern shore, of the air recycler towers humming like sentry posts around the perimeter and the ever present rumble of thunder in the distance as nature exerted her wrath. As one ventured closer, the smaller sounds of a hard and fast urban life echoed up from the impossibly deep artificial valleys and gullies that formed the stratus layers rising up from centuries of development. The buzzing, whining engines of flying vehicles were punctuated by harsh horns and sirens. Factories hissed and throbbed with life. Music bled out of clubs and there was a constant din of talking, shouting, screaming and laughing. It was the sound of a society compressed in on itself, concentrated and refined.

The rich, the lucky and the elite lived on the upper levels with views of the yellow-orange sky and the green oceans. Some even held festivals as the dust storms buffeted the atmospheric shields around the city. Most only saw the sky through the narrow grid work of gaps left for vehicle traffic, their view bisected by foot bridges and criss-crossing utility lines. More of their light came from glowing signs and milky washed out light panels than the sun. Many of those that lived on the lower levels imagined what it would be like to be in a tower overlooking the sea, or imagining what it would be like to walk along the bedrock and find the ruins of a city from before the burn. Slate did not strain his mind by putting in the effort to imagine such things. He sat in his Aero, seat reclined. Earbuds rested in his pierced ears but they played no music, merely blocking out everything around him.

The twenty four year old's eyes were closed, a mane of frizzy brownish-black hair framing his fair face. His tawny skin carried with it the melting pot of his ancestry while his cheeks and upper lip were darkened by the stubble of a man that had made no effort to groom himself in a few weeks. The aero's cooler unit was doing its best to cycle the air in the vehicle through filters, though there was still an earthy tang that radiated out from Slate. He felt like water rations were too expensive to waste on bathing and sonic showers made his teeth rattle. Besides, it wasn't like his job required him to be around people that often...

A harmonic, sonorous chime filtered through his ear buds just as a faint vibration pulsed from the bracelet around his right wrist. Olive green eyes fluttered open and a soft sigh escaped Slate's plump lips. He sat up, the seat rising to meet him. As his feet came down, they sunk into a layer of burger wrappers and disposable cups that had built up in the vehicle from weeks worth of neglect. With great reluctance, and no sense of hurry, Slate pressed the door of his Aero. The panel pushed out a mere four inches and then slid back along the edge of the vehicle, taking up no space that might interfere with another vehicle passing or anyone walking by.

Well worn sneakers set down on the metal walkway. Slate's tattooed fingers grabbed the hand hold as he hauled himself upright. He was five foot ten, though his afro gave him a few more inches of height. His shoulders slumped, but he set his face and walked back towards the suite that held his workplace. The aero's door slid shut behind him, warbling a bit as the unlubricated track begged for maintenance. Slate ignored it as he did many things, doing the bare minimum he needed to in order to keep on living.

****

Packing peanuts crinkled inside of the large polyurethane bag as Slate shifted on his makeshift bean bag chair, his hands working on a small utility bot. Slate had emptied the grease traps, though he'd skipped cleaning them given that they'd immediately become dirty again. A quick blast of pressurized air had cleared particulate from the filter and the joints both. Some might have considered Slate's approach to the bots as lazy or incomplete, and technically they would have been true. There were only two aspects of the maintenance that he fully invested himself in; recharging the battery so each UB could run as long as possible without having to come back, and installing software that allowed them to repair one another when damaged.

The young man set the little crab-like bot down on the ground. It clapped its pincers before suddenly rolling forward and disappearing into a slot on the wall. A pneumatic hiss came a moment later as it was spirited away through the guts of the colossal mega-tower, heading off to clean who knew what. Slate slowly sunk back into the bean bag chair, tapping the bracelet on his wrist. The volume on the video projected on the metal wall shifted, coming back to audible levels again. The screen was filled with a teenager, maybe eighteen or nineteen. He had fair, elfin features and clean, even toned strawberry blond hair.

"I know it sounds crazy but I swear it's true. I was walking across the promenade, listening to the latest holocast from Titan, and then I just... I felt like something was watching me. I looked up and I saw this big... I mean, it looked like an eyeball? A floating eyeball? But it wasn't all there, I could see through it. I thought maybe it was an ad for contact displays or something, but it raised this arm and pointed. I looked up in time to see the Aero hit by lightning and start falling right towards me. If I hadn't looked up, I never would have gotten off the bridge in time. It really was some kind of guardian angel." the teenager on the video murmured. His image was replaced by another young man a little older than Slate, the sides of his black hair shaved short while the top ran back into a neat top knot.

"At the time of the interview, tested negative for any mind altering substance or errant bio-code, raising the question... Was this really some sort of guardian angel, or an echo from the spirits before looking out for us after all this time? For KU7781B, this is Kalian Dakra reporting." The reporter's image faded away, replaced by a commercial for nitrogen infused fizzy hard energy drink, NIFE. Punks with mohawks and spiked hair engaged in a variety of extreme sports, sipping the drink in between. Even watching the commercial seemed like too much for Slate. He waved his hand, dismissing the video. He then maneuvered his hand another direction, allowing the lights in the room to dim to their emergency mode. In the dull glow, Slate leaned back on the beanbag chair, ready to take a nap until the next UB rolled in for his help. With any luck, they'd be good enough fixing one another that he'd sleep until it was time to go home.

****

Night had fallen across Themis, though that far below the surface it merely meant the glowing lights got brighter, the music got louder and people got a bit rowdier. When the expectations and responsibilities of society fell away, it was easy to feel more awake and alert at night than it was during the day. It would have been a feeling that Slate would have liked to say he understood, but he never felt like he had energy. His shoes scuffed against the ferrocrete catwalk as he walked home from the parking structure. A fresh coat of graffiti glowed on the walls of the building where it had been sprayed over countless other layers that had lost their luster.

A faint drip-drip-drip could be heard from one of the condenser pipes dribbling condensation and coolant, forming a small mossy puddle at the edge of the walkway before the liquid dribbled off the edge to fall sixty stories down. Somewhere in the distance there was a quick snap-snap that echoed off the catacomb of walls bisecting the megastructure's living space. It was the sound of a hand weapon being used, no doubt on one of Slate's neighbors. He declined his head, reaching his apartment, pressing his thumb to the scanner before stepping through.

It took only half of a moment for Slate to realize something was different. The air was warm and humid and the lighting was all wrong. Slate looked up, eyes widening in surprise. Leafy vines trailed down from the air vents in the ceiling, trailing along his shelving and cupboards. Moss covered the windowsills, ferns spilled out of recessed storage cubbies in the walls. Golden-white light spilled through his frosted window, cascading across a layer of crispy fall leaves that had covered his bed. It was more plant life than Slate had seen since his middle school field trip to the arboretum.

The repairman lifted a hand to touch one of the vines, though he froze, gasping as he saw long, curved, glowing claws extending from his fingers. He turned his hand one way and then the other, seeing that the natural faint fuzz that decorated his arm had spread down to cover the back of his hand. He turned his head, feeling something brush his chest as he moved. He lowered his head, the sensation only increasing as a thick, frizzy dark beard tickled its way down his bare, hairy chest. Slate's jaw dropped as he saw the thick beard trail off where it tickled the upper edge of a tiny pot belly, the rounded flesh doing nothing to hide a rather oblong, fat erection wobbling out from his groin.

There was a patch of... not quite hair, fur perhaps, peeking out from beneath the beard. A tangy bite of manly musk wafted out from a forest of spongy hair under his arm as he moved his hand around, and glowing claws cast light across the floor from where his feet rested. Slate looked down at himself with an odd sense of satisfaction. It was so earthy, so animalistic, so pure and unfiltered. He turned his head to look at the polarized filter on the microwave, using it like a mirror. Sure enough, his afro was longer and fuller, green mossy coloring creeping up into several long strands and tinging his thick beard. It looked as if he hadn't ever shaved, but it wasn't just the hair, there were other parts of him that had changed. Slate leaned in to look at himself closer and-

A more insistent pulsing chime woke Slate up from his slumber. A frown creased his lips and his eyes scrunched shut, only accentuating the dark circles under them. He swatted at the bracelet on his wrist to turn the alarm off before he rolled over, finding a disappointing lack of dried leaves on his bed. One olive green eye opened, then the other. His apartment was as dusty and musty as it had been before without even so much as a stray seed from his everything bagel.

Slate lay there for far longer than was a respectable amount of time after an alarm going off. He thought back to his dream, though he hadn't remembered laying down in the first place... He remembered exactly what his dream had been; getting home, coming back into the apartment, then waking up. Maybe he'd been dosed with something, or another one of his neighbors was experimenting with making crystal synth again. Either way, the dream had been nice while it lasted. Slate reached up, tracing a finger down the stubble on his cheek. In a strange way it almost felt silly that he'd shaved a month ago. What purpose had it served? How had it impacted his life? Why bother, especially if the reward for doing nothing was to look more manly. A smile crossed the young man's lip as he imagined himself that way again, living life on his own terms. He sighed happily, feeling a swelling in his groin as his morning steel hardened even further.

Slate had long held the belief that he had something called dysania - the inability to get out of bed after waking up. Most people had it to a degree, and it was a battle he struggled with most days... but after his dream, after how cozy and inviting his bed had been in whatever vision he'd had, it felt like a battle he didn't want to fight. He leaned back even more into his bed, lifting his bracelet up to bring up the holographic display. He had a precious few sick days left for the year, though he had a few tricks where he could trick the system into thinking he was there even if he left early... but that still required going in the first place.

The repairman logged his sick day into the system, then turned off notifications from work. As he lowered his wrist down to the mattress, it felt as if fireworks were going off in his soul. It wasn't just his day that had suddenly been cleared of all responsibilities, it was the segue into his work weekend... Three days without having to be anywhere, to do anything. His smile broadened from ear to ear, his eyes squeezed shut in delight. Slate's left hand traced up his hip, his fingers starting to probe the tent of his four day old underwear, feeling the swelling girth inside. Normally he would have just jacked off and gone back to sleep, but something felt different today... He just couldn't shake his dream.

Slate reached up behind him, fingers fumbling around before he found his neuro-display. He tilted his head out of the way as he knocked off a little figurine from its stand, too lazy to lift his body up to get the goggles. Getting a better grip, he pulled them out and slipped them on, propping one arm behind his head to act as a pillow, the other gently groping at his groin. The glasses lit up inside, pearl white light spilling out of the edges as the operating system loaded. Tiny contact points tingled on the sides of his head as they started networking with his synapses for sensory input.

"Open configuration settings for virtual environment. Load apartment from last scan. Add the following parameters..." Slate began, proceeding to describe his dream in as much detail as he could manage. In his head he saw his apartment become as it was, although he took it a step further. The vines were soon blossoming with thick waxy purple-white flowers. The floor was lost beneath a mesh of thick spongy moss. Venus-fly-trap like plants undulated from the corners of his counters. Slate considered for a moment, "Project apartment forward four months." he added. The plant life increased, but so did the garbage. His sink was overflowing with dishes, stacks of pizza boxes and other detritus accumulating around. Slate didn't seem to mind.

Despite the fact that he was lounging languidly in his own bed, the virtual Slate stood up and got up, moving around. He felt the soft, moist plant life between his toes. He felt the humidity of the air cling to his skin, beading up and soaking into his body hair. He felt the hairy cleft of his ass cheeks brush against a vine, and he felt a rumble in his stomach. Slate enjoyed it all, though he was starting to guide his avatar towards the virtual bathroom to start modifying himself when he heard a door chime. Slate hesitated, reaching up to tilt the display off of the left side of his face, seeing reality with one eye. When his right ear heard the door chime again, he realized the sound had come from his virtual world.

"Must have left the network open..." Slate murmured in surprise to himself, bringing the display back down fully, plunging himself into the synthetic illusion. He padded over to the front door, pressed the key and let it open. It was night outside, the neon lights brighter than ever, though an orange fog had sunk down through the levels. There were a few more plants outside, especially around the coolant line where vines dangled and moss was plentiful beneath... but it wasn't the view that drew Slate's attention.

Standing on the other side of the door, scaled chest rising and falling with his breath, leathery rings undulating as if in some form of idle animation, was a dragon man. The scales grew diner and finer as they crept up his neck until fading into pale ashen white skin that seemed just a little too resilient to be human flesh. Ink solid black eyes regarded Slate, the orbs darker than the cascade of straight black hair that framed his face. Pointed ears rose up on either side of his head, complimented by the l shaped horns rising up from his temples. A black v harness only seemed to draw more attention to his hard gray nipples rather than hiding them, and the v came together at a point where it mounted to a long black leather loincloth hiding an obvious bulge. The lack of clothing seemed almost natural given the man's wings and, apparently, tail. Slate looked down to see the long leathery appendage sway back and forth behind him. One raptor-like curved claw tapped on the deck plating almost appraisingly.

"Do you like what you see, Slate?" the dragon man asked, his voice almost melodic and well modulated.

"H-how do you know my name?" Slate asked, trying to figure out if there was some sort of leak in his firewall. No one should have been able to see anything apart from his screen name.

"I know a great many things... May I come in?" He asked slowly, "I'd love to see what you've done with the place." he added.

"First, tell me how you know who I am." Slate said, a little more backbone creeping up. He'd seen a variety of avatars and digital facades before. Just because this person had gone all out was no reason not to have his priorities. The dragon man looked almost affronted but then he seemed to consider, taking a step back, a clawed finger rising up to rub at his pointed chin.

"I will answer your question by way of a comparison." The dragon man said, "You work on the eighty ninth level of tower 138. Your job there is to repair the bots that repair the rest of the building. You get by doing what little you can to survive, expelling no more effort than is necessary..." The dragon began.

"Are you from Human Relations?" Slate asked a little suspiciously, trying to imagine how someone in HR could get such an erotic avatar approved for use on the web.

"I- What?" The dragon hesitated, "No, I am not part of some... human resources group." he muttered, sounding almost offended by the idea, "I am Aziel." he replied, "Now, I was trying to answer you. Focus." he added, holding up one clawed finger for a moment, "You work in that tower and keep it running properly. More than that, you've taught the machines to repair themselves so you can do less work and bring the building closer to its purpose. In much the same way, I work on this mortal plane to encourage the elements towards the ultimate destination." he said as if it explained everything, giving a sharp toothed smile, "Now may I come in?" he asked.

"I thought you said you were going to explain who you were...." Slate said. Aziel opened his mouth, then closed it for a moment, pale white eyelids closing over his dark eyes for a moment before he reached up to rub at the base of one horn.

"Why did I have to get assigned sloth first..." he murmured softly, taking a breath before he looked up again, "I have come here to make you an offer, a job opportunity really. Now, before you say no, I want to promise you that it'll involve a lot less work, a lot more pleasure, and a lot more free time than you currently have." Aziel said. Slate seemed to hesitate, his mind trying to imagine what a job like that would be.

"So you found me through some job recruitment system?" Slate asked. Aziel pursed his lips, praying to himself that by the time he got to Pride that he'd still have enough energy to do what needed to be done.

"Yes. You fit all the qualifications, and you were the first to apply." Aziel said.

"I didn't apply to anything." Slate murmured. Aziel nodded slowly.

"That was one of the job qualifications, not applying... But you were the first to free your mind and see what laid beyond." Aziel said, "Please, may I come in?" he asked wearily. Slate considered for a moment longer before he stepped out of the virtual doorway and gestured inside. Aziel continued on, his taloned feet stepping off the ferrocrete and metal gantry and onto the soft mossy floor of Slate's apartment. He seemed to sigh with relief. As he entered the apartment, color seemed to climb up the back of his legs, filling in darker pigmentation along the spine of his back beneath his wings. The ash gray skin took on an earthy brown hue that faded out scale by scale until it was gone.

""Did you commission that avatar or did you design it yourself?" Slate asked, absent mindedly reaching for an everything bagel. Aziel moved his hand, causing a digital one to appear on the counter before Slate grabbed it and brought it to his mouth, taking a bite.

"It was given to me by our employer." Aziel said, looking around, reaching to pet one of the pet-like plants bobbing in the corner.

"You said our employer. I haven't said yes yet." Slate said. Aziel turned, smiling, a glitter in his dark eyes.

"But why wouldn't you? Do you want to spend the rest of your days being a repairman, or do you want to be something more? The best part is, you don't have to do anything... You represent the dream of humanity. You want food brought to you? No need to hunt or gather, you can summon it while barely lifting a finger! The collected knowledge of mankind is at your fingertips, so why invest effort taking it all in? Comfort surrounds you, and the best part is that you're so easy to please. You don't need anything lavish, you are happy being you." Aziel whispered, leaning in and sniffing a little before smiling, "And why wouldn't you be? You have a very nice personal fragrance." The dragon whispered.

"What did you mean about me applying to... whatever this is?" Slate asked. Aziel tried not to be annoyed, choosing to go to the digital facsimile of the fridge. He opened it up and light spilled out, allowing him to rummage around before he licked his teeth with the forked tips of his tongue, coming out with a dark beer. His carbon fiber claw popped the lid most easily before he topped it back, letting the ale dance across his fangs and his tongue before he took a swallow, sighing with relief afterwards.

"This life is so full of distractions and abstractions. It isn't just that day to day life has become tedious, but there's a constant barrage on top of it all. It makes it impossible to see the world around you, let alone the world beneath it all. But you, you uncluttered your mind and your soul. You were open to the possibilities while embracing who you really are. You saw the other side, you saw the other you..." Aziel said, looking deep into Slate's olive green eyes. The slacker hesitated, looking around the room slowly.

"My dream? That's the other side? The other me?" he asked, looking down at the floor for a moment before looking up. Slate's heart skipped a beat. Aziel was gone, disappeared from where he was standing. An uncomfortably warm breath blasted his shoulder as Aziel leaned in from behind him.

"That was just the tip of the iceberg...." Aziel whispered.

"Of the what?" Slate asked. Aziel's eyes tightened a little as he tried to fight off the frustration.

"That was the smallest speck of what you could become if you embrace your destiny." Aziel whispered, "My boss is recruiting. He has seven openings for the team." Aziel said, leaning in closer to Slate's ear, nuzzling his thick, frizzy hair.

"I thought you said I wouldn't have to do anything." Slate complained.

"Well, hardly anything my darling..." Aziel replied, letting his fingers slide down Slate's arm before he pressed a thumb on one of the knuckles. The pressure built and built until it almost hurt. Slate hissed before a glowing energy claw emerged from his fingernail, arching out with wicked sharpness. It seemed to trigger a reaction in the others, forcing four more claws to emerge from that hand.

"What are they?" he asked. Aziel slowly licked Slate's year.

"They say energy cannot be destroyed, but it can be taken. You have mastered that feeling of sloth, it fills you and defines you.... But every creature has to feed, right? If you use those, you will share your gift with others while feeding yourself. You will be doing the work our boss needs you to do, and it will feel so very good... I promise you." Aziel whispered.

"If I use it, I take the energy from others?" Slate asked in surprise.

"Yes, and you share your sloth with them. Just be careful, if you drain too much of their motivation and drive, they won't have the will to go on living any longer. It can be a deadly sin." Aziel whispered, sounding far more seductive than the warning would have warranted.

"But I-" Slate lifted his head and looked around, but Aziel was gone. Slate looked around, then back at the front door which was still sealed. He reached out in real life to touch the bracelet, trying to run back the recording... but it looked like Slate had just been talking to himself the whole time. Slate hesitated before he reached up, switched off his neuro goggles and pulled them from his head. His eyes blinked a few times as he looked at his same old boring apartment, unchanged and unaltered, exactly the same as it had been for the last five years. For the first time in all that time, Slate felt like he could use a change... and probably some mental help as well.

****

The twin doors to the elevator slid open long enough for Slate to move in, the young man leaning back against the bronze colored metal that made up the interior. The window looking out into the urban canyon beyond had remained unwashed long enough that it was milky and streaked, making it more translucent than transparent. Slate didn't mind, he couldn't imagine going to the bother of cleaning an elevator window. It just seemed like too much work.

With a fluid ease, the car began to descend, making Slate feel weightless. It was a nice sensation, but it only lasted for a moment before the doors opened again, allowing another individual to enter. One of Slate's eyebrows arched as he realized he recognized the young man; it was the redhead from the news that had claimed a guardian angel had saved his life. The eighteen year old gave a meek smile and a faint bow of his head before trying to look out the window, though his smile eroded as he realized how dirty and grimy it was.

Slate continued to look at the younger man. His hair was so clean and even it looked artificial. His skin was flawless without so much as a blemish. Even his clothing was 3D printed with repeating embossed v shapes making a textured design across the otherwise white and gray material. He looked like an over-achiever, someone that an angel would clearly want to protect... and for some reason, that irritated Slate. His eyes half-lidded and his lips tightened as he looked at the teenager as if he was some fairy tale deer in the woods that might get spooked.

A faint light built in the elevator car as glowing white claws slowly slipped out of Slate's fingers. He ever so gently pressed off the wall of the elevator with his shoulder blades until he was standing upright, several inches taller than the innocent redhead. Slate's breathing was slow and steady, his mind calculating. A normal predator would have pounced or lunged, but that wasn't a sloth's style. Slate merely eased into it, stepping forward. His hand slipped up the small of the redhead's spine and, before he could move, his energy claws sunk into the young man without making a wound.

The redhead and Slate both gasped suddenly, though for very different reasons. Slate could feel the teenager's optimism, his hope, his ambition and drive. It was everything Slate wasn't, but there was a strange bubbling glee that came as the contact began to erode that inside of him, inside of... Flynn. The teenager's hazel eyes blinked slowly, his breathing forced, his gaze swimming not at anything around him but inside. Slate's lips parted, bearing his teeth as he felt that ambition draining out of Flynn - not just from his future, but his past as well.

What had been perfectly straight and even hair began to curl into wild waves. The emo bowl cut became a messy fringe, a little darker at the roots and lighter at the tips as the hair began to spill out from his skull. Freckles blossomed from beneath the perfect skin, along with rough and unseemly red stubble creeping down the back of his cheeks and then his pointed chin. His pale pink lips began to smile as he felt the weight of responsibility and duty evaporate and he leaned back into his predator's claws, feeling them plunge deeper into his soul.

Slate's heart was racing, pumping blood to all his extremities at once, though nothing received quite so much of the supply as his erection. His pants tented, the tip of his blunt instrument finding the crevice of Flynn's ass cheeks, but it wasn't time, not yet. The feeding was so good, and Flynn's changes were so sexy... The eighteen year old's ginger tresses had flowed down his skull like a cascade of a fiery waterfall, the curly locks reaching the tops of his shoulders before spilling down lower.

One hand slammed out, bracing against the wall, the leverage allowing Flynn to stand upright despite the amazing bliss passing through him. While his chin remained pointed, his features softened slightly as his strict diet of artificial foods was replaced by something more natural. He glint of metal appeared as a nose ring seeped out of his right nostril, piercing the flesh and anchoring deep, as if he'd had it for years. His lips continually twitched, half way between a grin and a moan.

From behind, Slate watched with fascination as Flynn's perfect face was framed by bristly, bushy, thick columns of red sideburns. They almost descended down past his jaw, flirting with the farthest edges of his growing area. Flynn finally gave in, throwing his head back and moaning out as a thick, pointed red goatee best out of his chin, surging out inch after inch in a few seconds. The act of reclining his head allowed his long red hair to split on either side of Slate's hand, racing down to brush the upper shelf of his thick bubble butt.

Slate reveled in the feasting. He could feel Flynn's body changing around his hand, but he could also feel what he was consuming; Flynn's college plans, his internship, his part time job, his research program.... All of that was burned away, reducing the promising young man to someone that would be content with a life of eating, sleeping and fucking, nothing more than the bare essentials. Flynn panted hard, groaning, his own erection raging. His perfectly manicured fingernails grew rough and uneven before layers of chipped enamel paint seemed to fade into existence.

Without warning, Flynn pushed off the elevator wall, turning around. Slate's claws were dislodged from the middle of his back, alarming the stagnant predator until Flynn stood on his tip toes and kissed the taller man. The redhead's fingers plunged into Slate's thick, black hair, grabbing a hold of his head as he continued the kiss. The two embraced roughly for several moments until Flynn finally got the idea on how to thank his new master. His fingers drifted to Slate's obscene bulge, giving it an appreciative stroke until he found the zipper. With a deft pop of the button and then a quick tug, Flynn drew the zipper down. Slate's mocha colored cock sprung through the gap, wobbling out into open air, unrestrained by any underwear. Flynn licked his lips before he started to kneel.

"You don't have to..." Slate murmured, feeling a little tiny ember of the man he had once been. Flynn crouched before him, looking up, his four inch goatee coming to a perfect point.

"It wouldn't be right for you to have to work for it... I am yours..." Flynn whispered before his hazel eyes closed and he leaned in, a wide tongue slithering out to meet Slate's thick shaft. Slate couldn't help but melt back against the wall of the elevator again, feeling Flynn using his tongue in ways he'd never pictured. It was as if the redhead was washing his shaft and brushing it clean with his tongue and mouth alone, but when he started to suck and the pressure went up, Slate nearly doubled over.

There were several moments free of thought or impulse, relishing only in the wet slurping sounds as Flynn's head bobbed forward and back, letting Slate's member glide across his teeth, his tongue and bump into the back of his throat repeatedly. One of Flynn's hands rested on Slate's hip, the other hanging limply at his side. Slate couldn't help but appreciate how much sexual gratification he was getting without having to put in the work, though that did bring his mind back to how it had felt when his claws had sunk right into Flynn's soul, a soul that a guardian angel had worked so hard to save...

Was Flynn's current eagerness a sign that he had left just enough ambition for him to take the initiative? Aziel's warning flashed back through his mind as he imagined what a useless lump of flesh he might have made if he'd drained all of it out of him, but it had felt so good to convert his promising future into a hedonistic teenager living in the moment. Slate licked his lips and writhed ever so gently, one hand moving to hold Flynn's wild red hair and keep his head moving forward and back, forward and back, in and out, and-

"Fuck..." someone muttered behind them from outside the elevator doors. The car had apparently stopped, allowing a would-be passenger to see the scene. Slate barely turned his head, his irises glowing a molten gold color. The neighbor swallowed harshly, "I'll, uh, take the next one..." he muttered. Slate reached out and tapped the button to return to his own floor. Apparently there was no need to go anywhere anymore. He had exactly what he needed...

****

The retreat back to Slate's apartment had been a heated, messy affair. Slate hadn't even bothered to cover himself up, choosing to use Flynn as a shield instead. The two had collapsed into the taller man's bed in a heap and Flynn had returned to milking his master's shaft - a shaft that seemed to be growing ever longer and fuller. Minutes had become hours, the two had slumbered and woken, then slumbered again. One day off had leaked into the next.

In all that time, the two had hardly left the bed. Neither had eaten. Every time Flynn started to feel the need to eat, Slate's moans had delivered a copious amount of thick, slick cum down his throat and the hunger had faded away. Slate had an even easier time, feeling more and more satiated by the minute. Neither man had shaved in days, allowing shorter stubble to shadow the space between Flynn's wild sideburns and his wicked goatee, while Slate's mustache had become more tangible and his face darkened with uneven stubble running along his jawline. It had been paradise, but their marathon of relaxed hedonism was interrupted by three distinct knocks on the door, then three more.

A heavy sigh escaped Slate's lips before he reached a clawed hand down, caressing the fuzzy side of Flynn's face before guiding him up off of his immense shaft. The red head curled up in the bed, giving a few sleepy blinks and a smile to his master before cuddling up into the blankets. With great effort, Slate swung his legs out of bed, clawed toes clicking on the floor before he rose up to his feet and padded over to the door. He reached out to touch the control, but the moment his finger touched the button, his entire apartment disappeared. He was standing barefoot on warm rock, a strange sulfurous breeze blowing through his afro. Somewhere in the distance he could hear thunder.

Slate stood at the edge of a large dark pool sunk several feet into the reddish stone. The young man looked into the inky black liquid before he raised his head, looking at the cave around him. There were faint paintings on the wall, showing animals and man, some sort of story lost to the annals of time. Something about the cave still felt unnatural though; the floor was smooth, covered in a uniform coating of rusty red dust. He could see everything in a faint creamy glow despite the lack of any clear light source. There were no bugs, no animals, no trace of anyone other than himself, and the pool.

"You did quite well on your solo mission." Aziel commented as he walked up, his tail swaying behind him. Slate looked at him dubiously but Aziel only smiled his fanged smile, "You corrupted a soul that the other side was working very hard to recruit. You fed on his potential and you brought more sin into the world. Even better, your prey still lives to service you. You managed your deadly talent quite well." he said happily. Slate shifted a little hesitantly.

"It wasn't that hard." he murmured. Aziel all but purred.

"That's the art of your skill, isn't it? Getting things done with the least effort possible. Your talents, and pleasures, will only grow in time." Aziel said, reaching up to rest a cool leathery hand on Slate's shoulder, "But it's time to pay tribute to our father and to receive your gift." he whispered.

"Pay tribute to-" Slate's question died in his throat, replaced by a sudden gasp and then a moan as Aziel's own glowing claws pressed into his back, finding their way into Slate's twisted soul. Everything that he had done raced through his mind and body. He re-lived draining Flynn's ambition and purpose and energy, tainting him so much that even his past was affected. He'd twisted that soul around his own claws, changing the course of his destiny. Every trait Flynn had picked up from his slothful life was a jolt of power racing through Slate's naked body. His erection rose and hardened, wobbling out before him, growing out to nine inches, then ten, then eleven and twelve. It grew thicker, wider, rounder and fuller, almost as thick across as his wrist was. Slate's lips tightened and then he let out a low rumble, a growl that rivaled the thunderstorm.

Oddly hairy, almost furry balls pulsed and throbbed before the huge shaft quivered, throbbed, and then unleashed. Silvery, almost glowing cum suddenly arched out, dropping into the dark pool. The inky, oily, slick substance that filled it began to ripple outward, looking as though a stone had been dropped into a pond reflecting the moonlight. It was only in the crest of each ripple that the faintest light escaped the darkness, but it was enough. The pod lapped at the stone edges as Slate came, gripped in the seat of a powerful orgasm that wasn't subsiding.

Slate's muscles were electrified, his back arched, his hands suspended out a few inches from his side. He wasn't just remembering everything he'd done, he was reliving it. Hell, he was getting glimpses of Flynn's corrupted life as well, seeing it in his mind as if he'd lived it. Two lifetimes of sloth, hedonism, pleasure... Slate could feel a strange sort of pride that he'd inflicted that lifestyle on Flynn. It had been by his hand, and he'd been rewarded with intense lust, but he wanted more... He wanted to bask and bathe in the sloth and the lust; he wanted to gorge himself on it. He wanted to live the sort of pleasure focused lives that the rich had indulged in for so long - he just had to find a way to do it that wasn't too hard.

The sound of bones popping and ligaments shifting echoed out from beneath Slate's skin. Dark brownish black fur erupted from the center of his chest and blossomed out along his legs. The hair on his arms thickened and a line of dark fuzz crept up along his spine, connecting his overly hairy ass to the nape of his neck where his thick hair started. His ass cheeks twitched and shifted, pulling apart as a fuzzy dark deer-like tail lifted up. The hair on his legs thickened, connecting to his bush and balls, filling in until the skin started to disappear beneath it. From the waist down Slate began to resemble a satyr of sorts, though his feet were clawed and predatory.

A look of pure bliss radiated from Slate's face even as his stubble pushed out inch by inch by inch, extruding from his skin, descending downward. At first it looked like he hadn' shaved in months, but in moments it had become years. As the trailing edge of the bushy, frizzy beard tickled the tops of his nipples, it looked as though he'd never picked up the razor. His afro had grown outward as well, stretching to new heights and widths, surrounding his head like a dark halo. Furry teardrop shaped ears twitched their way free of his afro, extending outward from his head.

Slate rolled his head one way, then the other, almost languidly. His spine had stretched, as had his arms. He was taller than most humans, though he seemed sort of stretched out, almost gaunt. He had extended reach to manipulate his surroundings without much effort, and the lack of muscle to show that he rarely did more than was required. His tawny skin paled a little at two points on his forehead before the skin broke and two nubby ivory horns emerged, curving up just a few inches. He licked his lips slowly, feeling his canine teeth sharpen and lengthen. He was a predator, but an opportunistic one.

Aziel stood there, watching the human warp and change before his eyes, still cumming into the dark pool. Slate had been the embodiment of so many humans, his ancestry coming from every country and every corner of the world. He had become what society had enabled him to be, coasting by on the fumes of human industry and automation... and now he had been reborn as one of the children of their hubris.

Slate moaned and shuddered as the steady stream of soul laced semen began to dribble out, a few last spurts dropping into the pool until the oily black waters grew still and calm once more. Slate panted, his fur covered chest rising and falling, his tail flicking. He looked up to where Aziel had been but once again saw no one. He closed his eyes, intending to blink, but when his eyes opened again he saw the catwalk outside of his apartment and the vast cliff-face of buildings stacked one atop the next. He was back in his apartment, though it too had changed.

The twenty four year old looked down at his clawed feet and furry legs, his pot belly and the diamond of fur on his chest. He turned to look over his shoulder, seeing the greenery that had developed in his otherwise sterile apartment. Moss covered the floor, vines trailed down from vents, and suspiciously sentient looking plants swayed and shifted in the corners of the countertops. The green mossy ground was blanketed by dried out leaves in shades of red, amber and orange. Amid it all, Flynn's naked body was draped out across Slate's bed, his bubble butt faintly hoisted into the air, his long, carrot colored hair spilling across shoulders and back.

"Hey, Slate, you wanna fuck me?" Flynn asked hopefully, his eyes hungry. The newly corrupted being slowly grinned.

"Yeah, but call me Sloth..." he whispered, giving his prey one more fang filled grin.