A God of Old Ch. 03
Anen ran down the temple corridor. He could hear the dying cries of his fellow priests as they mustered the best defense they could against the formidable warriors. Enkartep had done something bad, but they did not know what; all they knew was that they needed to defend their high priest.
He turned the corner and saw a crack in the wall. Beyond it were voices.
When he squeezed through the crack, he saw a half-dozen warriors, their swords and spears pointing at Enkartep. A dead priest lay face down on the floor in a puddle of blood.
"High priest!" Anen called out. Enkartep was on his knees, head hung, an overturned jar next to him. Liquid dark as ink trickled from the jar to stain the floor.
"Treacherous fiend," one of the warriors snarled. "Stand and face your judgment!"
Enkartep stood. His skin was rippling, the color changing from a weathered brown to a smooth light gray. The ripples arced back over his head, the hair there disappearing. When the ripples ceased, Enkartep seemed somehow taller and stronger.
"You will pay for your actions," another warrior said.
Enkartep ignored him. He instead glanced around the chamber, as if taking it in for the first time. Anen had no idea what room it was; objects were arrayed around the room on pedestals, as if they were treasured relics.
"You will not escape," another warrior threatened.
That drew Enkartep's interest and gaze. His eyes, darker and deeper than Anen remembered, fixed on the warrior. The high priest was surprisingly placid and calm for somebody facing death.
"What threat do you pose me?" Enkartep asked softly.
"There are six of us," a warrior reminded him. "Six warriors versus one high priest."
"I am not a high priest," he said, "I am something more."
"Indeed," a warrior said, "you are a traitor."
Enkartep smiled again. "No, I am a god."
Anen gasped, but the noise was covered by the various incredulous shouts from the warriors.
"How dare you!" one bellowed. "You would blaspheme in this temple!?"
Enkartep's smile did not waver. Instead, he raised his arms from his side.
"Allow me to show you what I mean," he said.
He gestured with a hand. The warriors grunted in surprise as their weapons were yanked from their hands by some invisible force. The swords and spears hovered in the air before their previous owners.
The warriors stared in shock. Another gesture, and the weapons flew forward. The warriors were not fast enough to dodge; each one was impaled by sword or spear. One after the other, they breathed their last and fell dead.
Enkartep turned his head. His eyes locked on Anen.
"High priest, I came to warn you," Anen said lamely, stepping back fearfully.
"Fear not, Anen," Enkartep said, "I mean you no harm."
He moved, walking past him and back out into the main corridor. Anen followed him.
They were halfway down the corridor when another gaggle of warriors met them.
"Stop, traitor!" one called. Enkartep gestured lazily.
Anen waited a few seconds for something to happen.
That something was the horrific sight of the warriors' skin disintegrating, as if some strange force was flaying them alive. Their screams echoed in the corridor as their bodies were rent from flesh, to muscle, to bone, to dust. Enkartep continued forward, his feet crunching on what was left of the warriors. Anen hurried after him.
"What would have me do for you?" Anen asked fearfully. His mind was spinning, the situation wildly out of control. All he could think to do was obey the high priest, lest his fate be similar to the warriors'.
Enkartep stopped and turned back to him. He opened his mouth, but hesitated, his head tilting, his eyes seeming to bore into Anen's.
"You are afraid," he said, more a statement than a query.
"Yes," Anen admitted.
"Don't be," Enkartep said, "you have nothing to fear from me."
Anen nodded numbly.
"Gather the others," Enkartep commanded, "and bring them outside."
Anen hurried to his task, rushing through the temple, not wanting to leave the new Enkartep waiting. Some of his peers were dead, felled by warriors as they did their best to protect their high priest. Others were alive but confused, and they followed Anen. After half an hour, Anen had found all of the survivors. He led them out, in front of the temple, where Enkartep was standing, calm and collected.
"Egypt needs a strong leader," he said, almost as if to himself.
"You would lead?" one of the others said. Enkartep turned to regard him; the speaker stepped back, apprehensive.
"I would," Enkartep said. "Not as pharaoh. As...something more."
Anen watched as Enkartep turned his back to them again.
"We need warriors," he said.
"But the warriors will not follow you," Anen reminded him, immediately regretting it when Enkartep again turned to face him.
"I know," he said calmly. "I have no need of them; I shall have my own warriors."
Anen saw the confused looks of the others. He himself was confused, but had already seen the strange, new power that the high priest could wield.
Enkartep raised his hands and tilted his head back. As Anen and the others watched, the sand around them began to swirl. They all stepped back, curious.
The sand began to coalesce into form. As they continued to watch, rooted to the spot, the form became figures, dozens of them, tall and lanky.
Horrified gasps spilled from his and his peers' mouths at the sight before them. The newly created warriors were like vicious dogs on two legs, with leathery brown skin, sharp teeth, and dagger-like claws. Each one wore little armor and wielded a wicked scythe.
"My warriors!" Enkartep called. They looked at him with glowing eyes.
"Yes, master," they said together. Their voices were deep and guttural, making Anen shiver with fright.
"You shall be my loyal soldiers. With you at my hand, Egypt shall be strong and unmolested."
They nodded as one. "We live to serve, master."
Anen was so taken aback that he was unable to speak, even when Enkartep turned back to him again. It took the third time that Enkartep said his name for him to respond.
"Yes?" he finally answered.
"Will you serve?" Enkartep asked.
"Yes," Anen said. "Of course."
If I say no I most likely die.
Enkartep queried the others; all said yes.
"What would you have us do?" one intrepid follower asked.
Enkartep glanced towards the royal lodging, where the pharaoh and his queen resided.
"Wait here," he said, before repeating the order to his warriors.
He began to walk, heading for the royal lodging.
"I have unfinished business," Anen heard him say.
Back in the present day:
Yussef walked through Tahrir Square, the afternoon crowd streaming through Cairo. Nobody recognized him, as usual. His position as Minister of State of Antiquities gave him a certain amount of power, but not facial recognition.
Which is good right now, he thought.
His destination, the City View Hotel, was not far. It felt far, however, given his impatience. He had been away on business for a few days, so he missed his lover, even more than he missed his wife and children. Amina understood him in ways his wife never did. When she had called him so that they could meet up, he had dropped everything.
He bypassed the lobby and headed up to their usual room. After one last look around, just in case, he knocked on the door. He could hear shuffling, and a few seconds later, the door opened.
Amina stood before him, clad in a pink robe. She smiled and pulled him into the room.
She was just as desirous as him, undoing the robe and letting it fall to reveal her nakedness. He took a second to gaze at her beauty, before consuming it, before holding her to him, claiming her mouth in a heated kiss. They ended up at the bed, where he let her guide him onto his back. Her hands worked quickly at his belt, and then his pants. He helped her pull his boxers down to his knees, his rapidly rising cock appearing. She reached out, closing her hand over it, licking her lips as she moved to straddle him.
Yussef wanted to savor the moment of initial penetration. He always wanted to. But as usual, the second he felt the heat of Amina's pussy at his cock, he let the lust take over. She squealed as he yanked her down onto him, thrusting upwards, sending his length rocketing into her depths. She began to ride him, feverishly, roughly, her lush breasts bouncing as she groaned with abandon.
Their private room was soon filled with the sounds of their passion. Groans and grunts came from both of them. Yussef was drawn to Amina's chest by the sight of her swaying breasts; he rose up to suck at them, leaving hard kisses all along the flesh. His lover squealed at the feeling, winding her fingers into his hair, pressing him against her. Her hips bounced harder on top of him, taking his cock to the root again and again.
It had been a long few days away, so Yussef's pleasure mounted quickly. He gritted his teeth, trying to force the orgasm away, but he did not want to stop fucking her either.
His solution was to thrust a hand between them and locate her clit. Amina groaned at that first contact, and kept groaning as he did his best to push her into an orgasm, to bring her to the heights of pleasure alongside him.
The frantic rubbing of his fingers sped up as his balls tightened. His orgasm rushed up his shaft, and thankfully Amina moaned softly as her own orgasm hit her, seconds before his hit him. Hers intensified as his seed spurted forth to bathe her womb. He jerked his hips, sucking hungrily at an erect nipple, her passionate moans music to his ears. More spurts fired deep inside her, his body alight with pleasure, shivers breaking out all over him.
The last few spurts joined the rest, and their groans turned into heavy breathing. Amina nuzzled against his shoulder; he fell back onto the bed, dragging her down with him. Her head ended up on his shoulder, her dark hair spilled out onto his chest.
"I missed you," he said after a few moments of silence.
She smiled at him. "I missed you too," she replied.
"How was your trip?" she asked.
He chuckled. "I'd rather not bore you," he teased. "How was your time here while I was gone?"
The question seemed to spark some light in her eyes. Her smile grew wider.
"Something has happened," she said, in what sounded like a reverent whisper.
Oh god no, she's pregnant.
"Remember that support group I told you about?" she asked.
He nodded. "The one for alcoholics?"
She nodded back. "I lied. It's not a support group."
Yussef frowned, confused. "Why did you lie? Are you not an alcoholic?"
She shook her head. "I'm not. And I lied because I wanted to keep the truth from you until I could show you."
"Show me what?"
Yussef had not thought her smile could get wider. But he was wrong, and the intense glee that blazed in her eyes was strange.
"Something old. Something powerful."
Present day, somewhere else:
Kristin groaned as another cock slid deep inside her pussy. She had lost count long ago, but could tell, due to the warriors gathered by the door, that this strange gangbang was almost over. Stacy was across the room, riding another warrior. Her body shone with sweat, streaks of thick semen stuck all over her curves, dappling her breasts, slicking her belly, clumping in her hair. She looked like a mess after having been the focus of these creatures' lust.
I probably look the same.
Once the strange man had left them, the warriors had pulled Kristin into the mix. She had taken cock after cock, in various positions. Despite their horrific visages, and sharp claws and teeth, the warriors were surprisingly careful to not hurt the women.
The warrior growled with pleasure as he fucked her, his long cock pumping steadily in and out of her wetness. Her body, like Stacy's, was streaked in semen; she could feel it sticking to her skin, dripping off here and there to splatter on the stone floor.
Kristin had lost track of time. All she knew was the pleasure, the cycle that she was a part of: the warriors took pleasure from her & Stacy, but they gave it right back. She was sore, she was exhausted, her body ached, but that pleasure sustained her, kept her going. Each warrior used her body, spilled their seed either inside her or all over her, and was then replaced by another. They had at first shared the women; Kristin at a few points had three cocks in her, the pleasure overwhelming her then, turning her into a quivering, babbling mess. After a while, they had switched, instead taking them one-on-one.
The warrior inside Stacy finished, his long, deep growl signifying his release. Stacy moaned, writhing on top of him. When he was done with her, he pulled out, his cock shining with Stacy's juices. Stacy slumped off him and ended up on the floor, also tired and sore. Her eyes flickered over to Kristin, who was still on her hands and knees taking this last warrior's cock. It plundered her pussy, stirring up her juices, making her quiver with every last sensation.
His hands clasped tightly to her hips, but those claws she had seen had been retracted. His ragged gasps practically deafened her, the hot saliva dripping from his slavering jaws, splashing onto her skin. Every time she peeked back over her shoulder, his glowing eyes locked onto hers, the energy there strong and strange. She felt like she should be scared, should be screaming in terror; but she was caught up in lust, and these creatures were not threatening them in any way. They had had plenty of chances to hurt her and Stacy, but had never done so.
She could hear the other warriors grumbling, as if waiting for their final compatriot to finish. He snarled back at them in their strange, guttural tongue. Kristin peeked back to Stacy, who was now lying on her back, head tilted back, watching the final warrior fucking Kristin. Her breasts heaved with deep breaths, streams of semen trickling down her skin.
The thrusts sped up. Her arms and knees trembled as she fought to keep herself up for him. In seconds, the warrior was cumming inside her, another rush of hot seed bathing her womb. His fellow warriors let out what sounded like congratulatory howls.
Kristin moaned, the hot flow of cum jetting through her pussy, pushing her into another orgasm. Her depths took spurt after spurt until the warrior's lust was sated. He pulled out, their combined juices dripping from her slit as his cock left her.
The warrior joined his comrades, and Kristin's arms and legs gave out, dropping her to the floor.
"We thank you, priestesses," the warriors said in unison. The two women grunted in reply, too tired to do much more.
The warriors clomped out of the room, leaving the two women alone.
"Are you okay, Stacy?" Kristin called.
"Yeah," Stacy answered, voice thick with exhaustion. "You?"
Kristin managed to glance over to her. She tried to move, but her body was sore and tired, having been put through its paces by the warriors.
"I can't move," she replied.
"Neither can I," Stacy said. "I feel like I just ran for miles."
Footsteps sounded from the corridor. Kristin craned her neck to see the strange man from earlier walk into the room.
"How are my two priestesses feeling?"
"Tired," Stacy grunted. Kristin just groaned.
"Thank you for your invaluable service, to me and my warriors. I apologize if they were a tad rough."
"No problem," Stacy murmured.
"Yeah, no problem," Kristin agreed. Her eyes began to flutter shut, a wave of exhaustion coming over her, the yawning chasm of sleep beckoning.
"You've both done well," the strange man said, "now rest."
Present day, somewhere else:
Senator Jeremy Thomas sat at his desk, rubbing his forehead. A pesky migraine had been afflicting him all day.
A knock came at his door. It cracked open, and his secretary, Emma, peeked in. A worried look crossed her face when she saw him hunched over the desk.
"Senator Thomas?" she asked, "are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," he assured her, sitting up straight, "what is it?"
"A Ms. Torino is here to see you."
Jeremy sat up straighter. "Send her in," he said.
Emma nodded, and withdrew. A few moments later, she ushered in an old woman.
Old doesn't begin to describe it.
Maria Torino walked as if she had a thousand responsibilities on her mind. Her hand trembled on the cane she used to stay upright. Countless wrinkles traversed her face, her brown skin weathered by the many years she must have lived. Despite her physical frailty and old age, her eyes always had a spark to them. Unmistakable intelligence and awareness still reigned, instead of the senility that often afflicted people of her age.
"Ms. Torino," he greeted her, standing to pull out a chair for her. She sat down, slowly and painfully, wincing as her body complained.
"He is free," she said.
"How?" he asked, stepping back in shock.
"I don't know how," she answered, shrugging her shoulders. Even that little movement seemed to cost her pain.
"Are you sure?"
"When the temple reappeared," she began, "I set a few people to keep an eye on it. They contacted me not too long ago, to tell me that there was a hole in the side. Something must have happened. Perhaps his priestesses finally figured out how to free him."
"The priestesses? They've been trying for so long, what changed?"
"I don't know," she said, shrugging again. "But I know he's free. It's no silly coincidence."
"We shouldn't have to worry about the priestesses, though, since we have someone in their ranks."
She shook her head. "You don't know the power he possesses. There is plenty of reason to worry."
"You're right, I don't know. All I know is what I've heard from you and others."
"You will soon see," she warned.
"So what do we do?"
She glared at him. "Have you forgotten the plan?"
He shook his head quickly. "Of course not. I just wanted to see if it had changed now that he's actually free."
"No changes," she said. "We stick to the plan."
He nodded. "Very well then."
She stood slowly from her chair. He made a move to help her, but she waved a hand, so he stepped back.
"Good luck," she told him as she turned to leave. He watched her go; she took her time, wincing at each labored step. When she was gone, the door closed behind her, he went back to his desk to do his part.
Jeremy had heard of the ancient evil that had been trapped in Egypt, had heard stories about the horrific and tremendous powers said evil possessed. But he had always maintained a healthy skepticism, considering that stories grew wilder and crazier over generations.
I guess I'll know the truth soon.