Not reverence.
Defiance.
For one heartbeat, the ancient god-king of Krystopolis was silent. Uncomprehending.
Then—
“…So that’s what you are,” he whispered. His voice dropped low. Soft. Devotional. “How did We not see it sooner…”
The Sokâr said nothing, her focus on the scene before her. She shook from head to toe.
The drums were beating in the chamber.
Beating.
Beating.
Beating.
In time with Vargrún's form undulating above his Companions.
In time with moans of bliss and voices begging him for pain and dominance.
He arched, his head tilting back, the glow in his red eyes intensifying.
And the girl before Shu’Khanfelt it all.
Her body twisted, head falling back, throat tightening.
A sound escaped her.
Pleasured, broken, agonized.
He touched her arm. Felt the pleasure. The shame. The ruination.
And he waited.
For the snap. The break. The crack.
Surely this would shatter her.
Instead, fire blazed forth again.
Righteous, divine.
She swayed, her face flushed, her skin aflame, her eyes dull and exhausted. When she nearly fell, he caught her up against him. Again, her pain surged through his very core. But she was not broken by it. Instead, she rose.
Stronger.
Harder.
More focused.
Her fury was glorious, and he wanted nothing more than to take her from here. From this pain. From this wound. Regretting that he’d shown her this truth. Wanting to spare her from it.
“It’s alright now, child. Close your eyes. See nothing more of this.”
“I’ll stop it…” she whispered as tremors shook her body. "I swear."
