Chapter 11: The Reign of the God of Shadows in Egypt (Part 4)
Opala's pride lay shattered at my feet, a broken glass on the obsidian floor. He knelt, trembling, not from rage, but from the aftershocks of a forced submission his body now longed for. Beside him, Farah watched, a high priestess watching the successful conversion of her first acolyte. But the ritual was not over. The offering was incomplete.
My ember gaze slid across the camera, passing over the two kneeling queens, and fell on the figure huddled in the far corner. Amunet.
"The offering is incomplete," my voice echoed in Farah's mind, a cold, utter command.
Farah understood instantly. His smile widened, a curve of cruel satisfaction. He stood up with predatory grace and walked towards the trembling matriarch of the House of Anubis. Amunet looked up, his eyes filled with pleading terror as he saw the Queen Mother approaching.
"You've been a cowardly bystander for far too long, Amunet," Farah said, her voice a silky whisper without a trace of compassion. He grabbed her arm, her strength amazing, and dragged her effortlessly into the center of the chamber as if she were a sacrificial lamb. "Our god requires the worship of all his devotees."
He threw Amunet to the ground in front of me, a trembling heap of fear. Then, his attention turned to his daughter. "Opala. Get up."
Opala, his earlier defiance replaced by hesitant obedience, stood up, his naked body glistening with sweat.
"You and I," Farah continued, his voice now resounding with the authority of a royal decree, "will serve as the chief altar. Show our new sister how to worship a true god."
Farah positioned herself, kneeling and arching her back in an expert offering. Opala, after a brief hesitation, imitated her, placing himself beside her, his hips almost touching. Two queens, mother and daughter, presenting themselves as twin receptacles.
I drew closer, my colossal form eclipsing them. The heat emanating from my body enveloped them. I smelled their fear, their lust, their silent competition. It was intoxicating.
My physical cock, red and throbbing, was ready. But a single tool was not enough for this rite.
I concentrated. The shadow cast by my own body on the obsidian floor came to life. It swirled, thickened, and from it, a second phallic form began to ascend. It was identical to the first in size and shape, but its nature was completely different. It was not of flesh, but of pure solidified darkness, a pillar of night that did not reflect the light, but devoured it. It was cold to the touch, not with the cold of ice, but with the cold of the void between the stars.
Two queens. Two penises.
I positioned myself behind them. My physical member, hot and alive, lined up with Farah's wet entrance. My shadow phallus, cold and conceptual, aligned with Opala's trembling pussy.
And then, I impaled them both. Simultaneously.
A heart-rending double scream filled the chamber. Farah screamed with familiar ecstasy, her body receiving the brute strength she craved. Opala, however, screamed with a mixture of pain and unearthly shock. The invasion of the shadow was not only physical; it was conceptual. I could feel my essence of darkness seeping into her, a chill spreading through her veins, an invasion touching her soul.
Two altars of flesh were joined, impaled in parallel, being desecrated in unison.
But the ritual was not yet complete. My gaze fell on Amunet, who lay on the ground, paralyzed with terror and sickening excitement.
Farah's voice, drowned out by a groan as I began to move within her, addressed the broken woman. "Worship your god, Amunet. It cleanses our bodies. Prove your worth."
Like an automaton, Amunet crawled forward. His terror was so great that he had erased everything else. He knelt between Farah's legs, his face at the height of the union of my flesh and hers. I could see the splash of fluids, smell the overwhelming aroma of sex.
With a trembling sob, he began his service. His tongue, small and hesitant, began to lick the sweat from Farah's thighs, wiping away the traces of our unholy union.
The stage was complete. The ritual had really begun.
I started moving, a slow and powerful pace. A push, and both bodies shook. A tug, and both women moaned. Inside Farah, I felt the tight and experienced warmth of her pussy. Inside Opala, I felt the cold and resistance of his pride being eroded by my essence. It was a symphony of sensations.
"Yes... my king!" panted Farah, her voice a song of worship. "Take us! Make us yours!"
"Ahh... is... it's cold!" moaned Opala, his words a mixture of pain and a strange, chilling pleasure. "It's... inside my soul!"
Amunet, caught in the midst of this whirlwind of depravity, continued her work, her tears mingling with the sweat licking from the queens' skin.
I increased the pace. The sound in the chamber became a cacophony: the double squeeze of my two limbs, the high-pitched, guttural moans of the two queens, and the muffled sobs of the woman who adored them. It was the music of my domain.
The queens, united in their subjugation, began to move in a synchronized rhythm, their bodies swaying with my thrusts. They were lost, their individual identities beginning to dissolve into a single entity of pleasure and submission, a living altar to the god who was taking them. The real ritual was just beginning.
…..
The shrine had become an altar of throbbing flesh. I was the god, and they were my living offerings. The rhythm of my double possession was a hammer that forged a new reality in their souls. Farah, impaled on my physical cock, writhed with the skill of a seasoned devotee, her moans a guttural song of worship. Beside her, Opala, invaded by my shadow phallus, struggled and surrendered in waves, her high-pitched screams a mixture of conceptual pain and an icy pleasure that was tearing her apart.
And among them, Amunet, kneeling, her tongue wiping their sweaty bodies in an act of terrified submission. But this was not enough. The ritual demanded deeper communion, fuller depravity.
It was Farah, my High Priestess, who initiated the next act. In the midst of an onslaught that drew a gasp from him, he turned his head, his violet eyes bloodshot with ecstasy.
"Amunet!" he gasped, his voice a whip. "You have made the altar aebanous. Now... become a part of it."
Before Amunet could process the order, I withdrew from Farah. The sound of my member coming out of her soaking wet pussy was a raunchy SCHLORP! that left her panting, empty. He had set her free, not out of pity, but for a purpose. Now, she was the director.
Without missing a beat, my physical cock, red and dripping with Farah's fluids, lined up with the new offering. Amunet let out a shriek of sheer terror as she saw me turn towards her. There was no time for supplications. I sank into it with the same brutal force with which I had taken the queens.
His cry was that of an animal being slaughtered. It was a tighter pussy, less accustomed to abuse, and the feeling of being blown up made her convulse instantly. On my other side, my shadow phallus continued its relentless assault on Opala, keeping up the rhythm, a piston of empty cold that fucked her relentlessly.
Now the altar had changed. The mother and daughter, impaled in parallel. Farah, free for a moment, rose to his knees, his body glistening with sweat, a goddess of lust contemplating his work. He crawled toward his daughter.
"Now you'll learn what true devotion is," he whispered, grabbing Opala's face. He forced her to turn her head and kissed her.
It was a brutal, possessive kiss. Farah's tongue invaded her daughter's mouth, an act of dominance that mirrored mine. Opala, trapped, fucked by the shadow, was now forced to taste her mother's saliva, to share the breath of her subjugation. Their moans were drowned out in each other as I continued my double assault.
Farah then moved toward Amunet. Anubis' matriarch was crying, her mind broken with grief and a pleasure so overwhelming she couldn't process it. Farah leaned over, her tongue licking the salty tears from Amunet's cheeks.
"Welcome to worship, sister," she purred. "Embrace ecstasy. Surrender to him." He stroked Amunet's breasts, pinching her hardened nipples, pushing her deeper into madness.
The scene was a whirlwind of flesh and depravity. I was the axis, the engine of his fall. He fucked Opala with the conceptual cold of the night, and Amunet with the animal warmth of the flesh. And Farah danced among them, a demented conductor, orchestrating her symphony of moans.
He ordered Opala to kiss Amunet. The young queen, her will now completely eroded, obeyed. Their lips met the older woman's, a desperate, wet kiss as their bodies shook in unison with my thrusts. They were sharing my power, my taste, their humiliation.
"Together," my order echoed in all three of their minds at once.
Farah understood. "Now!" he shouted, his voice rising above the cacophony. "Come together for your god! Offer him your climax!"
It was the final order. The trigger.
Amunet was the first to break. The combination of Farah's assault on her breasts and my relentless fucking pushed her into the abyss. A howl, the sound of a soul breaking free from a life of repression, burst from his throat. His body arched, convulsing with a violence that lifted his butt off the ground, his inner muscles tightening around me like a vise.
The climax of Amunet was the catalyst for Opala. Feeling the convulsions beside him, watching the older woman crumble, his own dam broke. Her orgasm was an explosion of fury and surrender. He screamed, a wild, liberated sound, as his body convulsed, not with Amunet's weakness, but with the force of a storm, dripping fluids onto my shadow phallus.
And Farah, witnessing her two acolytes writhing in the ecstasy she had orchestrated, caught up with herself. He knelt, his hands slipped between his own thighs, and with a triumphant cry that was both a moan of pleasure and a statement of power, he found his own release, his body trembling in a sympathetic resonance with the two women I was possessing.
Three orgasms. Three broken souls. Three offerings accepted.
It was my turn.
The triple release, the surge of ecstatic energy that flooded the chamber, was the final trigger. A roar that was not of this world burst from my maw, an explosion of primordial power that made the very stone of the shrine tremble.
And then, I exploded.
It was not an ejaculation. It was a conceptual and physical flood. Inside Amunet, I felt my seed boiling sprout, filling it, marking it, reclaiming its lineage. Simultaneously, my shadow phallus within Opala disintegrated in an explosion of pure liquid darkness, flooding her soul, staining her forever. And for Farah, who was watching, I projected a part of my essence, a wave of seminal energy that hit her, drenched her, baptizing her as my High Priestess.
He had filled them all. Each in her own way. With flesh, with shade, with power.
The world stopped. The sound ceased, replaced by the echo of their screams and my roar. Fell. The three women collapsed into a heap of trembling limbs, a tangle of brown, silver, and black hair, pale and golden skin. They lay in a mess of sweat, tears, blood, and my seed, their breasts rising and falling in shallow, exhausted gasps.
They were broken. They were complete. They were mine.
I stood above them, a dark deity gazing at the altar of flesh that had accepted their sacrifice. The ritual was over. My reign over the women of this land was now sealed, not in scrolls, but in their souls.
…..
Time, for me, was a river of shadows. It flowed without my noticing, but it left its mark on the mortal world around me. Decades passed like fleeting stations.
Khafre, my host, my jailer, my provider of knowledge, withered. I saw, from the prison of his shadow, how the vigor of youth left him. His black hair turned gray, then white as desert snow. Wrinkles crisscrossed his face, not of wisdom, but of a life of frustration and borrowed power.
He became Egypt's most feared sorcerer, a Grand Vizier who whispered in the ear of Pharaohs, his power derived not from his own magic, but from the terror my reputation inspired.
He never tried to order anything from me again. He became a resigned jailer, fulfilling my requests for knowledge in exchange for survival. He died as he had lived: alone, in his bed, his last breath was a whisper asking if he would finally be free from me.
It was. And I, for the third time, was anchored to a new and insignificant newborn somewhere far away in the world.
The queens also aged.
Khafre's mother, Amunet, found a twisted peace in her submission. My visits to the villa became less frequent, but she always waited. His body lost the firmness of maturity, but his hunger never diminished. She became my quietest devotee, a woman whose only pleasure in a life of solitude was to be broken by the monster that lived in her son's shadow.
Opala, the wild queen, never lost her fire. She fought me in every encounter, a ritual battle of dominance that she knew she would lose, but that she needed to feel alive. His body softened with age, but his green eyes never lost their predatory glow.
She ruled Egypt like a queen, without cruelty and her appetites became legend, fueled by the nights when she was subdued by a power she could not match.
And Farah. My High Priestess. She became the true ruler, not only of Egypt, but of my cult. She orchestrated our nights, sometimes alone, sometimes with her daughter, sometimes with all three. Our rituals became more complex, more depraved. She reveled in her role as director of her own family's downfall.
I left my seed in them countless times. Whether children of my lineage were born, I never knew. I didn't care. Procreation was a consequence, not an objective. My legacy was not the children, it was the mark I left on the souls of their mothers.
But even the largest empires turn to dust.
I began to feel it in the currents of darkness. A new tremor in the fabric of reality. Echoes of a growing fury in distant kingdoms. I heard the whispers in the shadows of lands that the Egyptians didn't even know existed.
Heaven, in its arrogance, was in conflict. The demons, a race he had forgotten, sharpened their claws in their own hellish realm. And the Fallen, led by the observer Azazel, watched both, biding their time. The echoes spoke of an impending war, a Great War that threatened to consume the supernatural world.
Egypt, with its animal gods and its libertine queens, was a backwater, an anachronism about to be swept away by a new tide of power and violence. He had learned all he could from their libraries. He had tasted every facet of his lust. My curiosity had been satiated.
Boredom, my old enemy, began to return.
One night, I demonstrated in Farah's chambers for the last time. She was waiting for me, as always, her aged but still eager body, arranged on a silk altar.
I approached. She smiled, preparing for the ritual.
But this time, I didn't touch it.
I just watched her, a long, cold evaluation. It was a book that I had already read from beginning to end.
"It's over," my voice echoed in his mind, devoid of all emotion.
Confusion, and then panic, crossed his face. "My king? What do you mean? Have I failed in my devotion?"
"You have served your purpose. This nest has become boring."
"But soon your son will die, and when that happens I will go"
"No! Please!" she pleaded, the fear of loneliness overcoming her pride as queen. "I can offer you more! New rituals! My granddaughter...!"
I interrupted her. Not with words, but with silence.
I turned around.
And I dissolved.
There was no farewell. There was no goodbye. I just stopped being there. I withdrew from his world, from his life, from his soul, as abruptly and completely as I had come. I left her alone in her sanctuary, with nothing but the echo of my words and the emptiness of my nights to come.
I slipped through the shadows of the world, my consciousness expanded, searching for something new. A new territory. A new prey. A new game. The era of my reign in Egypt was over. He had abandoned her as a wolf abandons the corpse of a devoured prey, without a second look, indifferent to the consequences, to the broken hearts, to the possible children.
My name was Lykaon. And my hunger was eternal. The Great War was on the horizon.
And I went to see her up close.
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