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Nectar and honey barely stripped the pungent metallic taste of blood, its acrid bitterness tingling the many buds that crowded her long tongue. She had tried too many elixirs and one too many liquors to drown a god of their gold-filled veins and yet, no amount could rid her of this iron grip. Though it shouldn’t surprise her as to how after centuries the taste of blood could still make her quiver. Not even the revered Nile river could quench her thirst. Ricochets of screaming souls echoed off the alabaster stone walls of her lair, their shrilling agony causing her to smirk and a shivering pleasure filled in the marrow of her bones. Myhre burned anise and its heady smoke choked the room, but the metallic stench of blood ran around her chambers like finite deep canals cutting through marble stones. A certain tremor of thundering footsteps resound through the dark-marbled halls and the shadow of a menacing canine head of a jackal shrinks to that of the form of her brother. T’Challa, has come to annoy her. “There is an uprising of a new ritual it seems,” he bellowed, the timbre of his voice shaking the pillars as he sauntered into her chambers. This was how their arrangement had resorted to. She seldom wanted to remember how it escalated this far, but even her own body could not ignore the width of his shoulders between her legs, the scraggly scratch of his beard by her inner thighs or the leisurely press of his tongue at her petal lips. Nor does she care to account for her body’s resolve when it gives up at every touch from the chill of his fingers and his petty thrusts. Two siblings passing time between the curses of their existence and assuring preservation. Whenever he needed to escape, he could come to her lairs, and she would proudly and willingly give her resolve in keeping him company, even annoyingly so. Though a part of her wanted it all to end, for it was all too practised and all too dreary and she was desperate for renewed fixation, a fresh fascination in whatever form she will take. “Hello brother. Lovely to see you,” she said, sarcasm thick in her stride as she lifted the fine linen skirts about her legs, ascending towards her luxe chaise. “These mortals,” he spat, his distaste of the human race intensifying as he dropped his flail, the heavy metal reverberating a maddening ring in her ears causing her to wince with bitterness as he followed her up the veined steps to lay beside her. “Have a seat,” she derided, rolling her eyes as she routinely slipped his headdress from his head as he laid atop her lap. “After what I’m about to tell you, you’ll be scrounging for several, dear sister,” he mumbled, extending a hand to call a bowl of grapes to his grip, kicking his sandal covered feet up onto the arm rest. “What is it now T’Challa?” she asked, sliding her palm up and down the expanse of his chest, silently marvelling at the currents of muscles under her touch. A shiver crawled up her spine and she despised that she could still react as such even while he rambled on, seemingly eons away from where they’re sat. Though there was nothing more riveting than a thousand screaming souls at her fingertips, and a paramour by her lap. “… their fickle little brains have conjured up an entirely new ritual.” She rolled her eyes at this and reached for a grape, popping it into his mouth and felt his tongue lick at her thumb. They shared a sinister look, his brows arching as he looked up at her and Shuri tried all her might to keep her will from sinking into arrest. “How do you mean?” she mused, her finger running over the ever current of his gold veins as they glimmered under her touch. “They wait several days before embalming the dead and what use are these decaying corpses to them? What! Food? It is completely out of order and disrespectful to our highest regard- Aren’t you the least disturbed by this?” he grumbled, abruptly sitting up as he went to remove his sandals while she leaned back, watching the stretch of his back swell and the glimmer of his gold veins caught a spark in her eyes. She had half a mind to run her fingers over them, but she turned towards the breadth of her empty chambers and crossed one leg over the other. She knew her place, and though she couldn’t make amends with any of his misgivings, unfortunate it may be in his position, she found that she could not be forced to care either. She wasn’t made to be praised. She was merely crafted from her fathers’ fingers for no other purpose than to be everything the mortals feared. Her demon form, the smooth behind of a hippopotamus with unmatched strength to her hooves, the old-gold fuzz of her lion mane and the front paws where her claws are sharpened by purpose to sink into flesh and finally the menacing, scaly elongated crocodile jaw with teeth far stained beyond the cleanse of any blue lotus from the crimsoned liquor of mortals, a stark comparison to her human one. Though as she sat there and became the canal to her brothers privileged qualms, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be worshipped. To be praised. Be yearned for. To have them bow in reverence in her presence. But alas, this was the irony of her wretched existence. They would never know of her vivacity. “Well brother, given the brevity of your distaste towards this new ritual of theirs, I might even dare to suggest that it could teach you a few things, perhaps?” she asked, chary in her speech, for it was one thing to be feared by mortals, and another to be likened as such. “Careful Ammit,” he warned, a snarl beginning to curl on his lips. “Perhaps patience,” she muttered as she stood to pour herself a goblet-full of date wine, sensing the way his gaze fixed upon the slope of her buttocks and feeling those dark desires smooth down the length of her legs. “I don’t like waiting,” he growled, brash enough as he moved behind her, the sound alone causing the pillars of her will to still in attention. “Well there’s your problem, and my utmost favored trait of yours,” she uttered, tilting her head as she felt the shiver of his cold breath against the slope of her neck. She gave into him and leaned into his wide chest as she wondered to herself if she would ever have a fill of a god under her tongue and if their blood would taste any different. “Dominance?” he griped and she could feel his joshing as he palmed her slender waist. “Ignorance,” she mused, eyes lidded as she turned to face him and ran a finger across his lip. Because she’s had her fill of him, and gold remained to be lackluster against the honeysuckle bite of iron. “Shall we have a round sister?” he whispered into her ear as he leaned closer, dipping a finger into the goblet forgotten behind her and pressed it into her mouth. “I’m busy. I’ve souls to devour,” she sighed, trapping his finger and rolling her tongue around it, her breath hitching as she felt him separate her legs with his knee. “You’ve as many souls as innumerable as the stars and as coming as the blowing sands of Thebes, a little rest could do you some good,” he proposed, sucking the skin under her ear causing her to moan. “We’re deities brother, we don’t tire.” She loved trying her brothers’ patience and she knew how much he hated it. But the rewarding punishment he undoes in their coupling is all the more wickedly indulging. “No, we don’t, but don’t we… each other,” he smirked, her wantonness, irrevocably slick between her thighs as she began to grind on his muscled thighs. “Hmm, you’re also annoying so pick up your flail and your headdress on your way out,” she hummed, attempting to keep her façade, but he knew her all too well. Knowing her resolve never proved to be convincing against him, she felt him pull at her body fully into his own, the blistering cold of his skin, familiar when it touched hers. “One last time my demoness.” And it never was as he promised. “Only if you put it in my rear in dog fashion.” “How you command me, sister,” he murmured as he walked them back towards her chaise, turning as he almost threw her body onto it as he knelt to pursue her, hiking her skirts up harshly before running his fingers along the tops of her thighs. “And how you follow my darling brother,” she moaned, desperate to meet his lips with her own for a kiss, his touch, too familiar and too cold. But too soon a mortal soul has entered the realm. She could feel it in her bones and the way her innermost being quaked at the newcomer. She heard the wings of her cousin beating against the winds of Giza and into Duat. Another day, another soul to devour. “A new soul to judge, dear sister, our presence is needed,” he breathed, a little too pleased as he stood from the chaise and willed his sandals on, descending her marbled stairs swifter than when he came sauntering into her lair. “I don’t need much convincing,” she huffed, left on the chaise with her legs wide open, her skirts to her hips, her soul in the pits. She couldn’t remember a time she vowed it would be the last she would give in.
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“Step forward, you who are to be judged,” her brother's voice, gripping in its tenor. They loved to entertain the mortals, knowing the ceremony was absolutely unnecessary, for she could tell in her soul which of them deserved eternal life and which, do not. She found no use in the ceremony whatsoever. In fact, it was because they loved to assert their dominance did she find was the only reason these mortals could only bear to worship them as idols. The way their earthly bodies exuberated veneration and amazement in their presence and less so in hers. They praised the gods they heard tales of in their childhood, not her. “Have you committed any sin?” “Yes.” Ma’at placed a feather on the scale, barely tipping it any which way. But the mortal is fearless in his posture, unbothered in his form, and it piqued and clawed at her. His strength was astounding though his past was incessantly clear; he was a man of the other faith, on a voyage to spread their gospel, and in a city where it was most rebellious to mention its subjects and that may have been his pure intention, but the notion was all too scandalous, because his god could not save him down here. Regrets made the heart heavy, and his heart touched the sand below. “Do you wish to plead for your life?” “No. I accept my fate.” Her mane rustled as he stepped forward, and she could feel the weight of his wickedness saturated in a mere utterance of few words as her mouth salivated. She could smell a silvery darkness to him, and it made him all the more enticing. The way he stood there before the two gods; Ma’At and Anubis, his sandals dusted over with the sands of Duat. His eyes, though they were blue, they blazed a crimson dusk, and a small spark ignites in the depth of her long quiescent heart. But the mortal before them gave the gods no mind and no reason to by the looks of it. She could feel her brother’s irritation, and Ma’at’s curiosity peaked when the man did not so as much give the two gods a glance. Instead, his gaze was on her. Her in her feared form and as she made attempts to steer his attention into disgust, by letting her long tongue run under the sharp pricks of her jagged teeth, she anticipated the taste of his skin, the weight of his flesh and the burst of metallic red goodness on her tongue. But he was unrelenting, and it was all the more indulging to watch her revered brother tick while she received her first acknowledgment. Dark matter crawled around his arms and brought him forward onto his knees despite his protests, his pleas and the sound of his suffering wrung her appetite in deep coils within her. His hair falling over his comely face causing an urge within her to step toward him and finger the lost strands back into place. She was, however perplexed at the heaviness of his iniquity, she could almost taste it, coaxing her to devour his wickedness surely and quickly. But she found her prowess nudging in her stomach. To play. To torture. To indulge. At most, she found it peculiar to live a mortal life, for it was too easy to delve into sin and just as hard to reach paradise, crushed under the weight of all its 42 rules set by her own cousin. Perhaps, if she had a taste of what it would be like, then maybe she could utterly win her fathers’ favour in granting her such a life. To have an end where she began from a womb. To have a hunger where it began from lack; from treasures or of human food, solid, crunched bread cracking between her jaws, or maybe the grapes would start tasting like grapes and not blood. But she knew it was all too fickle to want for such a life. Because if one action casted them into their second deaths, then even in her mortal form she knew she’d buckle at the defeating weight of mortality. So she doesn’t wait when she reached for his heart, plunging her claws deep around its cavity and while she torturously pulled slowly, he screamed a blanket of contentment around her, but she didn’t care, because she took him far beneath where he belonged. Because there, and then, one look over the past-shadowed man, whose regrets we’re too woeful and his sins saturated in darkness unworthy of deliverance, she thought her appetite grew more potent than it has ever been in centuries. She never bothered with their names when she only cared for their hearts. But for this man, her fascination grew as her appetite. He had done what only very few have in her long centuries of existence; he accepted his fate long before he knew which way the scale would tip, as if he had already known that his sins would cost him his second life, because it would be a second death. And she found that she liked how he gave up, how he couldn’t plead for his own life, and she was reminded of her conclusion of men without dreams and their inadequateness to life. But he looked like every bit a man as he should look, broad chested, one arm made of bronze and the other of his own borne flesh with gold cuffs and a small ball-like gathering of his hair at the nape of his neck. His name was James and his soul called to the depths of her necrotic spurring wickedness like the flames to the light hungry moths. They transcended into her lair, where the steps to her courts stood high and mighty, another flight of limestone stairs, coiled and descended towards a lake of fire; a wide and unending stretch of a body of blood with plasma lilies and blue lotus flowers sprouting through to offer their decadent scents. Amidst the howl of their screams abounded and their blood, vibrant and bitter, the flowers were no match for its stifling odour. She reached for his heart that perched ever so coolly in the cavernous hole of his chest as she watched him swallow in apprehension, a whimper escaping his lips as she dug her claws into his skin and brought his strength to nothing. It was here she took to her human form, free from the gnarly image of her own demons. “Come mortal,” she whispered against his lips, his surprise transparent when she stood before him in her glistening beauty, her skin smelled like blue lotuses, her essence strong like myrrh and as he let her loosen his garment, a trickle of blood flowed past his abdominal muscles. She felt his will giving, and she smiled a sickening curve to her lips because she could not care. He looked too invigorating. Tasty. She took her headdress off, slipped her linen underdress from under her beaded dress and flung it carelessly to the side, sinking in the blood lake, its starch whiteness burning into a cherry hue. He followed as she beckoned him into the burning lagoon, teeming with the blood of the ensnared souls of wicked mortals. She ran a hand from the gaping hole of his heart, coated her palms with his blood and caressed his face before pressing a sweet kiss to his chest as he shuddered. “Taste me,” she uttered, pushing his ivory frame down to kneel before her, her mound dangerously close to his mouth. Wicked and ominous were her thoughts when she backed into the lake, the bloody waters coming up to the apex of her thighs as she taunted him with the lithe sway of her hips, her gaze, lewd in mercilessness upon him. On hands and knees, he crawled to follow her, the lake burning a crimson wetness, setting a fire into his mortal skin. She could care less for his discomfort and ran her hands across her body, her hands tainted with his and the blood from the lake. She pinched a nipple between her thumb and finger through the dress, the motion spreading a tremor down to her snatch as she looked down at her body, ribbons of blood streaking across her middle and breasts. It was almost holy in the most wicked way, she a demoness, in a lake of blood as he crawled towards the lake coming up to his neck. She ran her fingers through his hair and marvelled at the softness of them before grabbing fistfuls of his mane and pulled back, hard enough to hurt. Only to hurt. He inhaled sharply, and gods did her demons scavenge for the sound. Her mouth watered, her body shaking with anticipated hedonism that no lotus or aphrodisiac could alight within her. She inched forward and said, “Worship me mortal. Say you crave this!” She waited for him, but he said nothing, instead, with a dazed look in his eyes he devoured the length of her lithe body before him. Therein the back of her mind did she question her motives, that maybe it was all too sinful and all too dark and maybe a hefty more taboo. But her wicked heart would want for nothing more than his pleasure, right at the cusp of where he shall meet his own end will she release him. But first, her own. Their eyes finally meet, and she could see trepidation in his face while she savoured the warmness in his eyes while it lasted. The way he swallowed before sitting up on his knees, his head against her stomach as he keened his distaste of the burning lake against his reddening skin. “I’ll worship you like this,” he declared before her, a surging rush of acceptance though it was strange, fully satisfied her. His hands, one warm in comparison to her brother’s cold ones and the other, familiar, ripped at the beads from her stomach to grant him her waiting pussy, grabbed at her buttocks before pushing her forward, lifting her legs to sit on his shoulders. The first slow kiss to her petal lips made her shiver in a way she wasn’t used to, because his mouth carried warmth and her breath hitched as she felt his hot tongue sneak a taste at her opening, the slick from his mouth scorching against her and she found herself prying for more, her hips demanding to be closer. He moaned when he finally stroked a taste of her, and their eyes meet in the midst of it all, heavy and laden with such desires that has never gripped her before. Because she has time, and oh would she love to be devoured this way, so warm and so wet and her growing desire for the man unlike anything familiar to her. But when he finally gave her a run from his tongue, delving between the squelch of her wetness and tipping at her nub, she couldn’t defy it no more. She found her liking to his warm mouth rather than her brother’s coldness, but even while she’s thrown speechless, she still had the mind to wonder what it’d be like to be ravished by both as she rode his tongue languidly, throwing her head back while his tongue lapped at her musky slick. She clutched tighter at the matted hair at the nape of his neck, a sickening pain filled groan escaping him as he raised her out of the lake and placed her on the shores of the blood of many who came to meet their deaths before him. She liked that he didn’t care, because she felt lovely under the pads of his fingers, and soft wherein her feared form was not. Her lips opened at the sight before her, taking her breath, purring at his torso cardinally dripping in her favourite shade of red. The way her snared souls and their screams thronged together in harmonies of pure bliss around her, a resounding cram of chaotic music for what she planned for the mortal. Her palms reached up to caress his chest, ghosting over the stain of blood, smooth under her palms as she stroked the liquid into his skin. He leaned down to hike up her beaded dress, tossing the nimble thing, but she doesn’t care for where, because he starts nipping at her inner thighs and she could almost go mad at his teasing pursuit, especially when she’s already had a taste of what his warmth could do. Her lips pull back in a menacing curl before mewling when his tongue lapped a dollop of her slick hungrily. Her skin prickled atop her scales as she dared to will her demon form from breaking, begging to be released and finally consume him but she is also stunned, because for the first time a mortal surpassed that of the actions of the other gods. His hot tongue tracing between her folds, the sound so sickeningly lewd yet it rang through the pillars with the echoing soprano of her own whines. She took his surprise when she pushed him off, his mouth glistening from the slow start of his mouth on her. She toppled over him, legs spread and caging his hips as she reached down to his growing, flaccid cock leaking inside her cold and yielding palms, the pressure too heavy as she truly felt the strange hotness of his shaft, and she needed to have more. He shivered at the coldness but soon found himself moaning at the sensual squeeze of her palms, his cock, covered in the blood from the lake. But she couldn’t get enough so she moved down his body and tongued at the heart that would soon meet its demise, his whimpers coaxing a low moan of satisfaction within her and engulfed him through her cold wet lips. As he whined raggedly, cleansing him of the stain of blood and the feel of her cold mouth dragging sloppily, the darkness above him seemed to open but there were no stars, no halo of a saviour to release him, and she dragged her long tongue through the slit of his cock, before his body bent over, reaching forward to grab at her head. A brutal snap at his hands has him recoiling alarmed, her form taking above him for a moment as she growled at his attempts. She inched forward to enwrap his member into her, his body searing with bliss from her scorching tightness as she lazily stroked him within her walls, their hardened grunts and mewls joining the symphony of the howls of the dead around them. It’s in the gradual pull of his member, like the moon that centres the ocean waves on the shore. But the moon down there is crimson, and so will her teeth in a few moments. On the shores of the burning lake of blood. another pair of arms wrapped around her, a shadow of a jackal head beside her own and an eye-rolling tightness as he the mortal and the god shared her. The embalming god had gold in his veins and his darkness cracked on his skin in sparks of vilified dust.Above him, in throes of sinful indulgence, her tightness around his member, his bleeding heart, her wicked ways, his willing lewdness and when he opened his eyes, he doesn’t see one deity to worship, but two. And yet right in the momentbefore he would let go,where a fire would begin to poolbelow his abdomen,when his world would splutter on its axis,when he nearly tips over,while he would be thrown perplexed at a heavypaw on his neck,just as a single stroke from the jackal inside her rearwould enable her walls tighter against thehead of his shaft,she would swipe at his neck,mangledswiftly and his pleasure wouldemergein thick ropesof cardinal ivory.
Oh but maybe she’d like to keep a plaything.