And back to our regularly scheduled chamber

“Any last words?” Scanty asked, twirling the revolver around in her hand. Of course, PJs worriedly muffled out various indecipherable excuses, but of course, nothing intelligible.

“That’s what they all say~ Ohohoho~” Scanty mocked, clicking back the hammer on her revolver.

That was until a knocking at the door interrupted her.

Opening from the wall behind Scanty, a door opened, breaking light into the room from the corridor, and the horned head of Kneesocks poked in.

“Oh good, I was on-time.” She said between breaths. “Turns out Miss Stiletto wants us to hold off on the shot until she’s there. She doesn’t want us to be the sole controllers for some reason.”

Scanty clicked her tongue and withdrew her revolver, turning back into a skimpy set of panties. “A pity. I was ready and everything. Like, we can just command him to obey her and all, but I guess we haven’t earned that level of trust.” She stated. She stood up from the folding chair as she made herself over to the door, “Looks like you get ten minutes to yourself, mister. I’m going to get myself a drink as we wait for our boss. Ta-ta~”

At that, the door slammed behind her, leaving PJs to lean forwards to think about how screwed he was as much as the single lightbulb illuminating the darkness around him. Not even in **** did he feel this much dread. Not least because it was basically without warning so he had no idea what was coming, but now he knows exactly what’s going to happen. He’s going to be the object of their **** against his will. He’ll either be used as a mere tool to make the Demons stronger, or be taken out by the Angels due to some kind of contrivance, never allowed to continue his rampage. His chest heaved at the thought of that, emulating rapid breathing of a panic attack, the pressure of the lump inside reminding him the thing that they’re truly after.

To never get his ****, his fun, to surrender his biggest break of his life and afterlife to these…These beings that ruined his original life, these wretched extraplanar creatures looking like hot women. PJs covered his face in despair as he leaned forward, borderline crying at the thoughts swimming in his mind, his fingers clinging into his simulation of a face in anger. That was until an important question managed to surface amongst all the grief.

How is he burying his face in his hands?

That caused him to look up, and back down to see what was going on, and see that he indeed had his hands untied, and was able to move them from the elbows down.

…How?!

Perhaps he has actual ghost powers? Can he phase through objects? That would be a good means of escaping his bindings. Though he almost did it on instinct, and just his hands, how is he supposed to perform again?

Perhaps if he just tries, perhaps?

He steadied his mind, thinking on standing up, as if he wasn’t bound at all, thinking as best as he could on getting out of this situation. Then, with a deep non-breath, he stood up.

He was shocked on what happened that allowed him to do so, slipping through the ropes he was bound with were pieces of his body, segmented out in tiny segmented chunks as they squirmed passed the ropes as they reformed back to where he now was like it was merely lagging behind and rapidly caught up, making him whole again. He looked down at his arms, and willed them to separate like his torso did just now, and sure enough, his hands segmented off the wrists, as pieces of the arms followed suit. He retracted his hands back, and realized it wasn’t a means of ethereal phasing after all, it was just a unique ghost power altogether. Well, “altogether” is an ironic word in this case. Probably because he was cut up into tiny pieces, he now has the power to segment himself, making himself a much harder target to hit.

That must be why the angel with the handgun had such a hard time hitting him, he was separating his body on instinct before a single sacred bullet could hit him, and he didn’t notice due to the sheer panic and running he was doing.

So does that mean then that everywhere that’s been cut is separable and manually controlled?

Thinking to separate the top half of his head from the jaw, his head rose slightly, and the belt holding the spongy ballgag fell away with a soft thump onto the table, freeing his mouth as he slid his top half back into place.

“Freaky. But very useful!” He reasoned, in higher spirits now that he’s able to move and get away, essentially being once again armed, but even more dangerous as capture seems impossible. Unless it was like a bubble or something, that could be trouble.

Still, he was quite worried about that corpsedust bullet. Considering what she said about it having his dust, he pondered an idea. Perhaps because of the fact that they needed his dust specifically, that it’ll only work against the original body’s ghost? She did put some emphasis on it being an important part of it. So why not.

“I wish that all parts of my old body is in a grave that nobody would be able to mess with.”

A green haze radiated through him once again, giving him the warm fuzzies of pleasure once again, with the vague image of a body in a stone coffin sunk deep under an ocean of tar flashing in his vision briefly. It was quite relieving to feel the radiating energy once more, but he now has to keep in mind that he needs to let it settle. Too much use in a row like what happened last time with that big booty bitch Kneesocks, and he’ll go tumbling down again, and he doubts he’ll survive another blackout under their…tender care.

While waiting for the green to fade from his body after a minute or so, he ponders if he should just hop on out of there with a wish, or see if he can sneak out himself. Sure, it’d be a good escape, they’d have no way of tracing him, but then again, the Angels managed it somehow just fine, and they didn’t even know what they were dealing with. Maybe they got some kind of holy locator signal for teleportation or somesuch? Whatever it was, it was dicey if it were the case.

Meanwhile if he tries sneaking out, he’d avoid such possibilities, but might run into the Demon Sisters again, or worse, their boss, Stiletto. The remembrance of them both stirred within him feelings of a lusty ****, and makes him eager to put some effects onto them. Of course, they know if he wishes too much, he’ll collapse, and could possibly manipulate him into doing so through enough provocation. So even then, if he had his way, he’d possibly be ****.

PJs grunted and rationalized that he’ll go out the front door, wishing away his issues as they come, but the moment he begins zonking out, he’s out of there. So, girding himself up to run for it and hide when needing to, he opens the door and starts running into the carpeted halls of the Demon HQ, hoping his memories of the place will guide him out as easily as the old work shift clock’s chime did for his instincts.

And not a moment short, he heard the laughter of demons just around the corner that he was about to round. He slammed his back against the wall out of sight of the people that would be around the bend, and cursed as he remembered that that was the direction to the exit stairway. He thought quickly on what would be a good first solution he could mutter as the voices drew closer.

“I wish that Demons that try to attack me would instead do something that would amuse me, thinking they’re attacking me.”

Taking a puffed-up chest stance after feeling the spread of warmth, he walked around the corner, walking onwards and trying not to look scared, only visually looking like an auto dealer that’s trying his best to not give away that he’s going to sell you a junker of a car.

“Hey, at least your affliction is behind you, I have to deal with these huge bouncing annoyances until we can get a new batch of-” Scanty stopped midway in her step and speech after seeing the ghost approaching them. Kneesocks followed suit quickly thereafter. THEN Scanty’s boobs came to a noisy stop with the rest of Scanty.

They both scowled and threw away the coffee cups that they had in their hands, entering a fighting stance in sync like a choreographed dance duo. “The target’s escaped! We’ll have to shoot him early!”

“Wait,” Kneesocks chimed in, “Look, he’s fading back from green, he’s made a wish.”

“Well I’m going to stop him from making any more!” Scanty bellowed heartily, attempting to reach for her waistband for her undergarments.

Instead, her hands shot up, and tore apart her top, leaving her torso in only a sexy black bra, which is showing no obvious signs of keeping her crimson mountains contained from their wild flailing.

And they aren’t stopping either, as she put her hands onto her hips, and began shaking her shoulders back and forth, making those mammoth mammaries bounce merrily around, all the while she barked out the words, “I’m a big-titty loser!” over and over again, the look of deadly seriousness still on her face.

Kneesocks rolled her eyes, and also tried reaching for her weapon, “I may as well attack him too, then. You seem to have a hard time hitting him right now.”

And with that, Kneesocks twirled on her heel, bending forward and looking over her shoulder, her tiny pleated skirt flipping up to reveal her red rump to her victim. She reached behind her to the waistband of her own panties, and proceeded to yank them up repeatedly, both giving her a massive wedgie, but also making her big jiggly booty shake like crazy, her too repeating the phrase, “I’m a big-booty nerd!”

PJs sighed with relief, and walked around them with relative calm. As he passed them and placed his hand on the stairway door to the exit, he heard behind him, “H-h-had enough yet? Or do we have to keep being stupid sluts until you give up?”

PJs chuckled, and yelled behind me, “You’ll never stop the indomitable Human Spirit!” He boasted in a cheesy superhero tone of voice, and made his way down the stairs and to his escape.