Chapter 21: The Tribute of Silence
The silence that followed the fall of Alkeus was different. It was not the oppressive stillness of my arrival. It was a fragile, trembling silence, the silence of a herd that has just witnessed the brutal deposition of its alpha. It was the silence of fear, of submission and of a new and terrible form of respect.
The other demigods, once so loud and arrogant, were now motionless, frozen in place. Their bodies, once relaxed by wine and pleasure, were now tense, their muscles contracted not by exertion, but by an instinctive attempt to become smaller, less noticeable. Their gazes were no longer defiant; they were the frightened looks of deer that have smelled a wolf.
The nymphs and mortals had huddled together, forming small trembling groups at the edges of the pond and in the shadows of the bedrooms. Her laughter had turned to muffled sobs, her lust had evaporated, replaced by the cold sweat of terror. They looked at me not as a participant, but as a natural disaster, an earthquake or a flood that had swept away their little world of pleasure.
And in the center of the arena, Alkeus, the son of war, stood kneeling in the sand, his body trembling with the spasms of his drained power. Her blonde hair hid her face, but she could smell the salt of her tears and the stench of humiliation. It was a ruin. A monument to broken pride.
I completely ignored it.
A defeated alpha is no longer relevant. It is simply an obstacle overcome. My attention was on the rest of the pack. In the prize.
I started moving.
My step was slow, deliberate, the gait of a predator that no longer needs to hunt, but simply chooses its food from the terrified herd. My shadow paws made no noise on the golden sand. The only sound was the dripping water from the waterfall and the ragged breath of the creatures watching me.
I moved among them, a river of liquid night flowing through their fear. I approached one of the demigods, the one who had the constitution of a bull. He visibly shrank as I approached, his muscles tensed to the point of pain. It smelled of pure fear, so sour it was unpleasant.
'No. Too scared. The meat sours.'
I passed by.
My gaze fell on a group of dryads, their bodies pressed against the trunk of an olive tree growing in the grotto. They were beautiful, their skin had the texture of young bark, but their scent was of vegetable panic, of sap frozen by terror.
'Frightened prisoners. There is no challenge. There is no taste.'
I continued my inspection. I sniffed the air, not looking for the sweetest perfume or the most beautiful shape, but the most interesting power signature. He was looking for the one who, despite the terror, still burned with a spark of something else: curiosity, defiance, or a devotion born of fear.
Finally, my gaze fell on the pond. There, in the shallows, she was. The minor goddess. The naiad that was the spirit of this same spring. He had retreated to his element, his pale body almost translucent underwater, his long green hair floating around him like seaweed.
Of all the creatures in the grotto, she was the one who seemed the least terrified. In his eyes, a deep blue like that of abyssal water, there was no panic of others. There was amazement. A reverent caution. And a deep, undeniable resignation.
'She understands,' I thought. 'She knows what I am. He knows that I have conquered his home. And he knows that the home now belongs to the conqueror.'
I approached the shore of the pond. The water receded in my presence, rippling away from me as if fearing my touch. I stood there, staring at her.
She did not flee. He did not hide. Slowly, with a liquid grace, he stood up. The water was waist-deep, cascading down her pale breasts and slender hips. She bowed her head, not with the submission of a slave, but with the dignity of a queen handing over the keys of her city.
He had chosen.
She would not be one of the trembling nymphs or one of the sobbing mortals. It would be her. The owner of this place. Taking her would not simply be an act of lust. It would be an act of domination. It would be to reclaim the sanctuary itself, to drink from its fountain.
"You," echoed my voice in the mind of every being in the grotto, a simple and final statement.
The naiad closed her eyes for an instant, a tremor ran through her body. Then, he opened his eyes again, and in them, I saw acceptance.
I lifted one of my shadow claws. I didn't touch it. I simply summoned her. A tentacle of solid darkness slithered from my body, plunged into the unsplashed water, and gently curled around his waist.
A collective gasp ran through the grotto as the others watched.
The tentacle lifted her out of the water, her body dripping and glowing in the light of the braziers. He did not fight. It hung in the air, a silent offering.
I drew her to me, pulling her out of the pond and gently depositing her in the sand at my feet. He stood there, on his knees, trembling, the water forming a puddle around him.
I leaned over, my huge head inches from his. I could smell it now, without the water filter. It smelled of fresh rain, of water lilies, and of the metallic taste of fear that had finally begun to blossom, mixed with a strange, resigned excitement.
His tribute was ready to be accepted.
"Observe," I ordered the silent audience. "And learn how a true god accepts an offering."
…..
My command resounded in the silence of the grotto, not like a sound, but like an immutable law. Observe. And learn.
The eyes of every demigod, every mortal, were fixed on the scene. They watched with a mixture of terror and a primordial fascination, prisoners of a spectacle that was destroying their world of simple pleasures.
The naiad, kneeling at my feet, trembled. It wasn't the shivering of the cold, but that of a creature that knows its existence is about to be redefined. Her pale skin was covered in goosebumps, her tiny breasts rising with every shallow, terrified breath. It smelled of fresh rain, water lilies, and the sharp, metallic scent of fear.
I didn't give him time to prepare. There were no caresses. There was no seduction. Courtship is for equals. This was a claim.
A tendril of my shadow, thick as an arm and cold as the night, slipped from my body. He coiled around her legs and opened them with irresistible force, exposing her completely to my gaze and that of the entire grotto.
Another tentacle pushed her back, knocking her down on the golden sand. The sand, still warm from the braziers, was a shock against his cold, wet back. She stood there, a pale offering on a golden altar, her legs forced open, her vulnerable pussy exposed to the night.
It was a vision of purity about to be desecrated. Her pubic hair, dark green like the moss of a river, barely hid her pink, swollen lips. Her wetness was that of the pond and that of her own fear, a salty and slippery mixture.
I leaned over her, my colossal form eclipsing the light, immersing her in my own shadow. And then, I impaled her.
There was no slow entrance. There was an invasion.
With a single, powerful thrust, I sank into it. The sound was a CRACK! wet and choked, the sound of her virginity (or at least virginity to something my size) being popped.
A scream, sharp, crystalline and full of pure and blinding pain, burst from his lips. It was the sound of a glass bell breaking. His body arched violently, his back lifted from the sand in an agonizing spasm. I felt the barrier tear, I felt the warmth of her blood mingle with my own pre-cum.
'The first seal. The first brand.'
I stood still for a moment, buried to the base in it, letting its body convulse around me, letting the silent audience absorb the brutality of the act. I let her feel the overwhelming wholeness, the feeling of being divided, of being filled by a power she couldn't comprehend.
Her cries of pain turned to muffled sobs, her face contorted into a mask of agony.
And then, I started moving.
My first movement was slow, almost a polish, a deliberate tug that made her gasp again with pain before sinking me back in with crushing force. A PLAF! dull and wet resounded as my pelvis slammed into his. And again. PLAF! And again. PLAF!
The rhythm was that of a forge hammer, slow, heavy and relentless. Each onslaught was a lesson. Each retreat, a promise of more pain.
And slowly, the pain began to change.
Her sobs of agony began to take on a new hue. His hips, which had previously tried to move away from me, were now timidly moving forward, meeting my thrusts. Her body, betraying her, began to yearn for the same strength that was tearing her apart.
"Ahh... Please...", he groaned, the words barely audible. It was unclear whether he was begging me to stop or to continue.
I increased the pace. The forging hammer became a piston. My fucking got faster, more brutal. I lifted her off the ground, my shadow tentacles holding her, and slammed her backwards into the cold rock wall of the grotto, her legs now wrapped around my torso not by choice, but because I put them there.
The new position was deeper, more devastating. Each thrust caused his head to hit the stone. The sound of his flesh crashing against mine now echoed in the cavern, amplified by the rock. Their screams were no longer muffled. They were howling. Howls of a pleasure so overwhelming that it was indistinguishable from pain.
"Gods! Oh, gods, yes! Like this!" he shouted, his mind broken, his body now completely given over to sensation. "Break me! Destroy me!"
I threw her back into the sand, this time on all fours, her face sunk in the golden sand. I took it from behind, a purely animal act. My rhythm was a frenzy, a blur of movement. The sound was a chaotic splash, CHAS! CHAS! CHAS!, while he fucked her in the dirt.
She no longer shouted words. It only emitted sounds. Guttural moans, high-pitched shrieks, the language of a creature reduced to pure instinct.
Finally, I felt her body reach the limit. A deep tremor ran through her, a spasm that began deep within her. His back arched, his muscles tensed to the breaking point.
It was time for the final mark.
As her body began to convulse in the first spasm of her orgasm, I gathered my power. With a guttural roar that shook the grotto, I sank into it one last time. And I exploded.
It was not a simple ejaculation. It was a flood. A boiling seed rash that filled her completely. The feeling of being filled as her own climax shattered her was too much.
A final scream, a soul-tearing sound, welled up from his throat as his mind dissolved into a white light. She convulsed violently around me, her pussy squeezing my member into agonizing spasms, milking every last drop of my essence.
When the last pulse faded, I withdrew. The sound was an obscene schlorp that echoed through the now silent sanctuary.
The naiad collapsed in the sand, a broken wrist in a pool of sweat, water, blood, and my seed. Her body trembled with the aftershocks of a pleasure that had annihilated and recreated her.
I stood on it, my colossal form dripping with the fluids of my offering. I didn't look at her.
I slowly turned my head and my ember gaze swept over the silent, terrified audience. The pale demigods. The trembling nymphs. The kneeling hero.
'The lesson has been taught. The offering has been accepted.'
And then, my gaze fell on the next face in the crowd, and my voice echoed in everyone's mind, a cold, terrifying promise.
"Now... who's next?"
….
My question hung in the air of the grotto, heavy and lethal as a sentence. Who's next?
The silence that followed was one of terror so pure that it was almost tangible. The demigods, once so full of bravado, now looked like frightened children in the dark, their muscular bodies shrunk, their stares fixed on the ground, anywhere but me. The nymphs and mortals trembled, some sobbing silently, their faces a mixture of dread and a strange, embarrassing excitement. They looked at the broken naiad lying in the sand, a testimony to my power, and saw in it their own possible destiny.
The herd was terrified. The fear of death was a powerful force. But there was an even more primal force at play that night. The fear of being ignored.
The first to break was not one of the trembling mortals. She was one of the priestesses. A woman with a body painted with blue spirals and eyes that burned with the fervor of a true believer. He had seen a false god be pulverized and a true god take his tribute. To his fanatical mind, this was not a massacre. It was a theophany.
With a groan that was half plea and half prayer, he broke away from his huddled group and began to crawl toward me on the golden sand. He did not walk. He crawled on all fours, like an animal, his head bowed in an act of absolute submission.
"Great Beast...," he whispered, his voice trembling with terrified ecstasy. God of the Night... accept me. I'm yours. Take me as your offering."
His action was a spark in a powder keg.
The spell of terror was broken, replaced by a new and frantic urgency. The logic of the feast had been reaffirmed, but the rules had changed. Before, they competed for the favor of the strongest hero. Now, they were begging for the darkest god's attention.
A dryad, her bark skin glistening with sweat, slipped from her hiding place in the olive tree and prostrated herself on the ground, her body trembling. Then another of the priestesses, and then a mortal, her eyes wide open with a mixture of fear and suicidal lust. Within seconds, a wave of female bodies was moving toward me, not fleeing, but offering themselves, each vying to be next at the altar.
The demigods watched helplessly as alphas reduced to mere spectators. Their era was over the instant their leader knelt down.
I stood atop the broken naiad, a mountain of indifference in the midst of a rising sea of devotion. I was not flattered. I didn't feel lust. I felt the boredom beginning to dissipate. The game had become interesting again.
'If they beg to be devoured, who am I to deny them their prayer?'
I didn't choose one. I chose three.
My shadow tentacles, which had been dormant, sprouted from my body. They slithered over the sand like liquid night snakes. One coiled around the first priestess's waist and lifted her into the air, her screams of surprise turning into gasps of ecstasy. Another caught the dryad by the ankle, dragging it towards me. A third wrapped himself around the throat of a young mortal, not to strangle her, but to hold her, her face a mask of terror and pleasure.
I brought them to me, three trembling toys suspended in the air of my own volition. And then, the resumed. But it was no longer his feast. It was mine.
I lay down in the center of the arena, a position of lazy dominance. The priestess was placed in front of my mouth. The dryad, at the foot of my phallus. And the mortal one was simply held in the air, forced to observe.
"Worship me," I commanded in the priestess's mind. And she obeyed, her lips and tongue began a frantic service on my red, throbbing member.
"Take me," I ordered the dryad, and she wrapped her legs around one of my shadow tentacles, which had hardened and taken a phallic shape, and began to ride it with wild desperation.
And to the mortal, I simply whispered, "Observe."
The rest of the pack, seeing this, understood. Fear was replaced by a collective hysteria. The exploded again, but now, I was the sun around which all the planets revolved.
A naiad slipped out of the water and began licking the blood and fluids of the first victim lying next to me. Another one started massaging my huge hind legs. The demigods, now humiliated betas, found a new purpose. They were no longer the predators. They were the shepherds, preparing the flock for sacrifice.
I saw Alkeus, the broken hero, get up. He grabbed one of the mortals crawling toward me and threw her onto a pile of cushions. "Get ready for the god!" he roared, his voice now that of a herald, not a king. And he began to fuck her, not for his own pleasure, but as an act of preparation, a warm-up for the main offering.
The grotto was transformed. The moans of pleasure were no longer carefree; they were fervent, religious. The air was filled with the sound of flesh clashing, of screams of ecstasy, of whispers of worship. It was no longer a party. It was a rite. A bacchanal in honor of a new and terrible god who had descended among them.
And at the center of it all, I lay, an indifferent king on his throne of flesh and shadows. The priestess choked on my member, the dryad cummed on my tentacle, and my ember eyes ran over the scene of depravity she had created.
The heroes' feast was dead.
The wolf god's feast had just begun.
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