Dealing with Gluttony

[ShrubberyLogistic]

Dealing with Gluttony
by Shrubbery Logistic




Cover drawn by Beelzychub 
https://www.deviantart.com/beelzychub/art/Com-Dealing-with-Gluttony-848958941

[ShrubberyLogistic]

11:46pm, 19th February, 2016 A.D. 

 

 I wiped chocolate off my mouth, smudging my black lipstick, watching the pigs squeal, dashing for freedom. All around, villagers fled their burning hovels for the farmer’s fields. The last guard collapsed in a heap, his body straining on my garrotte. His spear clattered forlorn to the ground. I pushed past the crowds, searching for stronger adversaries. 

 Slowly, the screams started to peel away. The music changed tone. A dark tower soared above the fiery shadows. I staggered into the safehouse, bandages trailing from my leg. A withered hearth was my only source of light. Slowly, carefully, I approached the wooden table, every inch laden with food and wine. My hair hung loose. The potion in the middle shivered, golden green, frothing and sparkling. I snatched it up and drank all of the doses in one. The greyness that ringed my vision faded, and I saw colour once more. Fierce clouds clamoured on the tip of the tower beyond the broken window. 

“You won’t last much longer,” The rush of icy wind carried the demon’s voice. “Time’s a-ticking. I’m gonna getcha...” 

I checked the hourglass. Three minutes left.  

“Hold up,” I mumbled into my mike. “I’m gonna switch.”  

“Seriously?” he exclaimed. “When you’re this close?” 

“Sure, why not?” I said, swiping a turkey leg off the table in-game. I bit into another couple squares of chocolate in real life. “I’m fully healed, and I’ve nearly got enough manna.”  

“Nearly. But not qu- ” 

“HALT. WHO GOES THERE?”  

I made my character duck low. Poly’s horned helmet rattled outside the window. His rusty armour clankered and clinked as he fumbled his sword back into its leathery scabbard. 

“Hmm. Still warm,” he said, crouching down beside the body of the spearman at the door. “Looks like there’s a killer on the loose.”  

 No sooner had I equipped my mithril throwing axe than it was buried in the back of his neck. He let out a comical scream, collapsed to his knees, and died like a puppet shorn of its strings.  

“Ok, now I’ve got enough manna.,” I announced, watching the blue bar give off a confirmatory glow. “Give us a minute.” 

 I hit the start button. I removed my headset and shook out my hair. I checked the clock over my dresser. Shit – nearly twelve o’clock. I adjusted myself on the pillows and grabbed my orange soda. Tilting back my head, I took a long, sugary swig. It was going to be a long night. 

 Getting settled, I put the headset back on and picked up the controller. Flicking down the menu, I swapped out my player character and scrolled through the roster. Niethammag, Butcher of Tranquility. Hmm...maybe not today. Xanthal, Scion of Evisceration. Cool...but not quite what I was looking for. Scooching up my legs, I fished out my pocket book of exorcist practice and thumbed through the aged, crinkly pages. I started with A for Armageddon, and I didn’t have to search long for what I wanted.  

 I typed out the name on screen, and hit the X button. The menu faded. A pool of golden light appeared beneath my character’s leather boots, blazing yellow beams all around the safehouse. My character’s slender frame was swallowed up in flames, transfigured into a flurry of lava and obsidian. A smooth black shard rose from the smoke, fracturing into a tall, statuesque figure brandishing a fierce snarl and a ferocious whip. She broke her arms free from the rock, then her cloven hoofs. Tongues of sparks sprayed from her battledress, a web of steely chains. 

“Flee, you ingrates, for you have requested a return to the ashes from whence you came!” Annulla, my chosen one, bellowed into the night.  

“Huh, nice catchphrase,” I mumbled, straightening my mike. 

“What?” The demoness looked around. “What sorcery is this? Where am I? Who’s speaking?” 

“DwightWalker98,” I shrugged. “Call me Kirsten.”  

“This domain, this house...these potions...these are not of earth and water...” 

“You’re in a PS4, they’re made of pixels,” I said, blinking. “I’m the one who brought you here. But I’ll get you out, soon as you help me kill this boss.” 

“I am Annulla, Vanquisher of All Abodes, and you’ve summoned me to play some... child’s game?” 

“Heyyy,” I mumbled. “Khan’s Fortress 3 is the best, show some respect.” 

I nudged the left analog stick. Annulla’s clawed hoof jerked forward. 

“W-what? What is this witchcraft?”  

“I only need to control you for a couple minutes,” I promised. “See that dude way up in the tower?” I nudged the right analog stick. The demoness cricked her neck. Her shimmering tendrils of hair swung as she turned her pointed chin skyward to the face in the clouds. “Yeah, that guy. I need you to knock him off his tower with your fire powers so I can win.” 

“Stycix!” Annulla’s mouth hung open. “So, this is where you’ve been skulking!” 

“Skulking? Whaddya mean, babes? I live here now,” the icy demon called. “You coming on up? The view’s divine!”  

“Why don’t you come down here, and beg mercy of those you’ve abandoned?!” Annulla hissed. “Your scorned bride, your poor spawn – growing up without a father!” 

“Ooohh,” I raised an eyebrow. 

“Since when did you care? Is this about what happened on Halloween?” The clouds thundered around Stycix’s toothy grin. “Hey, it wasn’t my fault you couldn’t finish quick enough – I told you, I wasn’t expecting her home early!” 

“Ohhh shiiiiit,” I whistled.  

“You slimy little – urgghh!” Annulla screamed as her hair ignited. “Witch from the heavens – give me means to teach this scum a lesson!”  

“Yeah one sec, the game’s still loading,” I said. I reached for a handful of popcorn. “My connection’s crap. Mmmpphh. ‘Kay, here’s the countdown.”  

X. The smoky numerals drifted and dissipated. IX. I crossed my legs. VIII. VII. VI. The battle music blared. 

“Alright!” I licked my lips. “Let’s do this. Annulla, Wrecker of Homes!”  

“VANQUISHER OF ABODES,” she growled. 

“Yeah, yeah, cool. Get ready, you’re about to smash shit and stuff,”  

“Not if I have something to say about it, heathen!” shouted Poly. I heard a drawbridge rattle. A squad of his cloaked clones trotted to the safehouse on horsebacks, beards glitching.  

“Who said that?” Annulla shrieked. 

“All of them,” I replied. “Poly controls every henchman.” 

“Then they shall all fry!” 

I smiled. This was going to be epic. 

 

00:32am, 20th February, 2016 A.D. 

 

“Phew,” Stycix stuck out a hand, black blood dripping from his mouth. “Good game, eh?” 

“It was...adequate,” Annulla rolled her eyes, unsticking the boar spear from his guts.  

“Another?”  

“Oh, hell yes!” 

 The scoreboards appeared on screen as the demons healed their wounds, the glowing skull trophy confirming my quickest ever run through a hard map on KF3. I lapped up the last crumbs of popcorn, returning to the main menu. Their stats cards appeared on screen, lighting up as they spoke.  

“Errmm, not to be the bearer of bad news as per usual, but...” Poly sounded sheepish. “It’s late in the eventide. Kirsten, don’t you have a report due tomorrow?”  

“Yeah, who ya gonna pick?” Stycix boomed. “Someone cool right? Someone ice cold? Someone who’s name starts with an S?”  

“I’m...undecided,” I said. “Ten pages for one demonic entity – there's only so many times I can write ‘Scourge of the Seven Stinging Snowstorms’ before they think I’m just bulking out the word count...no offence...” 

“Perhaps...if I, maybe...it’s fine, honestly, it’s nothing big. It’s only...well, if you were to consider me, I’d - ahem,” Poly cleared his throat. “- be very much indebted, even more so than I am already. I’m one of the more senior demons of the infernal realms, a veteran of two wars, and I’d like to think that my experience has led to...ermm...” 

“Poly, you have a girl’s name,” said Stycix.  

“It’s short for Apollyon!” he squeaked. “You never get it, never. I mean – there you go, there’s four words for your essay. Or five, depending on how you count them. You could extend the apostrophe, and therefore if you – ” 

“Poly, again, no offence, but if you were the demon responsible for the creation of essays, I wouldn’t be surprised,” I leant back, relaxing my abs. “They’re the most boring things known to man. Or woman. Or you know, most other demons.” 

“O-oh...” His light dimmed a little.  

“And I haven’t read the guidelines, but I think they want it to be on a hellish being who’s strong enough to maintain a physical existence in the mortal plane,” I yawned. “Or some bullshit. Basically, someone who isn’t wormfood in the real world.”  

 “Hah. As in, precisely none of my enemies,” said Annulla. 

“So, you mean all of your enemies?”  

“Yes,” said Annulla. “I mean...no.” 

“Huh?” said Stycix. “I’m confused.” 

“I dunno guys, I’m too tired to think,” I stretched my arms and yawned again. “Gonna have to love you and leave you. Hope I’ll be able to stay here when I wind up on probation.” 

“Have faith in your powers,” said Annulla. “Until next time.”  

“Yeah, I’m still top of the leaderboard, don’t forget!” Stycix waved. “See ya!” 

“Goodbye,” said Poly. “And good luck...” 

 I switched off the console and sighed. It was time to bite the bullet on all the reading I hadn’t done. All the tutors I hadn’t met. All the study sessions I’d skipped out on, because playing with demons was too much fun. 

Damn. My mom would be so proud... 

The silver bell chimed. There was a soft rap on my bedroom door.   

“Your supper, Madam,” Phil called. 

“Come in,” I answered. 

 The door creaked ajar, and my demon butler flitted through, carrying a silver platter. The kid’s suit was a great touch – he looked adorable in his little bow tie. He lifted the lid on a stack of buttery bacon sandwiches, setting them down by my side. 

“Anything more?” Phil pried his monocle.  

“Nah, we’re good,” I smiled, patting him on the head. His horns dipped, bowing, then he flitted out back the way he’d come, all three feet of him, suspended off the carpet by the beat of his fluttering, leathery batwings.  

Mephilofo...Mephistofo...Phil. Whatever. The mightiest demon I’d ever trapped, and I couldn’t even remember his name. Probably a bad omen for writing an essay about him. Leave it to the nerds. 

 I twisted a strand of my loose blonde hair. Urghh. I had to write this stupid essay on somebody. I grumbled, facing frowning in the glint of the black mirror that was my laptop screen. I lifted the first dripping sandwich, took a bite, mustered the effort to push the power button. I loaded up Microsoft Word, then wrote the date, underlined it, and as a treat for all that work, I hopped on Google to check for gigs next summer. I’d saved enough slaving at the campus burger place to cash in on a festival or two.  

I realised I’d need something to wear. I opened an Images tab and browsed over some fishnet tights. I clicked every link to see what was on sale. I saw a Cat Sabbath t-shirt that made me laugh. Then some sexy armwarmers. And some cargo jeans. I added a black raven skull pendant to my basket, then a red plaid skirt. I needed another seven bucks worth to get free delivery... 

“Kirsten...” 

A low breeze brushed across my desk. I looked over my shoulder, tilting my swivelling chair. There was nobody behind me. 

“Oh, Kirsten...” 

My heart skipped a beat. My eyes rooted on the blank, empty white page on the computer screen. The source of all evil, surely? 

“Kirsten, look down.” 

I glanced around my messy desk. 

“Where?” 

“Left a bit.” 

I pushed the textbooks to one side.  

“No, no, too far. Up a little.” 

I stared at my lamp, illuminating my midnight snacks. I switched it off, waited a second, then switched it back on again. Nothing looked any different. 

“Okay fine, I’m in the chip packet. Open me.” 

 I shrugged, and reached over the printer to grab it. The chips felt strangely warm in my hands. I peeled the packet open. A puff of hot, salty air wafted to my nose. I coughed a little. 

“Ahh...hello, sweetheart.” His voice turned dulcet and syrupy. “Your mind’s struggling with that report of yours, I see. Might I make a suggestion?”   

“Mmmpphh,” I muttered, shoving a handful in my mouth. A gross, dull shadow emanated from the reflection on the plastic film. I turned around again. I saw no-one in my room. 

“Sure,” I swallowed. “Hit me.”  

“Let me write your paper for you,” the demon whispered. “I’m a delectable scribe, and something of an expert on... pleasures of the flesh. I’m certain your tutors will be left with that warm fuzzy feeling inside once they come to grade it...”    

“Uh-huh,” I scraped up some more. “So, what’s in it for me?”  

“Um, what do you mean?” I saw the demon’s lip curl up the packet. “I...I thought I was doing you a favour.” 

“You’ve made my chips taste weird and you’re wasting my time,” I said. “You’re gonna have to do better than an A-plus on my midterm if you want my soul or whatever.” 

The chips went quiet. 

“Come on,” I rustled the bag, smirking. “Let's hear all about your evil plan, so I can go to sleep...” 

“You know, I don’t actually want your soul,” he clapped back. I could practically feel him turn up his nose. “For someone like me, that’s really saying a lot.” 

“Who are you?” I smiled.  

“I could answer that. But only if you’d just let me write your report,” he glowered. “In fact, curse all this, I’ll do it anyway. Could I have a go on your laptop?” 

“Yeah,” I shrugged, laying the split packet on the keyboard and switching the laptop back on. “Just stay out of my search history.”  

“Your wish is my command, Kirsten Dwight.” He entered my initials into the username bar. “Any password?” 

“SubSlayer69,” I muttered. “With a capital S.”  

“Oh,” said the demon. “Err. Interesting.” 

“I’m kidding,” I smirked, lifting up another sandwich. “Though you should bet your ass my wishes are your command. Here – I’ll log you in...” 

[ShrubberyLogistic]

11:11am, 20th February, 2016 A.D. 

 

 I woke up, bright and late, to the sound of crows huddling on the trees outside. I rubbed my weary eyes, unwrapping myself from my tangled duvet. Hankering for breath of fresh air, I decided I’d forgo a shower in favour of a jog round the block, and sifted through my wardrobe for my activewear. I could feel my calves seizing, cramping as I bent over for my medium leggings with a grimace. Too much sitting around, I resolved. Or maybe not enough salt. 

 I should’ve finished that bag of chips last night.   

 I raised my eyebrow, memories slotting into place. Rolling the loose, springy elastic over my thighs, I threw on an old gym vest and slipped my smartwatch round my wrist. Barefoot, I slipped back into my desk chair, hand on the mouse, clicking the screen.  

 My laptop had been razing through the mains. A blistering heat permeated the keys. My Evanescence screensaver was gone – swapped out for a solid pane of harrowing, dripping red. I swiped the cursor. The fan howled under the keyboard, blitzing boiling air through the circuitry. I clicked the Word window on the bottom tab. 

The monitor flickered. My essay flashed on screen. I checked the count in the corner. 6,666 words.  

“Huh,” I groaned. “Ain’t that original,” 

 I minimized it and opened my documents. My e-signature was the last thing required for my submission. I couldn’t tell how much of use it’d be in staving off a plagiarism enquiry – maybe the same demon had dropped in on other people on my course, offering to help them too. But then again, I was past the point of caring.  

I inserted the signature at the bottom, saved it, then loaded up my emails. I attached the latest file in a message to Mrs Hargoyles, my first-year supervisor. The title emerged in bold, block capitals. 

“On Gluttony,” I read aloud. Oooh, worth another look.  

 I switched tabs. This time I scanned it properly. The font was thick, cryptic swirls, almost as if it were painted by a finger. 

“The Greatest Future Ruler That Hell Can Pray For, an essay by Kristen Dwight,” I mumbled. “All praise...Taeotevil?” 

 My desk rumbled. My ** of drawing pencils shook. A pool of light erupted open next to my chair. Two massive hands crept up from the floor, clawing for leverage for two quaking ham-hock arms. A triumphant pink face inched through the gap, between a pair of hulking, soft shoulders. The vast demon hauled up his corpulent frame, grasping the handles of my drawers to heave and push himself free. His smile contorted into frustration as his stomach buffered up against the portal’s edge. 

“Hnnghh...hnnnggghh....” he wheezed. Wings barely bigger than a butterfly’s flapped furiously as he hunkered and railed, creasing his filthy tunic. Flinging himself side to side, he unwedged his enormous gut, loosening himself with a pop. Pumping his minuscule legs, he tottered over to my bed. With a click of his swollen fingers, the duvet straightened itself out. He turned, and telekinetically positioned a pillow beneath his colossal rump.   

“AHAHAHA!” the blotchy demon chortled, sitting himself down. The springs screeched. “In speaking my hallowed name, you have brought my bounteous waste upon your mortal plane. Fear me, for I am Taeotevil, Lord of Glutt – wait...oh, hang on. It’s you. You’re the girl from last night.”  

His wings fell flat.  

“Um, yeah?” I rolled my eyes. “Who were you expecting?” 

“Your tutors, naturally!” the demon spat. “Oh, what havoc I could wreak in possession of a professor of demonology! My kin would revere me! My legacy would enrapture the masses for all of eternity! Why else did you think I wanted to write your damned paper?”  

“Yeah...um...about that. According to Microsoft Word, you’ve made a few spelling mistakes.”  

I swivelled in my chair, clicking the mouse and pointed at the squiggly red lines on the screen. 

“See?” I invited him to look. “You’re gonna have to hustle a little harder if you want the Arcane Arts department to take you seriously. The heck is allacritty?” I scrolled down. “Also there’s no double P in ‘Chupacabra’. No es bueno, hombre.”   

“Enough, wench!” the demon yelled, squeezing his fat fingers into a fist. “I have upheld my end of the bargain, and now, your destiny is sealed! Your wants and wills are now mine to guide to the precipice of despair!”  

“Actually, could we do this at your place?” I asked, checking my nail polish. “I really need my deposit back this year and you’re...breaking my bed.” 

Gluttony looked over his shoulder, judging the crater he was digging into my mattress. 

“Alright, fine,” he muttered, standing up. “Just get in the portal.”  

“Sweet, lemme put some shoes on,” I smiled. I fetched some socks from the drawer and slipped on my purple running sneakers. I bent down to tie the laces nice and tight. “What have you got down there? A grotto? A dungeon? A torture chamber? A cute guard dog?”  

“Solitude...” he muttered. 

“That doesn’t sound very hellish.” 

“It will be if you don’t zip it!” said Gluttony, lurching forward. “Don’t think you can talk your way out of this one, Kirsten, Kristen, whoever you are. I see the whites of your eyes. I see deep within your heart. Your plots, your schemes, your machinations. Tis’ all for nothing! Put on your airs, but you cannot outrun fate.”   

“Pfft. Who said anything about fate?” I giggled, sweeping back my hair and striking a pose. “I only have to outrun you.”  

I tickled the demon lord’s chubby cheek. His roar rustling my plaits, I took a hop, a skip, a soaring jump, and dived headfirst into the abyss. 

 

 

21st Turn of the Hourglass, 66th Pentember, 8050.     

 

 I landed on a pile of empty wineskins, sliding off to land coolly on my feet. My trainers slapped down on slabs of granite. The engorged Lord followed, his exit from my world every inch as awkward as his entry.   

“Behold!” he launched into his spiel. “Hell’s Dining Hall!”  

 I observed the scene. Twelve towering chandeliers hung down from the cavernous rafters, the ceilings painted and embossed with scenes of farming and hunting. The wall behind the wineskins was buried behind an enormous oaken barrel, the one adjacent lined with an equally sizeable oven. The dominating feature was the mahogany dining table, set for dinner, lunch, breakfast, brunch – somewhere different where ever you sat, on the collection of plush armchairs and benches. It stretched on and on throughout the hall, seemingly to infinity.  

“Couldn’t get a trademark for Hell’s Kitchen, huh?” I giggled. “Interesting clock you’ve got there though,” I noted, as he flopped down from above. Two yellow eyes loomed large behind an hourglass, tilting on a dial over a blazing fireplace.  

“A housewarming gift, from the boss himself,” said Gluttony. “Or maybe a thinly veiled threat to be there on time at his council meetings. Painful affairs, if I’m honest with you. Never anything to eat, and the time passes so painfully slowly.” 

“Really? I thought Hell was quicker than Earth. You’re already on Year Eighty-Fifty.” 

“Well we were hardly going to borrow a calendar from the wits behind hits such as ‘loving thy neighbour’ and ‘charitable giving’ now, were we?” Gluttony huffed. “Are we going to yap on about furnishings or are we going to get to the matter of your impending doom?”    

“I don’t owe you anything,” I said, plainly and simply. “Spoken agreements don’t work in the demon world. If you want my soul for that report, you’d have to get me to sign a contract.” 

“Ah, but alas...” Gluttony flexed his wrists. “I already have!” 

He coaxed a tightly wrapped scroll out of his stained sleeves, and handed it to me. 

“I inserted an example of one of most exquisite binding deals into your essay – to which you’ve applied both your name, and your signature,” he crowed. “Go on, give it a read. I went to the effort of extracting it from your hinged machine to this delightful faux-parchment, made from the finest Manila paper.”  

“You could’ve just used the printer,” I shrugged, unfurling the scroll.     

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to exhaust your jibes,” Gluttony scoffed. “Though I dare say you’ll never use that tongue to speak them. You’ll be far too...engrossed...” 

 I trawled through the wording, squinting at the footnotes. My eyes dipped to the signature. Definitely mine. I returned to the opening. All Praise Taeotevil. Preceded by – yup, my name...  

“My previous captives have had little need for literature,” he lingered on. “This bountiful hall has provided more than enough to mollify the mind, and the senses. To picture all that money that could have been spent on food, buzzed on your education...” 

“Funny you should say that,” I murmured. “You spelled my forename wrong.”  

“What?” he balked. A kink of perturbance struck every curving line in his silhouette.  

“Look, right there – top line,” I flipped the scroll around so he could see it. “Kristen Dwight? Nuh-uh, you got the wrong girl.” 

 The demon ripped the paper out of my hands. He plonked down on his mighty bergère and peered with his currant eyes at the wording, then at me. Then to the words again, wrinkling his nose. Then to me. 

 “I’m Kirsten Dwight. The ‘I’ comes first. Always,” I smiled with a wink. “Which, I guess, means this deal is now invalidated, and that contract your holding’s probably better as toilet tissue.” I about-faced. “Um, on that note, mind if use yours before I get out of here?”  

 Gluttony quivered. His whole body shook. His blotches began to tinge with green. His eyes looked fit to blast from his shaking face.  

“You...DARE CROSS THE GREATEST OF THE SEVEN LORDS OF THE DEADLY SINS?!” he screamed.  

“Meh. It was only for an essay,” I tossed my hair. “Greatest of the Seven Lords? Wow. I’d say you have a chip on your shoulder but then if you did, you’d probably eat it.” I gave him a poke in the gut. “Better luck next time though, right?”  

 He clenched his thick jaw, indignant. 

“Now if you don’t mind, I’m gonna exercise my right as a not-dead person to go home to the surface. Think I’ll play some more KF3 with your brethren,” I announced. “See ya.” 

“Oh-ho-ho, not so fast!”  

 The demon snapped his fingers. The portal above the wineskins zipped shut. Two thudding footsteps rattled the chandeliers. “You might have pulled out a plum on this occasion, Miss Dwight,” he thundered. “But no-one – and I mean no-one – leaves the lair of Gluttony unencumbered.” 

 I saw him standing, and felt an occult hand tighten around my neck. I stopped dead. Slowly, an ethereal force spun me back around to look the grotesque lord in the eye. 

“If you want a piece of me...” he spat. “Then fine. Here’s a little...souvenir...of your stay at my humble abode.”  

 Gluttony had his arm raised. With a come-hither motion of his fingers, I began to levitate, six inches off the stained, patchy rugs, travelling into his grasp. I tried to kick myself free. I shirked my shoulders. I arched my knees. Nothing. My muscles were frozen stiff. 

“Hnngghh!” I seethed. My jaw and tongue were all I could control. “Urggh!” I cursed. “Lemme go!”  

“But I am letting you go,” Gluttony’s sinister smile topped the crevices of his multiple chins. Winds whipped through the air. An ethereal strand emerged from his belly button, wispy, translucent, radiating silver and gold as it thickened into rope.  

“I place this curse upon you, Kirsten Dwight,” he hissed. “Feel what I feel. Consume how I consume. Eat, drink, and make merry from now, until the end of your days.”  

 The strange tether wrapped around my midriff, ensnaring my hips, knotting over my ribs. My stomach tingled as he pulled me closer, his blotchy face creasing and gurning in twitches of rage. He closed on me, mouth awash with rotting teeth, whispering smidgeons from my ear. 

“And if you should tell a single living soul of your predicament,” the demon declared. “I’ll take your life, there and then.”  

 I felt my heart skip a beat. Something impalpable departed my body. A seed of gold wound through the strand, zipping burning and bright from my struggling frame into the pit of Gluttony’s stomach. My solid shoulders loosened. My skinny arms fell flat. I felt hollow, and lifeless, and empty. The tether tightened almost to my bones, and then the light began to fade.  

 Slowly I started to sink. I felt ravenous. Insatiable. 

“It’s nearly time to turn the hourglass,” He settled back into his chair with an unyielding smile. “Care to join me for dinner?”  

A clap of his hands set the table aflame. The fires simmered as platters, dishes and bowls appeared through puff after puff of smoke. Each was weighed down with something delicious. Goat’s cheese pastries, and steak and ale pies. Beef and noodles. Hams and cheeses. Rich, mellow, so mouth-wateringly good. 

 Suddenly, I was sprinting. I flung my legs, shooting over a bench, seating myself in front the smorgasbord with a desperate longing. Before I could blink I was piling food on my plate, cleaving my meat, drowning it in gravy, burying a plate under a mountain of mash and tearing in, stuffing and smacking my lips. I felt the lid thudding on the back of Pandora’s box, my face poised above, my mouth open, my tongue tensing, ready to dig to the bottom, no matter what the cost... 

 Within seconds I’d cleaned my plate. More food metamorphosised onto the tabletop. I flashed my knife and fork, stomach screaming for seconds, thirds, fourths... hundredths.... thousandths from a realm that had served me so well. I pulled at my leggings, licked my lips, and ploughed through another round. Course after course disappeared down my throat. My taste buds were in heaven.  

I closed my eyes, and buried myself in the perks of dining in Hell...  

[ShrubberyLogistic]

9:20pm, 20th February, 2016 A.D. 

 

 Phil liked to fish. It’s what he did when he wasn’t ironing my shirts, or fluffing my pillows, or re-arranging my mascara. Of course, he couldn’t leave my house without my permission – so he’d just sit around in the kitchen, open a portal to the Sea of Galilee or the River Jordan or whatever, then throw down the line. He scored plenty of sardines, the odd damselfish. He must’ve thought he was on for the Miraculous Draught before he hauled me up on the hook.    

“Madam Dwight,” he exclaimed, reeling me out of the blazing light, wrists tensing with demonic strength. “How pleasant to have you join me for dinner...” 

“Ughh...hey, Phil...” I groaned, twisting and dangling. I tossed my book of rites at the couch. The thick sea rod rankled as I reached around, trying to wrench the hook out of the hole in my leggings. “This isn’t what it looks like. Nnnghhh.”   

“Yes, I gathered that.” He angled the line, lowering me over the couch. “Pray tell, how did you come to be swimming in the Styx?” 

“I redirected your portal with my book,” I said, straining my arms behind me. “It was my only way out of Hell. W-what day is it?” I coughed. 

“Saturday,” he replied. “The same day you departed this plane, albeit ten hours after you left.” 

“Oh thank God. I was down there for three days. Maybe four. I can’t remember.”  

My leggings tore. I thudded to the cushions, my stuffed body aching from the impact. I got up to my hands and knees, groaning.  

“Indeed. I’ll be sure to pass him your compliments, come Judgement Day,” Phil stroked his beard. “Might I press the question as to where you were exactly?”  

 I winced. My belly gurgled. The hairs began to tingle on the back of my neck.  

“I was at this...banquet...” I mumbled, mindful of the curse. 

“One that lasted half a week?” exclaimed Phil. 

“Umm...yeah. It was... at a demon lord’s castle...” 

“Pah. A poor effort then. I’ve served feasts for the Seven that lasted forty days and forty nights.” The butler wound up his rod. “Though it would seem you’ve certainly imbibed your...fair share...” 

 He curled a claw under the fluttering hem of my vest. I gulped. I winced. God, even swallowing hurt. I let him lift the material, inspecting my stomach’s swell. Inches of firm flesh puffed up against my waistband, hard and tight.  

“Tell me about it,” I groaned, tilting my head back. “In fact no... don’t...” I stepped back. “It might make me heave...”  

“Hellish delicacies,” he noted. “They’re markedly different from those enjoyed by humankind.”  

“Glad I got out of there when I did,” I laughed, nervously, readjusting my vest back over my belly as best I could manage. I smiled, hoping my grossly extended session of binges in bad company hadn’t touched upon my cheekbones. He was right about that food being sinful. Any further around my middle and he’d have seen my new love handles, rising from my sides like freshly-baked pastry. Of which Gluttony’s dining table never seemed to run out... 

 My belly button itched. Even my brain felt stretched. I felt like I could go to sleep for a thousand years – but no, something needed to be done. I’d been socked with a sucker punch, straight to the gut. He got me good; now it was time to undo the damage. 

I sniffed the air. The remnants of my demon butler’s late dinner lay on the kitchen counter. Meatball pizza with crispy crusts. With fried bacon. And extra parmesan. 

Mmmm... 

“Anyway, I’m going to the gym,” I resolved, snapping my mind back into focus. “Run me a foot spa when I’m home?” 

“Training? At this hour?” said Phil, flicking open his pocket watch. “Would your body not be better suited to rest? Hell is an exhausting place to be.”   

“I slept when I was there,” I answered. “I think.” 

 Sure I did. Three days, three nights, plastered to a cushy chair, slumped over a table. I really struggled to remember. Every time I blinked, I saw cascades of plates, flying back and forth from the enormous oven, delivering meal after meal from the cavernous oven, the towering fridge, the bottomless pots on the ceaseless stove... 

“Where’s my bike?” I said. 

“Precisely where you left it, Madam,” said Phil. “Tied to the balustrade. I’ve kept the chain oiled, pumped up the tyres, replaced the batteries in the lights. Your helmet’s in the – ” 

 I left the room, shut the door and jogged the stairs. I scrolled through my memories for the lock combination, freed my bike and wrapped the chain round the frame. I ratcheted it to fifth gear as I kicked the front door open. Phil could close it again. I mounted the seat, tried to ignore the pooch of my belly on my thighs, and started pedalling. The hill we lived on gave me a boost. So far so good. Course I’d have to climb it home again, but that was the point. I needed to bank the effort. I needed to make up for the truck tonne of stodgy carbs simmering in my stomach. It wasn’t like striking a karmic balance or whatever – it was just plain math. And a little discipline. 

Sure. Totally in control. 

 Then as I hit the flat, it started to rain. I hadn’t brought a coat, or a bag of spare clothes, or anything sensible, to be honest. I took it as motivation to push harder. My grip tightened as my hands grew frigid, freezing rain leaking through my shoes as I cut across the puddles on the main walkway. Soon my hair was plastered to my shoulders. My arms felt frozen. My legs felt like they were withering as the winds did their worst. I lowered my head, tracing the flow of the streams along the sidewalk, seething while I soaked through.   

A dull glow reflected off the slick paving stones. I raised my head. It was the neon sign of Borgia’s Pizza Place. Suddenly, I wasn’t looking where I was going any more. 

 I don’t remember falling over. I don’t even remember what happened with my bike. All I recall is being drenched one moment, warm, safe, and sated the next. My face pressed up against the glass, body stuck in a zombie-like trance as I shuffled my way into a booth.  

The waiter was nice. The pizza was nicer... 

 

12:43pm, 22nd February, 2016 A.D. 

 

 I got on the scale, eventually. It was one I bought with a new blender online – plus some resistance bands, and a waist trainer. It said I weighed one hundred and forty-six pounds. Which would have been perfectly fine, you know. If I wasn’t five foot five.  

 Or if I hadn’t weighed a hundred and twenty-one pounds the week before. It really showed on me. My belly took the brunt, icing over my abs, drooping ever so slightly over my underwear. My thighs felt wider too. So did my face. I sucked in my cheeks as I stared in the mirror, topless, sifting through my bras. I looked softer, less toned, more feminine. I blew them out again, sighing. Then I blew them out some more, holding my breath, cocking a hip, squeezing the side roll that formed along my waist. If I couldn’t keep a lid on this thing long enough to figure out a plan...then I was looking into my future.  

 But moments for me to stop and think were few and far between. Every breath I took, I was daydreaming about food. Extra slices, bigger portions, handful after handful, day after day. Within hours of waking up next morning, I'd ransacked the cupboards, the fridge, the freezer, the snack drawer - everywhere in my student house. Everything was gone by Monday. I was glad I'd managed to spook my housemates away two weeks after we'd moved in together at the start of the semester - I'd have probably eaten all of their food too.  

 I was surprised I'd even managed to have a shower. By lunch I was woozy and bloated, nursing the boulder my belly had become again, blinking through glazed eyes. Plastic packets rustled in the breeze as Phil swept up the mess on the kitchen table, flanked by piles of plates and bowls.  

"Seems someone hasn't shirked off their appetite," he announced, mockingly. I was dull to the words, too busy groaning. Too busy chastising myself, under my laboured breath. I lazily licked up the last few biscuit crumbs on my lips, watching him shove my detritus into the recycling containers. He sealed the lid, then with a snap of his fingers, he shed his crimson skin, scrunching into a human disguise behind a veil of ancient magic. He lost his wings, and his dainty dress shoes landed with a patter on the linoleum.  

"Evidently, we're in need of something grandiose for dinner," he said, donning a flat cap over his horns. "Any particular cravings you'd like to indulge?" 

"Nngghh...n-no," I hiccupped, leaning over to one side. I grabbed him by the shoulders. "You can't. You can't bring any more food here, okay?"  

"No food, madam?" Phil shot me a puzzled glance. "This runs... somewhat contrary to my oathbound creed to provide you with the finest standards of living..." 

"That doesn’t mean enabling me!" I breathed. "Phil, I'm getting chubbier by the second. Just... go get a salad, or something. Celery sticks. Broccoli. Anything. Fill the cupboards with healthy food only. I've gotta stop eating like a pig."   

I raised my shirt. Soft flesh throbbed in abundance, rudely protruding onto my thighs. I slapped my belly with a wince.  

"If I ask you for more, just tell me no, okay?" I nodded. "Even if I strangle you. Even if I threaten to burn you into a crisp. I need to fight this." I shook him. "I need to beat this c-cur..." 

My eyes bulged. My face paled. I felt that strange, ghostly strand from Gluttony's belly, eking a crumbling cookie's width closer to my heart.    

"...phew," I wheezed. "Ooof. Close one." 

"Curfew?" said Phil, wrinkling his brow. "You need to beat a curfew?" 

"Umm...yeah!" I nodded again. That's what I'm doing right now...err...I'm gonna stay in today!" I said on the spot. "I'm not leaving the house after meals until I've...errmm...fasted long enough afterward..." 

"But what about that seminar you were planning to attend, an hour past midday?"  

"Oh shit," I blanched. "What time is it?"  

"Three quarters of an hour past midday," he said, nonchalantly.  

"Crap - I can't miss it, they count toward my finals! Uufff..." I struggled to my feet, holding my gut as I shot into my room to retrieve my backpack. I ran my fingers through my hair, trying desperately to make it look neat as I threw on a hoodie. I wobbled up against the bookcase as I thrusted my legs into my skinny jeans. My thighs were crushed tight. I thought about the cycle to campus. 

"My bike - ugghh...no," I shouted. "I'll never make it in time!"  

"You have other options," Phil stroked his beard. 

"Ugghh, yeah, the portals," I slipped a hair tie round my wrist. "Whew. I nearly forgot." 

"I meant for your bottom half, Madam," he said, raising a hairy eyebrow. "Those jeans are making for a rather...unbecoming look, don't you think?"  

I scowled at him. I scowled some more at the inch of nascent fat, separating the ends of my zipper. I yanked the slider, feeling every metal tooth put up a fight against my widened waistline. The strain spread to my hip bones as I wrestled the buttons together, poking the soft pooch of my stomach to close the zipper the whole way.      

"Just portal me," I cursed, squeezing on my sneakers. "Try not to drop me this time," 

"Of course," said Phil, tensing his claws, muttering an incantation. A circlet of light ran a ring around my feet. "Wouldn't want anything to bust now, would we?" 

[ShrubberyLogistic]

13:02pm 
 

"Dickhead," I swore, palming my bruising ribs as I stood up. I'd crossed five miles of time and space, re-entering the Earthly plane six inches above a set of stairs, and I hadn't kept my balance. I dusted myself off in a huff, slung my bag back on, checked the corridor, then curved round the corner to head for Room 12A. I took a glance at my red skull wristwatch. Two minutes late. Oh well.  

I bustled through the door, not bothering to knock.  

"Lenora," I forced a smile. "Great to see you." 

"Kirsten," my tutor, Mrs. Hargoyles, grunted from the desk. "Glad you could join us this year." 
I tried not to roll my eyes, peering round the room instead. There were ten, twenty people. I saw a spare chair by the fire escape. 

"We were just about to open discussions on the essays everyone's submitted." She shook a stack of papers together, setting them down neatly. "I received yours on the deadline, two days ago..."  

I held my breath. I felt my toes curl. 

"...but I haven't had chance to read it yet. Same with everybody else." she sighed, leaving the papers face down on the desk. My shoulders relaxed, relief flowing through me. "I’ve made a suggestion we all stand up and speak for a couple minutes on what we found in our research – we all agreed. Since you're stood up already, would you be happy to go first?" 

My shoulders seized up again.  

"Oh...err, yeah, sure!" I found myself fumbling with my backpack. "I'll do it. Errm... lemme find my notebook..." 

I stuck in my hand, probing for my pocket book of rites, and my fingernails scraped on cardboard. I kept my eyes pinned on a crack in the wall while a blush flooded through my cheeks. It was a doggy bag – the box I'd brought home from the pizza place when they'd closed for the night. Christ – the book was in the kitchen. I'd forgotten to put it back in. 

"It's here!" I exclaimed, trying not to sweat. "Sure it's here...somewhere..."   

"Never mind. Saul?" Hargoyles muttered dismissively. "Wanna show the group what professionalism looks like?”  

 A skinny guy with a crew cut shrugged, getting up with his notes hanging loose from his leather folder. I brushed by to claim the seat next to his, lowering my gaze to the floor. I got a glimpse of the tattoo on his ankle – a broken link of chains.   

“Umm, hey everyone,” He offered a little wave, then hooked his thumb back in his pocket. “So, my paper’s on Mephistophilus the Magnificent, sometimes known as the Fisherman of Souls, from his favourite hobby,” he began off the cuff. “He’s a renowned entity in the demon world, although he hasn’t been seen or heard from in nearly a year, by now...” 

 I sat down. The pit expanded in my stomach. No sooner had I sat than I felt the pangs of hunger mount. I perched on the edge of my chair, desperately trying to focus. 

“...he’s approximately seventeen thousand years old. Typically he appears as a flying imp, with a black beard and a monocle...”  

 I tried to look forward, but I was so ravenous I was struggling to see. I needed something to smooth the edge. I pried a hand in my backpack, clawing for the last flecks of crust, the last blobs of sauce. I twirled my plaits, straining to stay preoccupied.  

A whiff of cheese and ham emanated from the satchel next to me.  

“...believed that he reigned over an earthly kingdom during the Dark Ages, though the evidence is patchy...” 

I glanced over the chair leg. The corner of a sandwich peeked out from a paper bag. I bit my lip. So hungry. 

“...since he was known to eviscerate those who dared mention the secret nature of his rule, spies and historians alike...” 

 One bite. Arms poised on the desk, I hooked my shoe under the satchel strap, and gingerly pulled it closer. One little nibble of the crusts. No-one would notice.  

Right? 

“...without getting too deep into the grimoires, there’s not much more I can say,” 

“Wonderful, Mr. Leonard. Kirsten?” Hargoyles’ head tilted on a pivot. “Any comments?”  

 I don’t know what was bulging more – my eyes, or my cheeks. A cluster of crumbs floated off my pilfering fingers, the evidence packed into my chunky face. Everyone was staring. The guy who’d been speaking threw me a weird glance. 

Christ. It was his lunch.  

I coughed. I steeled myself over another sinful swallow. Then I tried to talk, and I choked. I covered my mouth, eyes tearing up as I spluttered helplessly. Someone put an arm around my back. I shook them off stood up and tottered into the fire exit, blundering into the courtyard, hearing it slam shut as I dropped to my knees.   

 Out of sight, I listened for murmurs. I knew Lenora wouldn’t give a shit. Hopefully no-one would come running to save me, and I could live safe in the knowledge that total control over my gag reflex remained my hidden superpower. 

Fine. Semi-hidden.  

 Whatever the case, there was no way in hell I was going back into that room. My bag could stay there. Maybe I’d get the tick in the box for attending. Maybe I wouldn’t. There were bigger things to worry about.  

Like whether I could make it to Grimm’s on time for their happy hour... 

 

11:47 am, 24th April, 2016 A.D. 

 

Laute - eating food that is too luxurious, exotic, or costly 

 Lobster. Oh God. I sunk my teeth into the last triple chocolate muffin, trying to relent. The urge to ring the bell for Phil was all-consuming. But he couldn’t magically make more food appear the way Gluttony could, and I couldn’t tell what my next craving would be. My stuffings were draining my savings dry. I’d sold the blender I wasn’t using, the bike I was growing too bulky to ride. Nothing helped. Already I was slipping into my overdraft, with nothing to show for it except a spare tire, stubbornly clinging to my waist.    

Studiose - eating food that is excessive in quality 

 I brushed the sugar off the pages of Daemonologie, Vol. II. My sweet tooth knew no bounds. One chocolate muffin led to another. And another - bursting with flavour, packed with morello cherry filling. The centre was moist and delicious. My hips jostled in delight; every casing licked clean, every finger sucked dry. No wonder they were getting larger, and larger.  

Nimis - eating food that is excessive in quantity 

 I’d tried rationing myself. I wanted the save the pack until after I’d finished – but reading all through the night, well into the next morning and then some, proved too tough without nourishment. Every time I read a page, I’d take one bite. Gooey, saucy and luscious. Soon I was swallowing a mouthful after every paragraph. Then every sentence. Then I needed more muffins.  

Praepropere - eating hastily 

 My manners went out the window. There was no way in heaven or hell I could take this book back to the library. I was baffled when I hit the end, only to flick through and find pages stuck together, bound by my greedy haste, lined with layers of chocolate. The sight of it fracturing as I split them apart threw me back into a frenzy. Soon I was skimming the chapters just to find the droplets left over.   

Ardenter - eating greedily 

 So I gave up. I piled in. I collapsed into the sheath of soft, fatty flab being wrapped up around me. I sat, and I slept, feeling pudgy and weak. I’d gained sixty, nearly seventy pounds since my ordeal started, planting me firmly in the overweight category. The final semester wasn’t even over, and already a third of me belonged to Gluttony. Thirty-three fucking percent of my body was bulgy, squishy fat.  

 If I couldn’t smoke out whatever loophole he was hiding in, that figure was going to balloon to 100%. But my eyelids felt so heavy. I could barely tell one line from the next, munching in a stuffed, slurring stasis until hours later, I felt the tickling claws of my demon butler on my shoulder. 

“Time for work, Madam.” 

The sun blared through my velvet curtains. I blinked, raising my sleepy head off the desk. 

 “Phil,” I groaned. “If you’re gonna tell me my shift starts in two minutes, you’re dead meat.” 

 “Your presence is expected in one hundred and twenty seconds.” He clasped his fingers. 

“Are you kidding me?” I spun my chair, cursing. Cake casings wafted in the sudden breeze. I inspected the time on my wristwatch and flung back my hair with a pitiful mewl.  

“I judged it better to allow you some rest,” said Phil. “You were awake throughout the witching hours.” 

 “I know. Ugghh,” I stood up. My belly hang jostled a little. I parted my softening thighs, trembling in my pyjamas. I checked my face in the mirror, cheeks covered in chocolate smears. “I can’t go out like this,” I declared, grimacing as I searched for the shapewear that’d arrived yesterday. “Yasmine’s gonna fire me the second I walk in.” 

“Then don’t walk.” said Phil. “I’ve left you a portal in the kitchen. Cast and charted for the changing rooms of Jezebel’s Burgers – I've hidden the exit in one of the stalls. One hundred seconds left.”  

“Phil, you’re my hero, and I love you,” I nodded my head. “But we can’t keep doing this. I’m gonna walk home after I lock up. Don’t answer me if I call – I need the exercise.”   

 My knees hurt as I staggered to the kitchen, case in point. I shifted a hand to the small of my back, easing the ache. My body wasn’t used to carrying all this extra weight. My muscles had retracted from my shoulders and legs, a soft layer of fat covering the areas where they’d stood stark, and strong. I was blimping up to a point where it was seriously starting to bug me. I’d tried devoting myself to a programme of eight hours sleep, eight hours working the bag, eight hours thumbing through research into my condition before more workouts, more sleep, allowing only nibbles between phases. My logic was if I didn’t give myself time to feed my face, I wouldn’t.  

 But that bandwagon broke with the button of the skirt I’d bought the night Gluttony visited me. My ‘diet’ lasted two days. I hadn’t dropped an ounce, and as flab poured through the zipper I let loose. I gorged and glutted myself until the seams squeaked, crushing my anguish with calories. I could only pray the skirts at work weren’t about to get the same treatment, as I curled my toes over the glowing portal’s edge. 

“Didn’t you tell me there were side effects to this?” I asked. I tied my hair into a messy bun. A pack of doughnuts I’d been trying to distance myself from called my name on the countertop. Inevitably, they wanted to come with me.  

“Nothing catastrophic,” Phil exclaimed. “Merely a mild chance of a pulmonary embolism. Occasional internal bleeding in the long term.” 

“How about weight loss?”  

My butler blinked.  

“There’s a fleeting shot that it’ll reduce you to a skeleton,” he said cheerfully. “If you wanted anything cosmetic – well...fat chance, I’m afraid.” 

“Ha-ha,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. The first doughnut found my lips, tensing in ecstasy. 

"I'm merely trying to cheer you up," said Phil. "You’ve been rather irritable. I do fear I'm losing my place in your affections. Fried peanut butter sandwiches. Jelly doughnuts. How can I ever compete?"   

“Maybe by not being a douche about it?” I mumbled, arms folded over my belly. 

“About what?” he asked.  

“My....urrghhh. Forget it.”  

 I jumped into the veins of the twisted underworld. I swore I could feel the portal’s tube-like cavity nudge my backside as I barrelled through the veils between dimensions - rising quite unlike a phoenix - to my final destination.  

 More like a stuffed pigeon, about to get plucked. I collapsed on the benches by the mirror, worn out. I could’ve slept for a thousand years – I didn’t even have sixty seconds. Another five-hour shift, make or break. I was dangling on the precipice of everything – job, coursework, probation, meaningful human interaction. My fingers were on the edge of a cliff. And I was getting heavier, and heavier. 

 I sighed, coughed, finished my second doughnut, and took a swig from the water fountain. I swallowed, and hummed till my customer service voice came back into being. 

Jezebel’s Burgers. Wouldn’t you like to supersize? 

[xandercroft]

This is well written 

[ShrubberyLogistic]

11:59 am. 

 

 Should’ve pissed off Lord of Lust instead, I said to the mirror inside my locker. Would I look sexier? Or less sexy? I couldn’t decide. I tested a variety of poses – mainly to compress my new curves into my shapewear, hopping and jiggling round the locker rooms before I fixed my makeup, and smoothed back my loose tresses of hair under my Jezebel’s baseball cap. Leaving the top and bottom buttons on my checked shirt undone, I sauntered upstairs to show my face to my line manager. I needed these shifts. My tip jar was crying for the funds. Already pizza had eaten up my budget for the week, and I could feel a hit coming from Phil’s next trip the mall - much as I could feel the pinch of my tees under my chunkier arms. But thankfully, my burgeoning figure didn’t look as in need of a fresh wardrobe selection as it felt. I still looked good. Lycra was keeping the monsters at bay, for now.  

For now... 

 I grabbed a numbered pouch off the rack and clipped it round my waist, jogging up the taped-up ramp, crossing the fryers as I walked into the kitchen. Yasmine, my boss, shot me a befuddled glance, then narrowed her eyes. She tapped on her phone, checking off the strike beside my name on the online pay scheme. 

“When did you get here?” she barked, folding her arms. “I never saw you outside.”  

“You didn’t see me downstairs?” I shrugged. “I was getting changed. Takes time to make this outfit look good...” 

“It’s a uniform. And you’d better make sure it does, because we’ve got company.” 

 She flashed her makeup caked complexion around the edge of the exit door, like a sniper locking in on a target in the distance. Her heels gave two inches to her already towering frame. Her bouffant was almost brushing the closer.  

“Here, look.” Yasmine beckoned me to her shoulder. “See the dude in the puffer jacket?” she whispered. “With the newspaper. Baseball cap, blue jeans, the ‘I Love Bubbunut’ tee – second chair, two tables left of the ice dispenser?” 

“Yeahhh...” I mumbled, balancing on my tiptoes. “You mean the only guy in the restaurant?” 

My boss bristled the wrinkles on her forehead. 

“See, he’s ordered one of every item on our breakfast menu,” she continued. “He’s been sitting around for like, an hour.” 

“Maybe he’s hungry.” I shrugged. My gut gurgled. I tightened my pouch to keep it quiet. 

“No.” Yasmine hushed her voice. “He’s here because he’s an inspector. The campus governing body’s sent him to evaluate my – I mean – our business protocols!” 

“Oooh. Line manager’s job on the line? Nice,” I smirked. 

 Before she could launch her tirade, the orders machine jabbered and bleeped. The mini-guillotine whizzed across the edge of the curling printout. Yasmine snatched it up and read the black words.   

“Oh god,” Yasmine put a palm to her chest. “He wants lunch!” 

“What a shock.” 

 She ignored me. Crouching by the shelves, she pushed aside a folder full of master copies and withdrew a long, bulky iron safe. She got on her hands and knees, brushed back her bob and listened to the clicks of the bezel. She twisted it clockwise, counter-clockwise, clockwise again, then pressed the button. The door clunkered loose. 

“This is what’s going to save us,” Yasmine told me. “This is what my legacy is going to be. This is what’s going on my CV when I apply to Bronte-Cavendish, and they ask me what I’ve done to boost a smaller business...” 

Maybe I heard a choir sing. Maybe her delusions were just that powerful. She slid a foiled-covered tray out of the safe, with a single flame-grilled patty, a slice of orange cheese, exactly thirty curly fries arranged in a spiral, and two unnaturally shiny bread buns. They almost radiated light.  

“Wow,” I tried to look impressed. “A burger meal.” 

“Not just any burger meal!” she hissed. “This is the Jezebel’s Juicy Junt Deluxe Bacon Double Cheeseburger. This is the industry standard. I made it like for like at the franchise annual continuous training meeting. And I’ve preserved it, just for this moment.” 

“Yasmine, how long has it been sitting....” 

“That’s not important,” my boss snapped. “What matters is style, appearances, smiles, sex appeal. And since you’re the one obsessing over how your new boobs look in your ‘outfit’, you can go give it to him,” Yasmine handed me the foiled tray with a glower. “After you put it in the microwave.”  

She pressed it into my hands. The tinge of twelve different additives leeched from the meat. I flinched. 

“Seriously, if we do this...” My nostrils crinkled. “Someone might die.” 

“If we don’t do this,” Yasmine grit her teeth. “Then someone will.”  

 I mumbled my consent. Maybe Borgia’s would take pity and hire me instead, once this dump got its inevitable shutdown mandate. I didn’t care, but I still made sure I knew where to find the first aid kit as I waited for the food – if you could call it that – to heat up. The barely naturally glow took on a placid sheen of liquid plastic as I retrieved the buns from the oven. It was disgusting.  

“Hurry up!” Yasmine hissed. “Don’t make him nix us for slow service!”    

 I grabbed a knife and fork, shoved a dishcloth over my hand to at least give the impression the monstrosity I carried had just come off the grill, then snatched up a soda cup and stuck it under the nozzle. I half expected her to say she’d got the industry special frozen up in the fridge somewhere. Instead, she just eyeballed me. I sealed the cup, poked in a straw and set them on a tray. Yasmine held the door open for me. 

“Don’t fuck it up,” she whispered, ushering me past her shoulder. The door shuddered to a close behind me. The inspector remained alone, and I was the only one on the waitress shift. We were twenty yards away. I saw his legs dangle from the bench, bowed under his stomach, like some bloated sheriff in a Mexican standoff. My weapon was poised. 

And I was pretty sure my fate was sealed anyway.  

 His face was still buried in his newspaper. No harm in taking one curly fry. I sneaked it under the tray. Then another. And another. Tasted like cardboard, but my gut was yammering for more. I swallowed, approaching him casually. I set down the tray and took a backstep – a couple feet closer to the changing rooms, where I planned to wait out the oncoming storm. Maybe with a burger meal. A good one this time.  

“Would you like anything else?” I asked. 

“Yes. One soul, please. No extra salt.”  

The inspector folded the newspaper. I saw his puffy, blotchy visage in the clear for the first time, twisted into a smile beneath human skin. 

“Gluttony,” I whispered.  

“In a burger bar?” the demon lord grinned. “Oh, don’t looked so shocked. Part of me lives inside you, Kirsten Dwight. Your forays into overindulgence have granted me greater strength in your world. And I’ve been having an awful lot of fun with it.”  

 He cracked his fat knuckles, dropping the paper flat on the table. My glare gravitated from his sickly disguise to the picture of him on the front page. 

“Fast Food Fiesta: Campus Outlets Sold To State Conglomerate,” I read. “Environmental groups organise protest – more to follow.” 

“Pfft. Bunch of wet lettuces. They’ll soon see themselves shredding their banners, once they get a taste of what I have to offer. A multi-story food court, new vending machines, some wonderfully efficient means of supply to help balance the books...” 

He teased a sausage roll out of the endless stock in his puffer jacket, beaming as he took a bite.  

“What if I were to out you as a demon lord?” I raised an eyebrow. “How’s your business plan gonna look then?”  

“Try it. It’d only be your word against mine,” scoffed Gluttony. “And what good is the testimony of a lowly freshman, barely known to her tutors and on two disciplinary strikes, against me – Clive Augustus Spongen, renowned former Michelin critic and chief advisor to the campus culinary committee?”   

 “You’re on the governing body?” I mouthed.   

“Wasn’t hard to bribe them.” the bloated demon whistled. “I’ve been going to town around here. Once I’ve reviewed all the heartiest locales and presented my findings, there’ll be no doubt they’ll sanction the expansion of my approved eateries, and probably my revision of the meal plans too. Can’t imagine there’ll be much of a market here for so-called skinny jeans, once my new regime’s settled in.” 

“Campus-wide weight gain epidemic?” I rolled my eyes. “Wow. Wonder who'll save us from the apocalypse this time...” 

“Don’t be so coy. You’re the one who can stop me,” Gluttony rested his elbows on the table. “Cancel me, should I say. End my temporal power. Wholly remove my trace from your domain...if you’d simply surrender your soul to Hell. Or, more specifically, to yours truly.” 

“No way,” I replied. “I’d rather die.” 

“Yeah, that’s the spirit.” 

 Gluttony snapped his fingers. In an instant I felt my bra straps tighten on my shoulders. I took a spluttering breath in, pulling at my buttons. Soft flesh oozed out of the cups, while further down I felt my love handles morph out of my shirt. The look on my face transfigured to shock, amplified by the chubbiness of my cheeks. My curves jiggled, and grew.  

“W-what? What are you...ooh!” I cried out. My second button burst, pinging off a stool before clattering under the condiment dispenser. Someone shot a glare at me from the window. I ducked down before they could see me battling to keep myself covered.      

“Perhaps you’ll enjoy succumbing to obesity,” the demon smirked, leaning against his chair. “If the embarrassment doesn’t kill you first.”  

He pounded his fist on his belly, sending ripples through his tee. The veins stuck out round his face. My stomach bucked, a fresh gap of half an inch, then a whole inch of smooth fat slowly growing in the divide between my seized-up shapewear. My body had driven the cotton to its max. I crouched paralysed, lungs restricted, face reddened, pawing against my stretching uniform. My belly grew warmer and thicker, flopping over my skirt.  

 Gluttony let out a ** exhale, beads of sweat furnishing his cheeks. He gasped, gripping his chest. I felt the pressure subside.  

“Rats,” he breathed, wiping his brow, inspecting his blackened fingernails. “There’s a limit to my powers – for now. I suppose you’ll simply have to eat more, won’t you? After all, you’re a growing girl.”  

 I tried to stand on shaky legs. The bench struck me under my knees, sweeping my legs under the table. I yelped, tied by telekinesis. My belly bulged as it bumped the edge, and I hiccupped. I felt the tremble of another twenty pounds – maybe thirty – taxing my posture, tweezing my heartstrings. I tugged at my watch, rubbing the little fold that had settled on my wrist. My uniform was painfully, awkwardly tight.    

“What luck,” he leered, picking up the deluxe burger from the tray. “We’re just in time for lunch. Mmmm...holy mother of – pffft!” He spat the beef on his napkin. “What on earth was that? That’s the worst thing I’ve tasted in millennia! Good grief! Is this restaurant a front for something?” 

 He clapped his hands. In an instant the tray flooded with fresh meat, buns, bacon and cheese. I didn’t need encouragement. I felt famished all over again. Yasmine could stare from the kitchen door all she liked. So what if I was eating on the job – I’d tell her we were having a business discussion.  

Just me and Gluttony. My real boss. 

[ShrubberyLogistic]

08:27am, 21st September, 2016 A.D. 

 

 My jeans whined while I crammed my hand into the pocket, rooting for spare change. I’d forgotten how much the bus to campus cost. I ground my teeth, the vice-like denim strangling my circulation, before I pulled free the last seventy-five cents. My sore fingers itched as I collected the receipt, sauntering to the empty back seats with my bulging backpack. I let it slip off my aching shoulder, spun, and parked my sweaty ass with a clump and a breathless sigh.  

 Batting my eyelashes, I slipped down until the headrest nudged the nape of my neck, gently and softly recovering from the exertion. I closed, then opened my eyes, scanning the scene as more students piled on, trying not to inwardly cringe. Summer had gone in blaze of knickerbocker glories, and I’d hit a stage where I could only count one girl who could make me look skinny. She was curled up alone on two seats by the window, reading some funky green book with weird shapes on the cover. Her earrings were an alluring ruby red. The bus rolled up to the sidewalk, and I was this close to struggling up to sit next to her, until she choked on some water and her guy friend beat me to the draw.  

Oh well. 

 I watched him lather her with attention through narrowing, envious eyes. I hunted inside my backpack, settling on a box of chocolate eclairs. Ears pricked, mind melting, I munched and feasted until the journey’s end, tongue swirling in rivers of cream. I let my stomach roll up my shirt as I pushed in one after other, feeling my food baby grow and grow, shamelessly stuffing from stop to stop. I swigged some more coke as we reached the terminus, swinging my backpack round onto my shoulders with a burp, brushing back my plaits. It wasn’t a stretch to say my hair ties were the only thing fitting me properly. Even my necklace felt snugger, and taut.  

 I don’t know how much gothdom I could lay claim to with the amount of pasty white flesh I had on display. I could feel my logic coming into question as I hopped off the bus, wiping the whipped cream off my face. But see, fat was the point. I needed to look fat. I needed to act fat. That’s why I’d stuffed my bag to bursting with junk food. Just for this one day – so I told myself, as I swallowed my second cherry bakewell – a treat I’d saved for me making it through the square.  

 I’d signed up for one Dr. Byzanti’s modules the night before – Demonic Dealings 101: Curses, Spells, Hexes – and hopefully How to Find the Get Out Clause In A Binding Contract. I loosened my belt a notch. I was a two-minute walk away from my first lecture since I’d landed in college – yeah, a year ago, but whatever. I had to get him to notice me. I’d never met the guy, but surely Byzanti had to have done some research on Taeotevil before. If he could see how much I was starting to look like his plaything, then maybe he could help – without either of us triggering the death curse. So long as I didn’t physically tell him, I’d be okay. I just had to hope somewhere between his dozen degrees or whatever that he’d learned to play dot to dot.  

 Sure, I could’ve dodged what was coming. I could’ve made an appointment to see him in his office, but his schedule was packed to the rafters. The waiting list stretched a whole month into the next semester – and I dreaded to think what shape I’d be in by the new year. If I still even had a shape at all. My gut hung over my waistband, slapping my quivering thighs, demanding more food like the cuckoo in the nest. I cradled its weight as I mounted the last flight of stairs to the Arcane Arts Corridor, every podgy inch sapping my energy. My hands clasped the bannister, straining and huffing until my shoulders ached too. Muscles plumping for mercy, I reached the top with a withering sigh, and fumbled in my bag for a rocky road bar. I bit into it with the kind of moan I didn’t hear beyond the bedroom.  

Sweet crumbs and flecks of chocolate dusted my burgeoning chest. I was a mess.  

Perfect. 

I palmed the frosted glass and rehearsed my line one last time, under my heaving breath. Lifting my head high, I kicked open the door. The handle on the other side struck the wall with a smack.  

 A hundred bemused faces zipped across the theatre. Someone dropped a pen. Dr. Byzanti paused his reading, his finger pressed on a cobwebbed tome on the lectern.  

“Sorry I’m late,” I announced, loudly. “I got stuck getting food out the vending machine.” 

Someone sniggered. The doctor raised an eyebrow over his dark tinted spectacles.  

“Very well – find yourself a seat,” he croaked. “I believe there are some remaining. At the front...mayhaps?”  

 He lifted his chin. A couple of sophomores by the stairwell shoved their bags leftward on the second row. The deep blue seats folded as a space cleared up between the flip tables, three abreast. I nodded appreciatively, scurrying over. The spot was right under the old dude’s nose. Perfect. 

 At least, for ten seconds. Right until I found I couldn’t even breathe in to stop my stomach thudding into the front seats. This building was old, and small, and in no way built for a girl of my rising calibre. My belly bulged into the head of the girl in front as I scooched by, spluttering an apology, earning a cold look in return. I shook off my bag, folded down the plush chair and lowered myself on top with an audible wheeze. I spilled out on both sides. Squeezed into the desk, there was no chance of me retracting the fold out table. It squeaked up against the first row, pinned by my overblown gut.   

I heard whisperings behind me. Someone snorted. They deserved my middle finger; instead, I opened my backpack. The doctor tapped his long white staff against the bottom of the lectern, hushing the crowd.  

“And so, after Pride, Wrath, Envy and Avarice, we continue to the fifth of the seven of the Devil’s appointed lords and ladies, each with the power to inflict unique and terrible curses – the Lord of Lust, oft known as the Crocodile Cupid,” Byzanti continued. “Naturally his name, like others of the seven, must never be spoken, for fear of giving life to his accursed form here on Earth...” 

 I zoned out. I didn’t even bother taking out the notebook I’d remembered to bring this time – go figure. The tray cake was the first thing that hit my desk. Twelve inches long, six inches wide. And two and a half inches deep... 

“...the possession of obsession. His charms bewitch that which you love most, be it a person, be it a material pleasure...” 

 It was cut into slices, but I paid the portion sizes no mind. I spent the next fifteen minutes with fingers swaddled in chocolatey goodness, I double fisted handful after handful into my tubby mouth, groaning and licking.  

“...our penultimate Prince of Hell, Sloth, the most loathsome in appearance, the least compelling in character, but by no means not a danger...”  

 I dozed in and out of listening, crunching up the tray and slapping down a pack of jelly doughnuts – my favourite. I was pretty sure I had the whole row above me slack jawed as I got stuck into more, my hunger sucking in every last sprinkle of sugar. The hour hand slid by on the clock on the wall. I propped up my head, my double chin in one hand, the other slipping me more deliciousness, bite by bite. The bag exhausted, I brought out the coup de grace – a second tray cake, complete with a bottle of whipped cream. I took a delightful draw as I cracked my latest dessert out of its packaging. 

 “The last, but not least by any stretch of the imagination, on account of his terrible bulk and his insatiable appetite...” 

Oh god. Here it comes. The money shot.  

“...is the Lord of Gluttony.” 

Squish. 

I sunk my face until my nose hit the foil. The rush was orgasmic – true to form, I let out a whimper, and tried to turn it into a cry for help as I seized up the tray and rolled back in my tiny seat. Great clumps of fluffy, fudgy mixture sloughed down my shirt.   

“But it appears we’re out of time.” 

I stopped mid-swallow. A fat hunk of icing fell on my jeans.   

“I’ll have to leave it with you to discover for yourselves. Sadly, I’ll be indisposed next week, but look forward to readings on the Thursday after – the tribulations of Saint Anthony the Great. I shan’t keep you any longer. Go to your business, and remember one aphorism if any. We’re all searching for someone whose demons play well with our own. Ta-ta!”  

 A rumble filtered through the theatre as the mass of freshmen and sophomores bagged their tablets and notebooks and made moves for the exit. Byzanti waved his staff, retreating off the stage. I tried to catch his eye with my cake strewn complexion, to no avail. 

“H-how...what?” I whispered into thin air. “How did you...how did you not...” 

“Move it, lardass. You’re in everybody’s way.”  

 Still spilling over my seat, some tall girl with a hockey stick and a sneer resurrected straight from middle school stepped clean over my spongy thighs. A gaggle of her snivelling teammates snaked their way around me. I stuck my head low, swamping my anger in baited breaths, and once the last had let me be I quietly shoved my trash into my backpack as fast as I could. I had to catch Byzanti before he left. I had to. 

 A gaggle of brownnosers built up around his lectern before I could make a move, scrabbling over one another for his advice on their theses. I struggled up from my seat, pressing with my arms. My first effort brought jiggling, my next a groan of annoyance. I had to get him to speak to me. I curled my legs and pressed, my stained stomach rubbing greasy marks along the woodwork. I lifted just enough to wedge my way onto the next seat. Then then next, pressing and pushing. Legs bent, arms flailing, I wobbled to the end of the row, a wide berth forming at the end. Eyes bulged, brows wrinkled, as crumbs spilled off my burgeoning chest. 

“Hey.” Someone tapped me on the shoulder, from the row behind. “Girl who stole my lunch.” 

I flipped my hair, turning my head. I instantly went beet red. It was the guy from the seminar. Still in skinny jeans, now in a goofy sweater. I watched his pumps drop down the stairs, jeans rolled up over his ankle tattoo. He was smiling at me. 

“I’m sorry,” he offered. He scratched the back of his head. “I don’t remember your name,” 

“Kirsten,” I said, sheepish. I let out a breath I forgot I was holding. “You’re Saul, right?”  

“That’s me,” he nodded. 

“Um, little more butter next time?” I smiled, cringing. He laughed, thankfully. I watched his dimples crease over his hairless jawline. “Shit - I’m so sorry,” I laughed too. “It would’ve been rude for me to ask. Let alone just take your sandwich like that.” 

“Meh,” he shrugged. “I wouldn’t have said no,”   

“...I...I don’t know what came over me,” I shook my head, dying a little inside.  

“You sure do like your food, huh?” 

I blanched. I tried to look innocent, and it might’ve worked if it wasn’t literally plastered all over my face. 

“Yeah...I...err,” I felt the tether’s noose looping on my arteries. “I’m looking for some help...with...” My palm zipped to my constricting chest. “With errm...with this lecture!” I was praying he wouldn’t notice. “You don’t happen to err... to know Dr. Byzanti well, do you?” 

“Oh. I’ve read his stuff before,” said Saul. “Was that what you need? I could share my notes.”  

“Oooh, ermm, maybe. But I’m looking for more of a face to face meeting – kind of away from here.” I dipped my knees a little. 

“Hate to say it, but Byzanti’s not easy to get a hold of. I wish I knew him better, he’s a legend,” Saul replied. “Goes round the world performing exorcisms for free. Can you believe he once made Pazuzu jump out of a window?” 

“Yeah...” I nodded. “Looks kinda boss, right? With his hat, his magic staff...” 

“Magic staff?” said Saul.  

“Yeah, the white thing,” I replied. 

“That’s his stick,” he said, puzzled. “You know he’s blind, right?” 

 I felt words die in my throat. My face gravitated to the exit, where I watched him leave. I winced, watching him glide effortlessly to the doorway, the white ball on the end of his cane clicking along the carpet. I’d been looking at it upside-down. 

“Heh...heh...yeah, I knew that,” I mumbled, wishing the ground would swallow me up. Forty bucks worth of food. The mess I’d made on the upholstery. For nothing. “Oh, oh no, he’s leaving. Heh. I’ll have to just send him an email...find out when he’s next around.” 

“Aaand I’m sure he’d love to read it...” said Saul, slowly. “If he could...see.” 

I let my leftover credibility leech from my bones. My face found its true place, pressed in the shadow of my palms. Something quivered inside me. Deep within, my paranormal appetite began to surge anew. 

“I’m kidding,” he said. “He’s got a secretary. Her name’s Rhiannon, maybe you could drop her a – ” 

I clutched my raucous stomach, throwing him a look of pure terror. 

“Oh god,” I whimpered. “Not again.”  

I grabbed the seat in front, breathed in and pushed. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, arching his back.    

I unstuck my rolling midriff. His eyes bulged as he took in my full figure.  

“I’ve gotta go,” I choked, sweeping up my backpack. “I’ve gotta get something to eat.” 

“Really? Oh right, I was wondering, would you...would you maybe...” 

 I was too enamoured to stay. Too enamoured by the thought of food. Of more food. Of endless food. Fuck. I widened my jaunty strides, thundering for the exit, my footfalls thumping and plodding. I could barely think of the word goodbye. The last thing I graced him with was the swell of my bell bottom, pressing out my panties, ratcheting up my jeans. 

It wasn’t until I staggered home before I spied the width of the split. 

[ShrubberyLogistic]

9:43 pm, 5th November, 2016 A.D. 

 

“Well, hello, if it ain’t DwightWhale98!” the blue-skinned demon chortled. 

“DwightWhale 3-0-0," Annulla chorused.   

“Dwight Walker 98,” I hissed. “And take a better guess, I’m not that fat.”  

“Then make it a prediction,” she cackled. “Christmas?”  

“Christmas? Nah,” Stycix fashioned a snowball. “I’m going for Thanksgiving.”   

I put down the bottle of cola and lowered the volume with the remote. Khan’s Fortress 3 loaded up on the flatscreen set; meanwhile I rustled up a handful of potato chips from my family size bag. I chewed and gobbled, atmosphere thick with the scent of fried chicken from the bucket by my socks. The main menu bathed my blubbery figure in blue light.   

“My other guess is you haven’t been doing much walking lately, either,” said Stycix, still chuckling. 

“Oh ha-ha,” I zipped through the start menu. “See how your words taste when I’m up there kicking your ass.” 

“Come get me, I’m here all night. Though it’ll probably be tomorrow before you make it up my tower,” Stycix smiled. “You’re gonna be a good girl and update your character profile, right? Humility is a heavenly virtue!” 

“This is temporary,” I muttered, glaring over my breasts at my bare, globular belly. “Class is permanent.” 

“Yada, yada, yada. Pick your poison then, whatever. Seeing all those ripped, chiselled, fallen angels in that little book of yours – that's gotta pack a punch, right?”   

“Annulla,” I snapped, watching her silhouette light up with my selection. “You ready?” 

“Always,” She flicked her whip. “I’ll rock. You’ll roll.” 

“Hahaha, good one!” Stycix got off his throne. “How ‘bout a straight brawl this time? I could use the exercise. Might even teach you a thing or two.” 

 I rolled my eyes, digging my nail into the X button. The skies thundered. The demons materialized in their places for the 1 v 1, their tall shadows spread across an ancient cloister. The beating drum countdown began; ten down to one. 

“You know, I think she’d be happier if we were fighting over a buffet table,” whispered Stycix.  

“Pffftt,” Annulla giggled.   

 I cursed them under my breath. I stabbed the buttons and set her in a full frontal thrust, straight at his stupid shit-eating grin. Annulla lashed her whip, snaring Stycix’s forearm. He caught her fiery fist in his other hand, inches from his face. Twisting, he stepped on the inside of her leg and launched her over his shoulder. A bed of frozen stalagmites multiplied on the tiles below. Annulla landed on her chest with a shrieking howl. I watched my health bar deplete with costernation.  

“Oooh, that’s gotta hurt.” Stycix smirked, melting the piercing shards. I pounded the mattress, shifting on my ass, feeling my flab waver and wobble as I scooched nearer the screen. My belly flopped between my thighs. I ground my teeth, squeezing the shoulder buttons to build up for another assault.  

“A cheap shot,” Annulla lit a fireball with a dismissive flick of her thumb. I snatched up a leg of chicken, holding the circle button while I ate, the flames whirling and growing in the palm of her hand. “Stymie your ego, snowflake,” she announced. “There is only one true queen of KF3.” 

“Wazzat?” The blue demon scratched his head. “Oh – one true queen of KFC. Got it.” He winked. 

 I let rip. I ditched charging my special attacks – I just went straight for the kill, pounding the square key, unleashing jab after jab. The blue demon absorbed my first two, dodged my next, parried my fourth, blocked my fifth. I began to lose stamina. I shot out a kick that he caught, spinning Annulla off her feet. He rallied the clouds, paralyzing her with a lightning bolt. I squeezed the controller. She was a sitting duck.  

 Stycix cast a stalactite from the rainy air and blasted it through her obsidian armour. Annulla’s health plummeted to zero. Drums pounded over his irritating chuckles while the losing animation played. My jaw clenched as I chewed, and swallowed. The fanfare played, the scoreboards lowered, a gleaming trophy landed next to Stycix’s profile. I skipped through as much as I could. It was the quickest knockout anyone had ever won against me. 

Skittles. They came thick and fast, pouring from the bag into my snarling mouth.  

“Ohhoho! Wooo! Who’s up for Round 2?” he jeered. “Annulla?” 

“’T’was but a scratch,” she hissed, returning fully healed to the roster. “Let me be the opponent this time – rain fire on this abomination!” 

“Not my call, babes. Hey, DwightWaddler? Who’d’ya want to hand your ass over to?”  

I tore off my headset, jiggling with impotent rage.     

“Guys, I’m having a rough day. Would it kill you just to be considerate, like, this one time?” I shouted.  

“Oh, precious, delicate, little girl. You think I built a sanctum in the sixth circle by being kind to people?” scoffed Annulla. 

 “Yeah, whatever,” I mumbled. I slapped the controls, initiating another battle.  “If you can’t say something nice, shut the fuck up.” 

“Whooaahh, who took a dump in your desserts?” said Stycix. “Entitled much? Geez.” 

“What’s that human phrase?” Annulla cocked a hip. “Someone feeling hangry?”  

“Just shut up and fight!” 

“Eek - yeah, come on, let’s do this,” said Stycix. “We don’t wanna cut into her mealtimes, do we?” 

“I’m uncertain if I’ll last longer than a candle’s dance with a balloon,” said Annulla. “The way she handled my powers in our last meeting – it was like someone trying to make brimstone with a scrying glass and a midwinter’s day.”  

“Almost like she was playing with one hand.” 

“Yes. Probably stuffing her face with the other.” 

“You think her fingers are too fat to touch the buttons properly?” 

“UGHHH!” I screamed, lobbing the controller across the room. It struck the television with a hideous crack, the lights flickering out with a sharp spark and a hiss of white noise. I got up with a grunt, thumping my feet. I wrenched the fractured plastic pieces out from the plasma display, letting them tumble to the carpet. I sat down on my bed again, heart thudding in placid shock. My knuckles were white on the bedsheets, my fingers as crimson as my cheeks. 

 If this was a battle, I was losing it. But ‘battle’ implied that at least I was putting up a fight. I wasn’t. All I was doing was watching my body blow through size after size, seam after seam. My t-shirt cut into my flabby arms. My black pyjama bottoms were becoming translucent. My bed was breaking. Even my rings wouldn’t fit round my jellifying fingers. Everywhere I touched was just pure, yielding pudge.  

This wasn’t a battle; this was a massacre. Of everything my skinny, fit figure had once stood for.  

But massacre might’ve implied that I cared.  

I tugged on the silver bell.  

“Phil!” I bellowed, unsticking my thighs as I rolled backward onto my creaking bed. My boobs went up to my chin. “Phil!” 

The tiny demon scuttled to my door handle. “Yes, Madam?”  

“I need to eat,” I shut my eyes. “Everything.”  
 

[xandercroft]

Oh snap, it’s getting hot in here!  

[ShrubberyLogistic]

3:06 pm, 11th December, 2016 A.D. 

 

“Kirsten, come check these sales receipts. We’ve got a problem.” 

I stumbled amongst the chairs, dropping my dishcloth.  

“Yeah, Nora, sure. One sec.” I exhaled. I collected the last piece of trash, checking the table with a hefty, aching thigh. The sooner they brought back self-service, the better. I blew the loose hairs out of my face, my burdened lungs demanding instant compensation. I had to pause as I side-shimmied through the flap leading to the kitchen.  

“We’re downstairs,” I heard her nasal voice echo. “In the office.” 

Yeah, where else?  

I grimaced. Bracing myself, I began the descent.  

 I hadn’t stopped putting on weight. Gluttony had done a number on me – one I couldn’t see any more, thanks to my belly blocking my view of my feet. It called for some crazy manoeuvres; getting my fat ass downstairs took a lot of leaning back, bunching and jiggling. I had rolls on my rolls, each demanding attention as they sucked at my shirt, puckering the material. I let my left hand leave the balustrade to pull the creases free, my right hand keeping me steady. Piling on the pounds had made me clumsy as fuck all of a sudden.     

“Have you got a pen and paper?” 

“Yes,” I groaned. I fished my orders pad out of my breast pocket, cotton tight as a coffin nail.  

“You’re good at math, right?” Nora, the dean’s daughter frowned. “Help me add these figures, something doesn’t look right.”  

 Yeah, okay at math. But my grasp on physics was starting to suck. What happens when you squeeze three hundred-pounds of soft student into a size medium uniform? Definitely didn’t look like I knew. I was trying to put my visible discomfort to the back of my mind. But the restricted breathing was hard to ignore. So was the jelly roll pushing over my skirt. I hadn’t had the balls to ask for yet another size upgrade, and with my usual shirt and skirt hung out to dry after my last sweaty shift I’d had no choice but to recover my old outfit from my locker. It was a miracle I’d managed to button the shirt over my boobs – the cheap material was ludicrously taut, my expansive cleavage pouring down all the way to my name tag.  

“Are you coming?” she whined. 

“Ufff...yeah, nearly there,” I huffed. I couldn’t make an excuse for my fitness any more – I'd given up trying to preserve the spring in my step. I’d slowed down – a lot. My haunches were gathering patches of dampness as I trundled between the spare stock stacked up in the basement, rotating my hips. I took a break, resting on an upturned pallet, chomping down some melted chocolate from my belt pouch.  

God, so good...  

Nora invited me to sit. I needed no excuse.  

“Like, here,” she pointed. “We sold nine-hundred dollars of stuff on Thursday, and twelve-hundred on Friday. But I only counted two thousand and forty-two dollars, fifty cents on Saturday. And already today we’re missing fifteen bucks.”  

The office chair crunched under my massiveness as I kicked myself nearer to her desk. She gestured to the pile of receipts on the spike. 

“The calculator says we’re down a hundred and seventy something dollars' worth of stock,” she murmured, pointing at the circled red lines. “And we’re not even halfway through the month yet. This can’t be right. Can you figure out what we’re missing?” 

 “Sure thing,” I mumbled, drumming my stomach. “You okay to cover for me?” 

“Uh-huh? How many tables have we got?” 

“Dunno,” I shrugged. “I was about to go on a break. Maybe thirty?” 

 She squeaked, dashing up the stairs and leaving me alone. I rolled over and kicked the door shut from my seat, rolling sluggishly back to the computer. My brow furrowed at the numbers, and my stomach gurgled on cue. This called for a little extra help. And some more food.   

 The office had a coffee machine and a microwave. I got them both going while I lifted my belly and pulled my book out of my pouch. I skimmed the pages until I saw one without any numerals. I folded the corner, then flicked through to the back cover. I heard a muffled grumble from within. I flicked back to the first page and saw the words thickened and wet. I gave the slick calligraphy a slow stroke, then turned overleaf. I dipped my blackened finger onto the yellowing paper. The droplet moulded, and shifted. 

“Gigastebel. Demon of the Written World,” I said. The ink transfigured into a wry caricature, eyebrow raised under a mop of curly hair. “Help me out. Please? It’s either you or Tipp-Ex. And I don’t think I have any Tipp-Ex.” 

“What you done now, Kirsten?” the inky creature groaned.    

“I screwed up because I was hungry,” I let out a sigh. “I need you to fudge these receipts so it doesn’t look like I swallowed two hundred buck’s worth of takeout because I really need this job,” I cringed.  

“Geez, would it kill ya to think outside the box once in a while?” Gigastebel grew a pair of pen-stroke legs. “You humans are so obsessed with fixing your problems one step at a time. Why not just wish yourself a demon of infinite money?” His long tongue flickered across the page. “You thought about Clinggold, Lord of Avarice? One of the other Seven Lords, maybe?" 

“They’re the worst,” I mumbled. 

“What? Are their prices too heavy to pay?” 

“Yeah...” I sighed. “Don’t I know it...” 

 Months of secret messages, crusty old books and botched dropped hints and I was no closer to reversing my curse than I’d been from the moment I’d been pulled off of Gluttony’s dining table, nearly a year ago. I was literally eating myself into oblivion. Hell was growing closer with every chafing step.  

“Alright, gimme a look,” said Gigastebel. “I’m drying out here, hurry.”  

 I picked up a couple of the receipts and smoothed them onto the page, before sealing the book and letting him get to work on the amendments. Maybe the world was just out to get me. That was the thought that crossed my mind when I heard the knock, ten seconds later. Nora’s nails were at the doorway. Yasmine was next to her, puffing out her chest.   

“Caught.” my line manager smirked. “Red-handed!” 

 I tremored. I whipped the book of rites to my breast. I didn’t know how long they’d been standing there. Before I could breath, Yasmine marched behind my chair, brandishing her notepad. I felt the pungent lick of her perfume grace my senses. Without breaking eye contact, she reached across, over my shoulder, and then, she opened the microwave.  

The bulb dimmed. A portion of fries steamed from garish moistened cardboard.  

“Stealing food...” she grouched, curling her lip. “...is a disgrace in this profession. I’d ask ‘how could you?’ But then I guess, we already know.” 

Her eyes dipped to my muffin top.  

“Um. They’re for my lunch,” I said in a low voice, trying to mask my sigh of relief. “I err...saved them for later, you know, when I noticed we were getting busy. We’re entitled to a free meal here every day, aren’t we?”  

“We’re in two minds over whether to keep extending those privileges,” Yasmine raised an eyebrow. “On the one hand, it’s eating into our profits, and on the other, it looks like it’s having a negative impact on workplace efficiency...” 

“That isn’t two minds,” I mumbled.  

Yasmine clicked her fingers. 

“Um. She means, the two of us!” said Nora, gesturing back and forth. “Our two minds – we both think we’d be doing you a favour...” 

“Ugh. Why don’t you just come out and say it?” I harrumphed, pushing my body out from under the desk, belly fully bared. “What are you, Jenny and Craig?”  

“Actually,” Yasmine said tersely. “We were wondering if you were going to say it.”  

“Huh? ...oh.” I bit my lip. My hands closed protectively round my covered lap. I gulped.  

“We know you’ve been helping yourself to other people’s orders, Kirsten. We’ve seen the wrappers poking out your locker.” 

“They’re...someone else’s...I was just tidying them up...” I said, blushing weakly.  

“What were you tidying the soft scoop machine with? Your tongue?” Yasmine snapped, rolling her eyes. “We’ve lost forty portions of ice cream this semester. This isn’t Grimm’s All You Can Guzzle, this is a student union eatery!” She stamped her foot. “What have you got to say for yourself? The fairies made me do it?”  

“Errr...” 

“Nora and I agreed, she’s taking all of your shifts this summer.” Yasmine folded her arms. 

“But I need this job!” I cried. “I’m...I’m struggling to support myself...” 

“Well, looks like you’re just gonna have to cut back.” She blinked.   

I felt rage boil from the pit of my stomach. 

“Fine,” I pressed the clip on my belt pouch, letting it ping off. I wrestled myself to my feet, huffing. “Nnnghh. Screw you, I quit!” 

 I yanked off my stupid baseball cap and threw it in the can full of screwed-up paper in the corner. I bludgeoned past them, waddling to the changing rooms, ripping off my shirt. A slew of buttons scattered across the basement.  

“You don’t have to return the uniform,” Yasmine called. 

“Yeah, wasn’t gonna,” I muttered. I rattled open my locker, allowing the trash to plummet while I stretched my tee-shirt over my bra. I unhooked my skirt and left it on the floor, peeling off my tights, then raking my leggings over my thighs.  

“We’ve docked your wages for the missing food you chalked out of the register,” Yasmine proffered her gorilla hand toward me. “Here’s your last paycheck, I took the liberty of cashing it for you.” 

She dropped a bulging sandwich bag on the bench. The whole thing was in ten-cent pieces. 

“Keep it,” I glowered. “One double cheeseburger, two boxes of large fries and a milkshake. Make it a large.”   

“You can’t tell me what to do.” 

“Sure I can, I’m a customer now,” I tossed back my hair, hauling myself up the stairs. “You’d better hurry up. Now you’ve got no-one who can alter all the bad reviews this place has been getting, you better hope I don’t drop one before dessert.” 

Gigastebel mumbled something about credit due. I gave the book – and my ass – a hefty slap.   

“Kiss it.” I puffed, emerging into the kitchen. I straightened my leggings and headed straight to Table 1. You can bet your bottom dollar I was propping up that place until closing time. Nora was pissed she couldn’t leave early. Yasmine was disgusted. The rest of the staff were horrified, but it bounced off me. Everything did, except the burgers. I let the reins off my appetite, swallowing and stuffing, chewing and devouring through meal after meal, hour after hour, rounding out, widening before their very eyes. Slowly, my t-shirt rolled further and further up my stomach. I took breaks to rub my aching bulges, burping between sips of soda. I was in agony. I was in ecstasy.  

 Yasmine came through at twenty past ten at night to give me my final order, and clear my mountain of mess. I was stuck to my chair like a bug. Eyes glazed, I reached over my shelf of a stomach to press a ten-cent tip into the palm of her hand. She shot me a look of pure hatred, while I tucked into my last meal at Jezebel’s.  

Fuck. I needed this food.  

[xandercroft]

Burning bridges. Good character building. 

[ShrubberyLogistic]

10:40 pm, 18th February, 2017 A.D. 

 

 I rubbed my eyes, lowering the brightness of my crappy thrift store TV. I edged closer to the tiny display, earning the same tired orchestra of groans from my bed. They were deeper than usual, but I was dull to the noise. Squeezing my arm rolls, I shoved a pizza box under the stand, then positioned it so I could see it from where I’d made my depression in the mattress. The picture was weakening in definition, and as I straightened it up, I caught sight of my face in the dark glint.  

I frowned. My hair had grown lengthy and messy; wild, since I’d pulled out my plaits. I used the last of my ties trying to hold my largest pair of jeans together – but they burst apart the month before when I sat down too quickly with my takeout. I didn’t have anything left to wear that would make me look decent. I hadn’t left my room in weeks. Hence why my face looked so pale, and so puffy. 

The silver bell pealed. I answered in monosyllables.  

“Third time’s the charm,” said Phil, nudging the door ajar with a pair of tailor’s scissors, and my dress slung over his spindly arm.  

 I flinched. I picked at the sleeves of my ‘overlarge’ hoody. My belly was riding up the pocket. My breasts were straining the elastic. I’d clung to it for so long because it was everything I had left. That, and whatever floral monstrosity my demon butler had altered for me.  

 Bottomless, save for a set of panties pulled to a string and flooded by my rolls of fat, I stood up with a fierce grunt and took the garment away from him, keeping the door between us. With a deep breath, I crossed my wrists over and pulled the hoody up, wriggling my rolls, unlodging my arms, twisting and tugging it off of me. I was topless underneath. I held up the dress, nudging the neckline under my half-moon choker (I could barely call it a necklace any more), then wafted out the shoulders, and rested it against my wheezing chest. The flowing material flapped against my beach ball belly.  

“Phil, this is a muumuu,” I muttered, huffing.  

“It’s got tulips on,” he blathered. “Aren’t they your favourite?”  

“It’s a muumuu,” I said. “Why couldn’t you find something you know I’d like?” 

“You could try it with a belt...” 

“But I don’t have any belts. Not anymore.” 

“I got one half price. Your instructions were to find something that would fit you,” he replied. He pressed on the handle. “If I could just see how it –”  

“Don’t come in!” I screamed, pressing back at him. He slunk back his claw, his ears faltering. “I told you, I don’t want you to be in here!” 

“I apologise, Madam. Forgetfulness. My fault.” 

“Everything’s your fault,” I growled, pummelling the door with my fist. He flitted back a yard. I rested my forehead on the wall and shut my eyes, seething. I took a moment to compose myself, breathing softly. Already a mild ache was mounting in my knees. 

“Ugghh...okay. What are my other options?” I groaned.   

I watched his dwarvern shadow sink its head. 

“There’s...nothing else,” he said, quietly. “I... I’ll try harder next time.” 

“You’re the worst,” I breathed, swinging my hips back around. My socks squished the chocolate wrappers strewn all over the carpet.  

“I-I understand. It would aid me if perhaps – if I could retake your measurements?” 

“Phil?” 

“Yes Madam?” 

“Fuck off.” 

 I ripped off my necklace and chucked the silver moon at his stupid head. I butt-slammed the door shut, listening him to slink away with his tail between his stumpy legs. Leaving the tent like dress in a heap, I waddled back to bed, grabbing a bucket of popcorn before plunging back into the pillows. A sharp crack made me grimace. Waves of turbulence flowed through my figure as I bucked my hips, my swathes of fat pooling and rubbing. I lifted my legs onto the mattress with a wild-eyed glare, lying down with my full weight, goading it to break beneath me. I wanted it to happen. I wanted to be flat on my back, quaking on the floor. Because my bed was the last thing left. The last thing in my room that was reminding me of how gut-bustingly enormous I’d allowed myself to get.  

 Seriously, giving up wasn’t a strong enough reflection – neither was ‘letting go’. Like I’d even had a choice in the first place. I scoffed at my attempts to fix what’d happened to me. I hadn’t so much fallen off the wagon as crushed it, completely. Like I ever had a clue what I was doing. I hankered a huge handful of popcorn into my gaping maw, smacking my plumpened lips, washing the salty caramel down with a huge gulp of cola. The warm, syrupy rush sloshed in my stomach. I let out an earth-shattering burp, rollicking my belly rolls. Another little crack made me reach for more. 

Give me back-straining, leg-buckling, socially humiliating obesity, or give me... I don’t know. I dived a pudgy hand back into my bucket. Soon I got bored of staring at the cracks on the ceiling. I shook my head, and mustered all the strength I had left to do a sit up. I spread my bare, pasty thighs, picking at my underwear before my belly cascaded over the top. I loaded KF3. I flipped through the options on screen, switching to sandbox mode. I adjusted the difficulty to the easiest setting, and ticked the box to activate the pre-programmed enemy design.  

“Kirsten! Glad to see you, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” said Poly, his silhouette springing to life. “You’re sure you don’t fancy a multiplayer match? Stycix and Annulla have been at each other’s throats. Tit for tat, bish bash bosh – it'd be the perfect timing, if you ask me.” 

“I don’t feel like it,” I sighed. “Could we just do a campaign level?”  

“Anything you wish, my lady. Though I must say, you don’t sound like yourself. Is something the matter?” 

“I hate everyone, everyone hates me, and I’m fat,” I muttered. “So nothing unusual, basically. We loading this or what?” 

“Oh...sure, sure.” 

 The citadel rendered at random, great towers giving way to the portcullis of a dingy dungeon. My player character materialised in an abandoned camp on the outskirts. A bard played a slow tune. It was late evening, on a long summer’s day. I skipped through the objectives. The counter sloped from five to zero. I paused, watching the first guard head toward my position, double-edged sword in hand. I didn’t move. 

“Err. Are you ready?” Poly exclaimed, hoisting his weapon. “All good to go over here – got those bowling pins nicely lined up for you.”  

 I swallowed. I rested the controller on my belly, looking at the sunset on the screen. I peered at the curtains in my room – the ones I hadn’t opened in weeks. Cobwebs linked the black stars on velvet.  

“Not having a hitch on the old connectivity, are you?” Poly asked, about to swing. 

“I’m good...” I mumbled. “Sorry. Just starstruck seeing my name next to someone skinny.”   

“Ha-ha. I – I see...” 

He chopped through the air, stumbling in his rigid armour. I wanted to laugh, but instead, I was quiet. I’d stayed inactive long enough that my character decided to have a lie down. She rested her bag and bow, her belt full of weapons. She picked a blade of wheat, stuck it between her teeth, then crossed her legs.  

 I glared at my thick, dumpy calves, and tried to mirror her. I raised a foot, and curled it over my thigh with a grunt. Then I raised my other leg. My muscles cramped up. I squeezed and squashed my flab, bending around my belly for my toes. I sucked in as best I could. My ankles ached from the walk to the bedroom door. I pushed, and pulled, and then typically, I gave up. My heels thudded to the floor, shoulder-width apart. I propped myself up with my hands, fighting for my breath as my character on knitted a daisy chain, boots perfectly folded. I couldn’t do it anymore – I was too bulky, and awkward.  

Another creak. The bed slats were giving up the ghost. My knees rose in anticipation.  

“What was that?” said Poly.  

“The sound of me falling from grace all over again,” I grunted.  

“Oh. You don’t sound so upset about it.” 

“Course not,” I laughed, slapping my stomach to cover the waver in my voice. “Heh...can’t wake up bedbound if I don’t have a bed...right?” 

My face sank as my stomach growled. Hungry again. I tried not to let my tears get any further than the pinprick in the corners of my eyes. 

“I get it,” said Poly. “Well, maybe I might, if I had a bed to sleep in. Or a body. Or a brain. I’m not even dust, anymore. What I wouldn’t give to be alive again...” he sighed. “Oh well.” 

He sighed.  

“Wait...” I whispered.  

“Alas, I’ve long come to terms with my lot,” he went on. “I’m dead to the world. Goodbye, cruel -”  

“Poly – you’re dead,” 

“Yes,” he nodded. “Quite aware of that. I have been for a long time. An awfully long time.” 

“No - like, you’re actually dead! It means you can help me!” I dropped the controller and nearly kissed the screen. “My curse – the killing curse, it only applies when I tell it to any living soul!” 

“You’ve...you’ve got me lost.” 

“Poly, I’ve been cursed. The Lord of Gluttony’s doing this to me,” I said. I felt weight falling off my shoulders as I grabbed my midriff, giving my rolls an impassioned shake. “I’m eating non-stop. He’s making me fatter and fatter until I tap out, then he’s gonna drag me to hell and leave me all blobbed up in a cooking ** for eternity, or something. I have to do something to save my soul, before it’s too late!” 

“Ah. Taeotevil,” Poly mused. “Big guy’s sure been awfully quiet lately. I should’ve known.”  

“You can’t tell anyone,” I stressed, gripping the controls. “Otherwise I’ll die and he’ll just take my soul anyway.” 

“Oh no,” said Poly. “Trust me. I’ve had a fair share of curses thrown my way. But killing you just to keep it a secret? That’s a strange caveat to insert into a curse, wouldn’t you think?”  

“Why?” I swallowed.  

“My point is, all demons thrive off notoriety,” said Poly. “They want to be known, and feared. They want to be infamous. The reason why Gluttony’s forced a death clause upon you is because he doesn’t want the rest of demon-kind to know what he’s up to.” 

 Something shivered, deep inside me. Part of him. I remembered the tether. I remembered how it felt when coiled around me. Painful. Angry. But there was something else there too. A hint of reluctance.  

“There’s an unhealthy competition out there for souls, especially between the Lords and Lady of the Seven Deadly Sins,” Poly continued. “They don’t see demonology students in hell all that often – you must be, how shall we it, hot property?”  

“So, he hasn’t got me, yet?” I deduced. “Maybe another demon could steal me. Or I could even escape?” 

“Yes, and yes,” said Poly. “Both entirely possible. But there is a second reason he’d want to keep all this hush-hush, of course. It’s completely illegal.” 

 I looked over my shoulder. My crystal skull glowed from above the drawers. My curtain was closed. The windows were locked. No-one could hear us. 

“Demons are only meant to take souls after a person’s died,” Poly explained. “What’s happening here is a classic case of entrapment – he's waiting until you’re so fat, that no other demon would seek to take you away from him. Not much point possessing somebody who’s immobile, is there?” 

I quivered, clutching my stomach. It was huge, it was heavy, and it was hulking over my knees. Deep within it gurgled with every beat of my heart, like a ticking time bomb.  

“If I were an angel still, I’d say only temperance can save you, Kirsten,” Poly smiled. “Only a heavenly virtue can counter a deadly sin.”  

Suddenly I was standing up. Both me, and my character. My waistband slung low as my belly forced it down from my hips. My heart was pumping. My face was hot. My jaw was pressed. My expression was coiled.  

“We have to challenge him,” I decided, clenching my fists. “I can’t take this lying down any more. What am I supposed to do? How are we meant to fight?” 

Poly stepped into the fields. The tip of his spear caught the light of the searing sun. 

“Like we’re in Hell.” he grinned. “There, we fight fire, with fire.” 

[ShrubberyLogistic]

10:59 am, 19th February, 2017 A.D. 

 

 My footsteps were calm, measured, and purposeful. For a girl of my size, they had to be. A black duvet helped preserved my modesty. I’d folded it under my arm, over my breasts, across a shoulder and round my waist, like a toga. The folds of my flab kept it pinned in place, freeing a hand to carry my backpack, and open my bedroom door. 

 A sweet smell drifted from the kitchen stove. I closed on where Phil was making his supper, chafing and bulging, hyper aware of the space I was taking up. I breathed in. For once, this time, it wasn’t all about me. 

“That’s not a face I’ve seen these past nineteen days,” he shouted over the extractor fan. “Pleased you could join me for Spring, Madam.”  

“Mephistophilus,” I said, getting my breath back. His pointy ears pricked. 

“And that’s not a name I’ve heard these past nineteenth months,” he balked, applying his monocle. “Either you’re possessed, or you want something very dear from me. What is it to be, Madam?” 

“Yeah,” I twisted the ring on my little finger; the only one skinny enough for it to fit around. “I wanted to apologise.”  

The demon stopped flapping his wings. He perched on the tabletop, giving me a puzzled glare.  

“Trapping you in a student house wasn’t cool,” I said, in a low voice. “I know what you use to have – going from that to this... it must have felt like a bit of a comedown.”  

He blinked, slowly. His forked tongue rested in his open mouth. 

“Because....I know what comedowns feel like, now,” I murmured, gripping a glob of my bulging stomach through the sheets. “I...errr...” I let go, letting the flesh wobble heavily. “I’m sorry for making you my bitch. You didn’t deserve that. You can leave, if you want... I ripped up your contract.”  

I swore I could see his horns light up.  

“Yeah, you’re free now,” I told him, shrugging. “Enjoy. You don’t have to suffer with – I mean – stick around with me any more...”  

I turned my feet inwardly. My ex-butler slipped into his disguise, and donned a tiny top hat. 

“This...is certainly a magnanimous gesture.” He jumped down, clicking his heels. “But, believe it or not, there’s something more powerful than a contract, in the demon world.”  

Mephistophilus took my soft hand in his.  

“It’s a creed. And mine is to never to leave something in a poorer state than what you found it in.” He looked me in the eye. “You and I have not been kind to each other.” He bowed his head. “But you have done me a great service this day, Kirsten Dwight. Was there anything I can do for you, before I leave?” 

I bit my lip. I looked over my shoulder, once, twice. Then to the window. Then to my bedroom behind me. My ornamental skull glowed yellowy on my chest of drawers. I turned back to my demon acquaintance.  

“There’s four things I need.” I whispered lowly. “Or five, depending on how you count them.” 

I could sense Poly watching, smiling. 

“A needle and thread,” I listed. “Some baking foil,” I breathed slowly. “The biggest pack of fudge you can find...” 

I unhitched my backpack. 

“...and an onion.” 

 

8th Turn of the Hourglass, 71st Baaluary, 8052.   

  

 Eclairs again. Puff pastry. Icing and cream. My mouth watered. My cheeks surged. I pried them off the plate, one by one, sinking them into my wide face, barely giving myself room to breathe. The cookies were next. My belt crunched, the buckle breaking some more as I rolled over it, heaving my belly further over the table. My poor muscles shuddered, sore from supporting so much useless mass. I gasped, finally pulling the bowl to my sweat-moistened chest. 

 I ate sloppily, noisily, blissfully. I let my roll blossom out of the rip in my dress, flesh clamoring to be free from the warmth. I cooled myself with ice cream, scooping it up with my hands. Milky goodness ran in rivulets past my lips. I lapped it up, sweeping up a spoon to stop the pearly drips striking the mahogany. I wanted every last drop.     

“Enjoying breakfast?” said Gluttony, appearing behind me out of nowhere.  

“Mmppphhh!” I yelled, cheeks filled with chocolate. I widened my eyes in shock. I tried to twist my head, but when it wasn’t enough, I rolled – slowly, pitifully – to face him from below. My loose blonde locks crested around me.  

“Clearly,” he muttered. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon, Kirsten. If I was, I’d certainly have laid out a bigger spread...” 

“I can’t take it anymore!” I choked up, slapping my hands on the table. The sinful platters of trifle tremored as I ditched my spoon, reaching above my head for a globby, quivering fistful. “I’m so full of food,” I sobbed, clutching my heaving gut. “It’s...it’s all I dream about...” 

I plunged my face into the tumulus of custard and cream, flat on my back, moaning and slurping. I practically felt his clawed toes curl up in his slippers. He took a step toward me with baited breath, swamping me in his shadow. His fat hand settled on my love handle as he whispered in my ear. 

“I do have...rather a certain appeal, don’t I?” he leered. His pink faced contorted, hideously.  

I closed my eyes. I licked every one of my fingers, shivering. “I’m four hundred pounds already,” I whimpered. It was no word of a lie. “I can’t stop getting bigger. I feel like I’m going to explode.”     

“No, no, no,” he shook his jostling chins. “Kirsten, this is only the beginning. You’ve got so much growing left to do,” He snaked his wrists round where my waist used to be, planting his palms on my belly. I cringed at his touch.  

“Don’t you want to live to your full potential?” he cooed.  

“Just...just take me,” I begged. “Please...”  

“Pardon?” 

“I give up,” I coughed, wobbling my lip. My eyelashes were moist. I reached for some more pumpkin pie, feeling my stomach bunch into rolls as I twisted onto my side. “I can’t think for myself anymore,” I cried, struggling myself back up while I stuffed in a bite. “Mmppphh... I don’t wanna go back to the surface... oh, I’m so fat...” I hoisted my muumuu. His eyes lit up at the sight of my blossoming, burgeoning hips, rubbed red by the tightness of the tube of light, suspended in the air above the pile of wineskins.    

“I could barely fit through,” I blubbered, tears flowing freely down my doughy face. “I don’t know if I can make it back up. I...I think I’m stuck here. Forever.”  

 Gluttony curled his lip, marshalling his sickly smile. He took my hand, and with a surprising amount of power, pulled me over to the table’s edge. He swung me round, letting my feet press onto the floor again. 

“Get on one knee,” he ordered me. 

“O-oh...” I whimpered. I held my arms out straight, slowly dropping to the floor. “Urgg...ufff...” I puffed, struggling to keep myself steady. My belly cascaded off my bent leg, grumbling and groaning. I steadied myself on the woodwork with a quivering arm, looking at the demon through a shock of sweaty hair.  

“Sign it,” he said, conjuring an inky quill from thin air.  

I took it in my shivering fingers, adjusting my shaky balance. A scroll materialised next to me; the titles written in blood. I glimpsed through lines of an ancient language, settling my stare on the empty space at the bottom, marked with a cross. 

“Sign!” he barked.  

I traced the quill to the page. I took a deep breath.  

Kirsten... I wrote, slowly, flinching. Dwight... 

 I struck through the letters, adding a crescent moon. At once, the quill crumbled into dust. The scroll was left in my hands, glowing. The ghostly tether rippled, pulling into a knot. I felt my body waver. My chest began to grow tight. My stomach gave its greatest growl yet. My last hopes shrivelled and died. I bit my plump lip, tearing up as I felt my spirits sink into the darkness.  

“Yes...” Gluttony shouted. “Yes, yes...YES!” he screamed out loud. “AHAHAHA!”  

 He raised his flabby arms to the jagged ceiling, splaying his wings triumphantly, cackling, gurgling, booming with laughter.  

“Taeotevil!”  

A thick fist pummelled the demon lord’s door knocker. “Answer me, you foul worm! Accept my entrance or be damned!” 

“W-what?” Gluttony flung his dumbstruck features to the doorway. “Who?” 

“Raaaaargghh!”  

A ferocious kick sent the door flying off its hinges. A chilling shadow erupted from the dust, muscle-bound from his wide shoulders to his stomping feet, coated in battered armor laden with trophies of war. Two razor sharp horns rose from his charred skull, and his eyes – two blistering blocks of pumice - narrowed in on me.   

“Treacherous wench!” he bellowed, tensing his pulsing veins. “Kirsten of Dwight, you dare renege on a bargain with Brackaddan, Lord of Wrath?”  

“What in seven hells are you doing here?” snapped Gluttony, pivoting. “Get out! You’re in the wrong castle!” 

 His stumpy toes trembled as a stained-glass window shattered to pieces in the dining hall. Two spiky tentacles burst through, leeching and probing the leftover food. I got off my knee, watching as a demon with five eyes and forty slobbering mouths slithered through the gap.  

“Clinngold?” the demon balked. “Not you too?!”   

The Lord of Avarice sloughed off the table, crunching the chairs. The mouths snapped and swallowed, and spoke in unison. 

“Gluttony, my eternal nemesis,” he hissed. “I sensed you stealing her soul from ninety leagues away. I should’ve known you’d want to stick a finger into the pie.” 

“Ahem,” The voice came from the fireplace, light and effeminate. “If we’re talking about sticking fingers anywhere, the buck stops with me,” A puff of soot tumbled from the chimney, clearing to reveal a slender, burgundy figure wrapped in jewels and silks. “Put your swords back where they came from,” he commanded. “I have a contract, signed and sealed, pledging your beloved Kirsten to me, the Lord of Lust.” 

“But I’ve got one of those too.” Putrid black shadows manifested on the futon. The air grew warm and thick as they waved hazily into the shape of a hideous slug, unwinding a long, lank tail. “What’s the problem Lefhancoc? I thought I was claiming her later. Do we have to fight about it?” Sludooze, the Lord of Sloth, yawned.  

“What...” Gluttony turned to me, rage in his eyes. “...is the meaning of all of this?”  

“Dunno,” I smirked, patting my bulging stomach. “Can I offer anyone an onion?”  

 I wiped the last tears off my cheeks, the split halves of the smelly vegetable lingering in my beckoning palm. The demon lord’s face turned ashen. 

“You...” he garbled. “You’ve...” 

“Silence, pithy fools!” 

 The chandelier rattled on the ceiling, the candle wicks lighting in a rolling spiral, printing the shadow of a portal on the tabletop just as I plucked an apple away from the fruit bowl. The lines glistened and glowed as Aashaqua, Lord of Pride, rose from the centre.  

“Leave your thinking to abandon!” He leapt off the mahogany, planting his bejewelled staff. “You see, this was all part of a masterful plan. My masterful plan. To bind Kirsten’s soul to my worthy cause, and lead her to glory from your mediocrity!” 

“Pish! She told me the same thing in my salon this very morn!” Lust protested.   

“And in my chambers of pain last twilight!” shouted Wrath. 

“Yeah, I like to shop around,” I said, squeezing the soft fruit and taking a bite. I leant my weight against a buttress pillar, twirling my loose hair. “Hmm...mmmpphh...some really tempting offers in those contracts. It’s hard to choose...”  

“You sold your soul...to all of us?” Avarice balked.  

“I’m a harlot,” I shrugged, smirking. “What can I say?”  

“Impossible!” He bore his myriads of teeth. “No contract of mine can be subsumed!” 

“Yes, yes but remember, I was first anyway,” said Pride. “She signed my contract yesterday. Finders keepers, I’m sure you’ll agree.” 

“Nonsense. We all have a claim - I say we fight for the prize!” boomed Wrath. “Survival of the fittest!” 

“Unnff...” I jiggled my massive stomach. “Err, count me out...” 

“Ditto,” said Sloth.  

“Then how about we split her up?” Avarice growled. “Into six little pieces!” 

“What would you know about sharing fairly?” said Lust. “Regardless, the last I heard, her and I were exclusive.”  

“Half a soul’s no good to me,” piped up Pride. “Let alone a sixth.”  

“Ermm? Hello? Excuse me?” said Gluttony, banging a ** and pan together. “Have you bastards all forgotten I exist? Me? The one who’s piece de resistance you thought it fit to crash in on?” He lobbed his crockery into the fireplace, indignant. “This one’s mine. I mean, look at her,” He stuck out a sausage finger at me. “Look at the bloody size of her – she's huge!” 

“Sheesh,” I mumbled, chucking the apple core over my shoulder into the fireplace, waddling back for a bowl of stew. “What a charmer you are.” 

“Oh, will you SHUT UP!” he screamed. “I don’t know, let’s sit around the fire, chew the fat, wonder who you really belong to!” He slapped his thigh, looking his fellows in the eyes. “Isn’t it bleeding well obvious? She’s mine, mine, MINE. And I don’t give a damn what order she wound you all up in, I was the one who cursed her first!”  

“Huh?” mumbled Sloth. “Say what now?”  

Hell’s Dining Hall fell quiet. For the first time, Gluttony shut his mouth. I smiled.  

“You...cursed a living human being?” said Wrath. The stones smouldered in his eyes. “On whose authority?”  

“I - I did it for your own protection!” Gluttony blathered. “She’s...she’s a demonology student! I couldn’t allow her to roam free, she’s a threat to us!”  

“A threat that you never hastened to warn us about...” Avarice noted.   

Gluttony began to pale. I winked at him, sipping the succulent gravy.  

“You know, TaeoteviI, I think I’ve seen reason to suspect your credentials in the pursuit of happiness for our kind.” said Lust, slowly. 

“Yeah,” said Sloth, raising an arm. “What he said!”    

“You’ve harboured an enemy of our infernal regime, let her feast on your food, sup on your wine. And there’s no doubt you’ve spilled many of our arcane secrets in her ear, willingly or otherwise...” 

“But...but...” Gluttony flapped his outstretched hand. “You can’t! You can’t fall for this! It’s a trick! Can’t you see what she’s doing to you? She’s evil!” 

“Mate,” Sloth slurred. “If she’s evil... then what are you supposed to be?” 

 I’d never seen a demon go white before. I drained the last of the bowl, slurping. This sure was one for my next class project.  

“Well,” Pride raised his eyebrows. “If there’s one thing we can all agree on, it’s that we can’t let this mole burrow any further than she already has,” He sidestepped on the table. “I propose that we revoke Gluttony’s curse. Withhold the descent of her soul into the flames, so that we might figure out what to do with her first.”  

“Aye,” said Avarice. 

“Seconded,” said Lust. 

“Finally, something we agree on,” Wrath cracked the knuckles of his fist.  

“You’re all fools,” Gluttony contorted his lips. “Don’t you know what powers you’d have to manifest to undo all of my designs? What unholy union of forces you’d have to conjure?”  

“The five of us as one, methinks?” said Avarice.  

“Indeed,” said Lust. “Why do you think they call it a pentagram?”  

 He folded his arms. In a flurry his silks whipped free, flapping as they crossed the hall, wrapping tightly around Gluttony’s tiny legs. His bulk unsteadied, the bloated lord yelped and toppled, scrabbling uselessly on the stonework. Wrath pressed a foot on his wobbling jowls, holding him silent and still.  

“I believe I’m the best at drawing, if you’d allow me to do the honours,” said Pride, snapping his fingers. Black tongues of flame burned a five-pointed star into the ground, with a hapless Gluttony at its centre, quaking in fear. The five took their places, crossing a circle of frothing blood. Gingerly taking one last chocolate éclair off the dining table, I backed into the wall of ovens, opening my backpack, glancing over my shoulder one more time to check that no-one was looking my way... 

 Immersed in their incantations, the circlet of lords closed their eyes, channelling murky forces through their cloven hooves. The ground between them grew cold, and icy.  

 “Ohhh...” I sighed. I felt the otherworldly tether unwrap from my midriff. Across the hall, Gluttony’s skin had faded from churlish pink to starving grey. His shouts reduced to pleas, then weakening cries for mercy. A wispy essence escaped from his belly button, like hot air racing from a puncture. Silvery and bright, the cloud dashed in a vibrant stream to my nose. I inhaled, gladly and blissfully, as the pit in my stomach finally started to rise. Gluttony choked, weakened and withered, while I bent forward, hands on my knees, sucking in sweet, sulfur-ridden air.  

“Thanks guys,” I said woozily, setting down the half-eaten éclair by the knife block. “Knew you’d turn from the dark side.” I winked. My heart warmed, and I felt happy memories return to me at last. 

“You’re welcome,” yawned Sloth. 

“Zip it!” snapped Lust. “That was the last respite you’ll receive. Now you shall face eternal judgement on the manner of your damnation!” 

“Let’s not be hasty,” said Pride. “Eternity can wait. We’ve each been slighted by her dealings. I say we each deserve a turn at exacting our own style of vengeance!” 

“Tear her apart!” yelled Wrath. 

“No - squeeze her for answers!” said Avarice.  

“Uhhh... guys?” Sloth roused from the futon, sniffing the air. “Something smell like it’s burning to you?”  

 I scooched my wide ass away from the oven. A slither of grey smoke permeated the haze of the seven chandeliers above the dining table. Avarice flicked his eyes around the room. Gluttony mumbled a word, his voice muffled by Wrath’s leathery sole.  

“It’s coming from...the kitchen,” said Lust, sniffing. “Smells like burning wood.” 

“Not wood,” Pride crinkled his nose. “Paper.” 

“Oh, not just any paper,” I announced. “Faux-parchment, made from the finest Manila hemp...” 

Gluttony howled. Wrath blinked in bewilderment. I tiptoed toward the dining table.  

“The contracts!” Pride thundered, shooting to the oven doors in a flash, peering along the handles. “Cerberus’ slobber, they’re on fire!” 

 He wrenched open the door. A noxious cloud of fumes leaked out, swamping him in bitter blackness. He howled, bright blue eyes awash with dirt and cinders.   

“Save mine! SAVE MINE!” Wrath stormed toward him, whirling the smoke, Avarice hot on his heels. Lust leapt onto the countertop. Even Sloth slithered into the melee, acid leaking from his trail. Someone stomped a foot on a tentacle, trying to quash the flames. The first punch chipped a spiky tooth, the second rollicked flesh and bone. I belly-flopped onto the table, twisting my legs, finding a knee, then rising to my feet above the growing cloud. The smoke flourished, until all I could see was infuriated fists, coiled tentacles, bent horns and smatterings of spittle. Coughs and curses ricocheted through the air.  

“Guys, hook me up!” I yelled, lifting my backpack. I clasped my hands, praying my needlework was worth the days I hadn’t skipped in high school fashion design class. The fishing hook swung down from the pulsating portal above the table. I caught it from my tiptoes, lodged it under the handle of the bag, and gave it two sharp tugs. The line went taut. 

 I tightened the straps over my thick arms, clutching my palms together, almost in prayer. I winced, closing my eyes. This was going to hurt. I tugged one last time. The reinforced loops dug into my flab, while down below, I slowly felt my heels lift off the ground. I grit my teeth, pulling upward as hard as I could, trying to spare myself the ache. Inch by inch, I rose higher and higher.  

 The smokescreen faded from black to grey. The colours of my garish muumuu began to filter through again – stretched flowers on weakened threads, blue, yellow and white.  

“There!” Avarice howled. “There she is! Get her! GET HER!” 

Wrath stormed over the benches and set on the cotton with razor-like claws, ripping and tearing. In seconds my dress was in shreds. 

“What?” he shrieked, staring the suckling pig in the face. My dress faltered in his rigid fingers, the red apple rolling free to his feet as he yanked the hem, tugging on the roast I’d manage to sandwich inside.  

He looked too late. Fifteen feet above, my plump calves and trusty sneakers disappeared into the golden beams. A soft pop and a crackle echoed through the dining hall, as the portal evaporated out of existence.  

[ShrubberyLogistic]

11:17am, 19th February, 2017 A.D. 

 

 I hadn’t been kidding about being barely able to fit through the portals. It took the combined strength of both my sidekicks to lift me out – Stycix and Annulla, squashing up my hips where they’d become trapped, heaving from under my arms, towing up my thick, meaty wrists. I came free with a dredging pop, then liberated at last, I crawled onto my bedroom carpet, recovering my breath. My hanging belly brushed the tickling fibres, swinging and sweeping until I rolled onto my back. It was over. I had control again. Finally. 

It was a welcome surprise to sweep my hair aside, and see my demon butler staring down at me. 

“My lady – where is your dress?” asked Phil, bemused.  

“Hell, where it belongs.” I shrugged, basking in sunlight while I lay down on the floor. “Guess this is my default setting now, huh?” I grabbed my billowy breasts and gave them a squeeze. “...until I find something that fits. Heh...wheew...” 

 The threesome stared at my bare largesse. I didn’t mind. If it was good enough for Adam and Eve, it was good enough for me.  

“You guys are gonna draw a pentagram round me and make me skinny again, right?” I mumbled. “Redemption arc completed? Journey’s end and all?” 

The demons looked around at each other. It was Annulla’s turn to grit her teeth.  

“Beats me,” said Stycix. “Magic weight loss? Sounds like more of a G-Man thing.” 

“Ugghh...I was kidding,” I groaned. “Can’t imagine my prayers are gonna be answered any time soon. Guess we’re gonna have to do this the hard way.”  

I gave my fleshy stomach a pat, watching it wobble.   

“With diet and exercise,” I tried to say cheerfully. “Pffft...” 

“My quest continues,” said Phil. “The racks of Torrid may have borne no fruit, but fear not. I have contacts among the exiles at Valkyrie Mountain...” 

“It’s fine, Mephistophilus, I can buy my own tents,” I said. “What do you care anyway? I thought you’d be in Fiji by now or something. Didn’t I say you don’t work for me anymore?” 

“True, but you didn’t fire me, either,” The demon stroked his beard. “And ‘Phil’ is fine, between us...Madam Dwight.”  

He clasped his hands.  

“You wanna stay? For me?” I smiled, my cheeks warming. “Awww. Phil... that’s so sweet...”  

“Don’t...don’t mention it.” 

“I want to hug you!” I tried to sit up. “Nnngghh...nggghhh...” 

“And I want to live,” he blinked, watching me struggle. “It’s fine...I can appreciate the sentiment perfectly well from here...”  

 I grabbed his tiny legs for the last bit of leverage to sit. Pulling him down, I gave Phil a warm squeeze into my shoulder, holding him tightly in my arms, his monocle tumbling loose, a puff of dust escaping from his jaws. His wings flailed when I finally let him go with a wry smirk.  

“You’re lucky he acted true to his predictions,” said Annulla. “Without his strength we’d never have been able to lift you to freedom from the Hall. Gluttony,” she hissed. “The cad. I should’ve known he was behind this.”    

“Heh,” Stycix chortled. “Took ya long enough.” 

“And when did you figure it out?” she retorted. “On your little playdate with Poly?” 

“It was a meeting and he went to me first, not me to him!” Stycix replied. “Clearly he wanted the strongest demon in the house to help with the plan.” 

 “Yeah, right. You were barely pulling the line.” 

“Denizens, please,” Phil calmed them. “What’s done is done. The Lord is thwarted, Madam Dwight is saved, and all our contracts...remain negotiable. Let us all go back to the places from whence he came, and then Kirsten...Kirsten?”  

 I took my hand back out of the mini-portal I’d re-routed. The other half of the éclair I’d left on Gluttony’s dining table creamed all over my fingers as I shovelled it into my mouth. 

“What?” I smirked, licking my lips. “It was tasty.” 

 

5:30pm, 4th March, 2017 A.D. 

 

 I swept back my towel hat, perched on my new bed. My legs were feeling weak and wobbly from my walk into town. I’d summoned Annulla into a home fitness DVD, and once she’d evicted the terrified celebrities, we’d gotten to work every morning. Kickboxing was exhausting for a girl of my build, but the only opponent I was facing was myself. Slowly, I got to grips with my impressionable bulk, building up a new repertoire of moves. Turns out my mean left hook had stayed pretty mean, with Gluttony to thank for it. Lifting all that carb-heavy food up to my mouth must have done me some good after all. 

 Stycix emigrated to my freezer. He did my diet plan. None of us bought the bluster at first, but it soon became pretty clear that he was a wicked chef. He prided himself on the twenty different ways he could cut an iceberg lettuce, or the forty he could cook a clam. He could even make raw broccoli taste incredible. Pretty soon our kitchen table was looking every bit as impressive as Hell’s Dining Hall. Naturally, his speciality was frozen desserts – which we all sat down to share. Sometimes... 

 I turned on the television, adjusted my dressing gown, and opened the Khan’s Fortress 3 case. My feet found my black cat slippers – a late gift for my half-birthday, from the one and only Mephistophilus. He stuck around as my butler; stroke valet, once I’d forgiven him for the muumuu – with a couple of perks. Maybe he’d sold his soul to the demon of dress sense or something; my wardrobe was fast filling up with sexy dresses, black lace, satins and silks for every occasion. My fears of getting too fat to go goth were unfounded. Even the stretchy stuff looked incredible – although it was the sports bras where he really earned his pay. I’d been too caught up in my stomach to feel how big my tits had gotten, and I had to admit they were growing on me in more ways than one. My morning routine was starting to take a little more time each day... 

 I scrolled down the menu and pressed play. The progress bar filled gradually, the ancient citadel rendering itself over the hills, spires piercing the blackened skies. I was in adventure mode. It looked a heck of lot more fun, knowing I’d bothered to submit my coursework before the deadline this time. Saul and I were doing a group project on Hell’s justice system – okay, he was the one grinding for the both of us, but he’d insisted. We were due to meet in the library to discuss how to present it in front of Dr. Byzanti – my new dissertation supervisor. Then we were gonna have lunch together. He wanted to try Grimm’s House of Sugar, and I was never about to say no.   

 Poly’s clones marched in tandem between the buildings. The countdown initiated. We were alone. I’d given Stycix and Annulla the week off before third year started. They’d been trapped inside a games console for a long time, after all. Wouldn’t want them getting square eyes.   

 The mission began. Steal as much treasure as I could carry, then escape. I shot up the rope, stealthily. The first guardsman came into view, stalking across the market. I leapt down from the battlements and chose my weapon.  

“I’m sorry for treating you like a dweeb, Poly,” I sighed, lifting my warhammer. “You don’t deserve it. You know sometimes, you actually do some really cool stuff.” 

I smashed it into his chest, and watched him writhe in the mud. His heart gushed a fountain of crimson and scarlet. 

“You’re welcome,” Poly raised a shaking thumb, just as the blood loss put him into indisposed. I switched the hammer for a dagger and ran up a set of spiral stairs, to the guardroom on top of the watch post. The iron-bound door was unlocked, and I sneaked through, hiding behind a chest crammed with jewels. A bulky archer pivoted around, striding between an arrow slit and a desk cluttered with maps and charts. 

“No, really,” I giggled. “You’re the best. Wouldn’t have wanted to turn into a whale in front of anybody else, seriously.” 

 I clutched the shoulder buttons and sent my character spinning in a forward roll. Geez, my days of doing that for real were long gone. Lurching up, I raked my blade under his surcoat, slicing into his heart. 

“Have you lost weight?” he coughed. “I was going to say – you're looking much better...” 

“Six pounds,” I hummed. “Helps when you’re living with someone who can literally freeze the cupboards shut...heh...I’ve been having a couple of cravings lately...” 

I snatched his bow and wound the string around his neck, then hit pause to feed myself a slice of pizza smuggled in under my towels. Six pounds...yeah, maybe five and half. Mmmmpphhh. My first takeout in ten days. It was going to be one long journey... 

 I licked my lips and pressed play, catching a secret assassin as he leapt from the hollow armoire. I twanged the bow in his face, tripped him and wedged my dagger in his torso. I swallowed and smiled. 

“Nice one,” I smirked.  

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Poly shrugged. “Must confess, I don’t get very many. I don’t know what to say.” 

 He died. I twisted out the dagger, ripping the key off the string round his neck as he fell. It opened up a walkway over a drawbridge to another wider tower. A sole guard stood watch over the fields and plains beyond. 

“No, honestly. I mean, burning or freezing stuff is handy, but having the power to make infinite copies of yourself? That’s pretty cool in my opinion.” 

“Hehehe. Happy to have you as an advocate!” He spoke into the breeze, grinning. “It really does have its uses – possessing a pair of eyes, everywhere...” 

 He turned a split second before I could stab him, dodging the lunge. I whirled round, skirting under his hammer blow, and wedged the dagger into his back. 

“Bet you’ve seen some shit, right?” 

 “Good, and bad,” Poly laughed, fighting with one arm before I lopped it off. “Your performance in Gluttony’s dining hall, for example.” 

“Oh?” I smiled, watching as a second guard ran to the aid of his compatriot, swapping my dagger for a short sword. I squeezed the square button and attacked him first.  

“That was absolutely legendary. T’was quite an ingenious idea, only choosing six of the seven,” said Poly, parrying my blows. “They’re terribly factional folk, the Sin Lords – hence why there’s an odd number of them. With an even number working on your case, they’ll likely never get a majority to agree on what to do with you.” 

“So, I’m safe?” I grinned, ducking under a thrust and slitting his throat. 

“For now...” he gargled through a spurt of blood, crumbling to the ground. 

I ripped the bag of coins off his belt and scoured for more guards. The citadel walls were misty and dank. Thinking fast, I squeezed the square button, zipping into the shadow of the crenellations just as a two-man patrol marched by.    

“I often wonder of your fate,” Poly chorused. “Now that you’re Hell’s Most Wanted, what next?” 

“Meh. Still got another year before I graduate.” 

 I equipped a snare. Swinging low, I whipped the barbed end at the ankles of the guard on the right, just as the twosome neared a ladder to the storerooms. He yelped. I tugged, yanking him toward me. His partner didn’t notice a thing.  

“And then what?” His voice echoed through the sound system. He fought to press himself up in his heavy armour, but could barely rise before I planted my knee in his back. “Profit?” 

“I could hang around a little,” I shrugged, unsheathing my dagger. “Study some more.” I sunk it through his chainmail into his lung. “Maybe go into academia?”  

“Really?” my next victim shouted, from the storeroom. “Hah. I don’t see it.” 

“Rude,” I flinched. I swapped my dagger for an axe, and doubled for the ladder. I saw his feet leave the top rung, and began climbing after him, blade between my teeth.  

“I think you want something more thrilling,” he exclaimed, settling into position. “All those decrepit old books, all those students growing sleepy in your lectures.” He straightened his helmet. “Wouldn’t you get bored?”  

“Do you ever get bored?” I leapt the last rungs, bursting into the attic with a wild-eyed grin. “Of letting me kill you?” 

 I lunged at him, arm racing, axe arced at his metalled chest. But Poly moved like a viper. In a split second he sidestepped the attack, swinging his shield. I saw a flash of red and black, his cape rushing as he slammed his iron pommel into my face. The picture greyed. Steel shimmered as he prised the axe out of my hands, then with a surge of strength, booted me in the stomach. I toppled onto my back, helpless. The guard loomed above me, axe in hand. 

“Maybe I’m just studying your every move,” said Poly, studying the curve of the hilt. “Just learning, for when the time comes...” 

He dropped my axe to the floor. My character stirred, dazed and weakened.  

“Soon as I get up,” I grumbled. “You’re toast.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about me,” Poly spun his weapon. “Concentrate on the Lords and Ladies. Keep them squabbling. United as one, they’re a force to be reckoned with.” 

I bucked my hips, kicking myself to my feet.  

“But if they’re divided...” 

Our swords clashed. Sparks sloughed from the edges. Our hilts clanged together. 

“...then they’ll never think of usurping me.” 

 I pushed, using my momentum to free my left arm, wedging under his armpit to prevent a retaliatory blow. I swapped holds with a flourish and snared one of his helmet’s horns. Smashing the triangle key, I decapitated him a furious spinning backswing. His helmet flew one way, his severed head the other, bouncing off the painting of Megiddo on the wall, then rolling to my feet. His eyes met mine. 

I froze. 

“Sssshhhh...”  

The Devil licked his ruby red lips, smiling.   

“Sssshhhh...” 

 My hands left the controller. I watched bloody spit form on his slithering tongue. I remained rooted to the spot, bolt-upright on the bed, waiting until he breathed his last. His body decomposed in a slew of ashes, then his face, from his pointed ears to his yellowed pupils. Only his blackened armour was left behind. I looked over my soft shoulder, then to my character on screen. My door was closed. We were alone. 

I flicked the television off with the remote.  

“That...was...awesome!” I gasped, my heart rushing. “Oh my God...I mean, oh my...you...I’m such a huge fan! Wow. Hey, uh, I don’t know if you do freebies, but I can totally make it up to you! I promise!”  

The light on my games console changed from blue to yellow. He was listening. 

“Could you open a portal to hell for me? Please?” I asked, stretching over my belly to put on my shoes. “There’s one last thing I wanna do.” 

[ShrubberyLogistic]

13th Turn of the Hourglass, 61st Baphomay, 8052   

 

“Tremina, Lord of Envy?” 

The red mark on her snow-white face brimmed with fury. 

“Lady of Envy,” she screeched at me. The tapestries on the tent walls trembled. “Is it so hard for you to say, Earth-dweller? The Seven Lords and Ladies of the Deadly Sins?” 

“Oh shit. Sorry. My mistake,” I bowed my head. “Although... there’s only one of you, to be fair. Six Lords and a Lady of the Seven Deadly Sins...kinda doesn’t roll off the tongue so well, does it?”  

“Don’t you feel my pain?” she wailed. “All of this power, but no recognition? Why, last sunset my brothers even convened a meeting without me. The first in half an aeon, and I wasn’t even invited!” 

“Yeah, about that...” I opened my fashion magazine. “Totally agree. Crippling gender imbalance in the upper management of Hell but...um... I came to talk you about something. Because I thought you deserved some special attention,” I flashed a winning smile. “Errr...heck, you’re kinda cute too...” 

 “O...oh...” Envy closed her jaws. “Really?” 

“Yeah. You’re so much better than those other six guys. You’re smart, you’re stylish... and I’m pretty sure I’ve got a problem only you can fix,” I winked, flicking through the articles until I found the picture. “Errmm...see that girl?” 

I stuck my thumb on the page. 

“Doctor...Kathryn...Fossoper,” she read. “Renowned Butterfield scientist to invite global leaders to her Lyonhart country estate to observe testing of her latest time machi –” 

“Yeah – see how she’s...you know...big, but not too big?” 

“I do.” 

“How she’s not...um...super, massively, morbidly obese, like me?” 

“Indeed.” 

“Well I’m sooo jealous,” I stressed, bending my knees. “She’s perfect. Look at her. She’s got an ass that doesn’t swallow chairs.”  

I gave Envy a spin. My swollen caboose thumped into a crystal ball. I twisted to catch it, just before it shattered. My face paled.  

“Ufff - heh. Umm, thighs that don’t keep sticking to each other?” 

I peeled mine apart as I replaced the ball on the table. The cellulite rippled under my new skirt, flesh kissing and smooching. I gave her a sashay, letting my hips turn, smoothing into a slow little shuffle.  

“How about her belly?” I slowly raised my shirt up my thickest roll, sticking a finger into my belly button. “I think it’s pretty cute. I mean, I used to have washboard abs this one time, but – I think I like getting to eat whatever I want...and I don’t think I mind having a figure that says so...in fact...”  

 I lifted my hair off my shoulders, settling a hand behind my head. I rolled my waist, arching my back, shifting, stroking my flesh in the candlelight. I held my breath and began to dance, my ass wobbling to the beat of my heart. Envy stared, mesmerised. 

“But...” I released, easing down into the chair beside her. “It’s a little exhausting, being this big. I could maybe stand to lose a stone...or seven...”  

I breathed deeply, looking into her piercing green eyes.  

“I want all those things, but like – right now? I don’t want to wait. Obviously, I didn’t want to intrude on the schedule of such a peerless, vaunted...sexy demoness, but I was wondering...could make me look like that?”  

Envy parted her lips. Her razor teeth slipped into a sickly-sweet smile. 

“Oh, but of course, my dearest,” she cooed. “For a price...” 

[ulvrik]

i love this story ❤️ i have always been a big supporter of the seven sins, and spec gluttony XD

[ShrubberyLogistic]

1 hour ago, ulvrik said:

i love this story ❤️ i have always been a big supporter of the seven sins, and spec gluttony XD

Thanks for your support, from start to finish, here and on my other stories too 😁 I’m glad you enjoyed this one! Hope I can make my next even better! 

[Batman76]

Oh fuck but this was perfection. I'd been toying when an idea about a goth demonologist but goddamn you hit it out of the park. Her initial arrogance, the shock of going from lean to plump to super size, her revenge and sextuple cross at the end, the using of the envy demoness, it was great from start to finish.