“Finish me, you horned fucker,” I growl, voice breaking with slutty need. He flips me onto my hands and knees on the cold stone, the bite of it heightening every sensation, and rams into my pussy from behind, doggy style, deep and relentless, his balls slapping my clit with each brutal thrust. His cock hits that perfect spot, a vow against death itself, stretching me to my limits. “Deeper! Pound my cunt, beast—make me your breeding bitch!” I roar, pushing back hard, my pussy clenching like a vice, pleasure surging like a storm. He grabs my hair, yanking my head back, his other hand slapping my ass red. “Cum for me, Eurydice—milk my cock with that tight hole!” My orgasm erupts, a blinding wildfire, my scream shattering the silence as my pussy spasms, squirting juices onto the stone, my body collapsing, lost to ecstasy.
I wake hazy, his cock shoving into my mouth, his growl commanding, “Drink me, Eurydice—swallow your beast’s load like a good cumslut.” I suck greedily, lips sealed tight, tongue milking him as he erupts, hot, thick ropes of cum flooding my throat, spilling from the corners of my mouth. I swallow everydrop, moaning whorishly, my body trembling with aftershocks, the candles dimming to gold. We collapse, tangled in sweat and fur, salt and ash on our skin, the shell-bell tied to my wrist chiming softly. “Follow this if I’m lost,” I whisper, the chapel cradling our filthy vows in its ancient stone.
17
THERON
Leaving the sacred chapel, a profound sense of renewal invigorated our spirits, a potent counter to the oppressive gloom that clung to the ancient necropolis. We plunged into a corridor that seemed alive, its very essence shifting and reforming with each powerful stroke through the watery depths.
The walls, not solid stone, but a fluid, almost viscous material, flowed around us like liquid, their surfaces rippling and reforming in an eerie, hypnotic dance. It was as if the necropolis itself, a sentient, malevolent entity, was attempting to disorient and ensnare us, its architecture a living, breathing trap.
We pass into a vast, circular chamber, the water around us suddenly colder, heavier, as if we've descended into the very heart of the ocean's ancient memory. Domination here comes in the form of a single, colossal figure that makes my blood not just chill, but freeze solid in my veins: The Tide-Herald.
It waits in the absolute center of the chamber, neither fully shade nor fully solid, a terrifying and ethereal presence. Its form is wreathed in ancient, barnacled robes that seem to ripple and flow with the unseen currents of the deep, clinging to a body thathints at something immense and powerful beneath. Strange, phosphorescent growths cling to its cowl and shoulders, casting an eerie, shifting glow that defines its terrifying silhouette against the gloom.
The moment its tarnished, gold mask—a relic of some forgotten oceanic empire—fixes on us, I feel a cold, piercing psychic probe.
It's not a question, but an intrusion, a deep, invasive touch that bypasses all my defenses. It knows. It knows exactly what we just shared, the intimate bond, the raw, living passion that pulsed between Eurydice and me just moments ago.
There's no hiding the truth from this ancient entity.
"Children of the surface," it intones, its voice not merely speaking, but rippling through the very water itself, a resonant vibration that shivers in my bones and in the water surrounding us. It carries the immense weight of ancient authority, of countless eons spent guarding these silent depths. "You dare defile the silent courts with living passion. Your bond is a poison in these halls of sorrow, a vibrant, burning ember where only cold despair should reside." The Herald pauses, and for a terrifying second, the silence that follows is more oppressive than any sound. "For such transgression, the price is steeper than mere passage. Far steeper."
I instinctively steadymyself in the heavy water, planting my feet firmer on the unseen floor beneath us, pulling Eurydice slightly behind me, shielding her from the sheer oppressive force of the Tide-Herald's presence.
My hand finds hers, a desperate anchor in this terrifying place. “What toll do you demand, Herald of the depths?” I ask, my voice, despite my efforts, a little rough, a little strained, butrefusing to break. My eyes, however, do not waver from the tarnished gold mask that hides the entity's true face.
The figure tilts its head. "Not gold, not silver, but something that binds you together: Memory itself." The Herald raises one barnacle-encrusted hand, pointing first at Eurydice, then at me. "Give me one memory of your union, freely offered. One moment where your hearts spoke their deepest truth. Surrender the joy, and the path will open."
Eurydice stiffens beside me. Losing a shared moment—a moment that defines our escape—is worse than losing a decade of my life.
My mind flashes back to the chapel: not the savage lust, but the quiet moment after, when our bodies were tangled and the shell-bell chimed. The vow she made:“Follow this if I’m lost.”
I close my eyes, offering the memory of that pure moment—the quiet promise to fight for each other until the end. "I offer this," I say, letting the image surface in all its painful detail: Our silent vow of forever, spoken without words in the chapel's flickering light.
The Tide-Herald extends its hand. I feel the memory being drawn from my mind, not like a loss of history, but a loss offeeling—the specific warmth, the absolute certainty of her love, dissolves as it leaves me. For a moment, I feel a strange emptiness where that truth used to be.
"Accepted," the Herald says, and the stolen memory takes form in the water—a brief, golden tableau of us tangled on the stone, eyes locked in shared promise. It dissolves into the Herald's robes.
But the Herald is not finished. It turns its sightless mask toward Eurydice and raises its other hand. "The male's toll is paid. The siren's toll is yet due."
Before I can protest, a burst of dark magic explodes from the Herald's fingertips—not a chain, but a compelling force. Eurydice gasps, her eyes wide with shock.
"You will return to your pillar," the Herald commands, its voice flat and absolute. "You will resume the lament. You will wait for the price of your rescue to be collected."
"No!" I roar, reaching for her, but invisible threads are already pulling her back.
"Theron, my beast, no—I can’t stop it!" Eurydice cries out, her body moving against her will. The magical compulsion is iron-hard, drawing her away from me toward the path of sorrow.
"The magic is not meant to bind the living," the Herald says coldly. "It is meant to compel the lost. Your memory is gone, but the echo of your love remains. You must pay the price of that defiancealone."
I try to swim after her, but the water around the Herald thickens to syrup, locking me in place. I watch in agony as Eurydice is dragged away, her eyes locked on mine in desperation, down a twisting side-passage.
"Pass, surface child," the Herald says to me. "But you will seek the deeper halls alone, knowing that every step takes you further from what you cherish. Your reunion was a fleeting moment. Her sorrow is eternal."
The far wall irises open, revealing the path to the heart. I am raging, paralyzed, forced to choose between fighting the Herald and following the path Eurydice was forced down. Knowing she is compelled to return to danger, I choose the path that will lead me to her fastest.
I grit my teeth, giving the Herald a promise of vengeance. "You'll find my other memories well-guarded," I snarl, then turn and swim into the passage beyond, following the faint, terrified echo of her shell-bell.
