Chapter 6: Sebastilion's Submissive Whine Was the Signal
Sebastilion's submissive whine was the signal.
The panther, a creature of muscle and nocturnal fury, cowered at its mistress's feet, flattening its body against the obsidian floor in an act of total surrender to a superior authority. The griffin in the alcove stopped preening and lowered its head. The minotaur froze, its breathing becoming a terrified gasp. Every beast in the chamber, every creature of instinct and power, recognized the true predator.
The shadow at Khafre's feet ceased to be a patch and became an abyss. From the ascending blackness, my form solidified completely, not with the slowness of before, but with the sudden, undeniable finality of a mountain erupting from the earth. I rose to my full height, a colossal beast of night and muscle, my ember eyes sweeping the cavern, claiming every dark corner as an extension of my own self.
My aura, unleashed for the first time in this era, crushed the air in the chamber. The greenish fire of the braziers wavered, their light dimming as if fearing my presence. The lewd whispers of the nobles in the alcoves died in their throats, replaced by gasps of shock and a primordial fear they had not felt in their pampered lives.
Khafre, the anchor point of my manifestation, turned around slowly. His face, normally pale and arrogant, was now bone-white, his eyes wide with pure terror. I could feel his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. For the first time, the boy understood the difference between owning a weapon and being the cage of a god.
'Now you understand, jailer. I am not your power. I am the abyss that stares back at you from within.'
My attention, however, was not on him. It was on the creature standing in the center of the arena. The bicornio. Its charge had stopped dead, its front hooves dug into the sand. Its blind fury had been replaced by terrified confusion. It sniffed the air, its nostrils flaring, trying to process my scent: the smell of ozone, emptiness, and an antiquity that made its own existence seem like a flicker.
It reared up, a sharp, challenging neigh echoing in the now-silent chamber. It was an act of pure desperation, the instinct of a territorial beast facing a conceptual predator. It was not a challenge. It was suicide.
'Pathetic,' I thought, and took a step forward.
The earth did not tremble beneath my paws, but reality did. With every step, the shadows of the cavern lengthened, twisting, crawling towards me as if they were subjects greeting their king. The bicornio backed up one step, and then another, its defiance crumbling before my silent advance.
Finally, its instinct broke. With a roar of pure fury and fear, it charged.
It was a sight of elemental power. A ton of black muscle and fury, its two obsidian horns aimed directly at my chest. Khafre screamed, a sharp shriek of panic. The nobles in the alcoves flinched.
I did not move.
I waited.
Just as it was about to impact, when I could feel the heat of its breath and see the red fire in its eyes, I acted. Not with speed, but with dominance. I lifted one of my forelegs, almost lazily, and set it in its path.
The impact was both deafening and utterly silent. There was a thunderous CRACK! of bones breaking as its skull collided with my paw, which did not move an inch. But the sound was instantly absorbed by my aura, muffled by the darkness surrounding me. The unstoppable charge stopped as if it had struck creation itself.
The bicornio collapsed at my feet, a trembling heap of muscle and broken bone. It was alive, but its body was shattered. Its pride, however, was what I needed to break.
I leaned over it, my massive head inches from its own. Its red eyes stared up at me with terror and agony. I did not speak to it with words. I spoke to it with will. I projected a single, simple concept directly into its primal mind, an order so absolute that its own instinct had no choice but to obey.
"Kneel."
With a pitiful whine that was the antithesis of its previous roar, the beast struggled. Its front legs, trembling with pain and effort, bent. It crawled, its shattered body protesting with every movement, until it was prostrate before me, its head bowed against the sand in an act of total submission.
The domination was complete.
I slowly raised my head, and my gaze landed on the dais. The silence in the chamber was now one of awe and palpable lust. On the faces of the nobles and slaves, fear had been replaced by terrified veneration. Khafre was pale, trembling, an irrelevant figure at the edge of the arena.
But the Queens... they were different.
Farah was standing, her gold goblet forgotten on the table. Her face, normally a mask of impassive control, was slightly flushed. Her dark eyes looked at me not with fear, but with intense calculation, like a general who has just witnessed a definitive new weapon. She saw power, and she saw opportunity.
Opala, however, was an entirely different story. She had leaned forward, her body tense like a bowstring. Her breath was a barely audible gasp, her full lips parted. Her nipples, hardened like stones, were clearly visible through the fine fabric of her gown, and her green eyes shone with an animalistic need, a hunger that now had a clear target. She did not see a weapon. She saw a god.
Ignoring the rest, I began to walk toward them. Every step was deliberate, the sound of my shadow claws silently scratching the sand. The bicornio whimpered at my passing, too terrified to move. I stopped at the foot of their obsidian dais and raised my head, my ember gaze meeting theirs.
I could smell them. Farah's scent of power, sharp and dangerous. And Opala's scent... a torrent of arousal, so potent it was almost a taste in the air. She smelled of night lotus, sweat, and the wetness of a cunt dripping in anticipation.
Farah was the first to regain her composure. With a wave of her hand, she addressed Khafre, who was still paralyzed at the edge of the arena. Her voice was soft, but sharp as glass.
"Khafre of the House of Anubis. You have served your purpose. Leave. Wait outside the sanctuary. You will be called if your... familiar... requires its anchor."
The humiliation was complete. He was not a guest. He was a dog's leash. Khafre bowed his head, his face a mask of shame, and retreated without a word, disappearing through the tunnel.
Now we were alone. Just me, and the two hungry Queens.
Farah slowly descended the steps of the dais, her movement that of a slithering snake. She stopped mere inches from my massive head, her boldness breathtaking. She raised a hand and, without hesitation, placed it on my snout. Her skin was cool, but I could feel the rapid pulse at her wrist. There was no fear, only infinite curiosity.
"A power like yours should not be bound to such a weak child," she whispered, her voice an intimate murmur meant only for me. Her dark eyes locked onto mine, searching, probing. "A power like that deserves offerings. Tributes. Rewards."
She leaned in even closer, her warm breath grazing my shadow-fur. Her perfume, mixed with her own arousal, was intoxicating. Her lips brushed the spot where my ear should have been, her voice now a whisper so low it was almost a thought.
"My chambers... are always open to you. Day or night. I will always be available... for my king."
A/N
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Mike.
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