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Playthings of the Gods

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Chapter 10: Godhood

Initially Marcus resolved to live simply and restrained. But luxuries came too easily. His return to his hometown was a flight on a magic carpet. His small house became a palace. Rooms overflowed with riches beyond imagining. Every meal was a sumptuous feast.

But his power wasn’t infinite. Some things were simply not possible with his powers. Marcus couldn’t directly will a person do something – he could only cajole, tempt and threaten to get people to follow his desires. He couldn’t destroy large things he hadn’t wished into existence previously – he could create a catapult to knock down a wall, but he couldn’t just wish the wall away. He could wish each stone away, but not a whole mountain.

And Marcus couldn’t create real people or animals. If he magicked a person into being they were a hollow shell, mindless. For a short while it was fun having sex with warm, breathing flesh in its many forms. But the novelty quickly wore thin. Summoned flesh was mindless where pleasuring a partner is as much a component of good sex as being pleasured. Still, he could have all the real lovers he wanted with the promise of riches, or the threat of violence. Or he could wish any unwilling person to be magically bound in chains naked and fucked while they screamed.

Every new miracle quickly faded in lustre. Feasts were just food, after all. Lovers were all superficial – nothing meaningful. Acquaintances lusted after his power and influence, but were never friends. Each next extravagance would pale, leaving him unfulfilled.

As his excesses grew he moved into a great castle, had servants and vassals. Foreign lords dined at his court, beseeching his favours. Marcus had become the de facto ruler of his country.

Eventually the legitimate king grew wary and jealous of Marcus’ usurpation of his rule. The king challenged Marcus to the field of battle.

Ten thousand of the king’s soldiers – on foot or mounted on horseback – assembled to face the lone despoiler. On the king’s signal one thousand arrows were loosed toward Marcus. One thousand rose petals fluttered down around the lone man. Ten thousand soldiers’ swords became lily stems, as Marcus laughed at the assembly. The effort left him panting and aroused as ichor boiled in his veins.

Incensed, the kind ordered his soldiers forward to beat the usurper with their fists, if need be.

From the depths of corruption, Marcus summoned a great roiling sea of fire. The conflagration surged across the field of soldiers. So massive was the expenditure of raw energies that Marcus fell to his knees – not through fatigue but the sexual detonation in his groin. Spontaneously he orgasmed into his breeches, falling forward onto all fours. Blackness threatened to overtake his vision as his ears rang and the world lurched sideways. The pleasure was intense, arcing through every muscle and bone in his body. He juddered as he squeezed out semen unbidden into his pants. It was some moments before his vision cleared enough to raise his head. Jolts of ecstasy made his cock spurt intermittently.

Horror stretched before him on the battlefield. Charred bodies lay in a rictus of agony. From the periphery screams from scorched soldiers who had avoided the worst of the conflagration replaced the ringing in his ears. Dead, wounded, dying littered the field. The smell of burnt flesh was a choking cloud.

Even while the aftershocks of his orgasm still wetted his breeches and eldritch power echoed in his flesh, Marcus drew back in revulsion. He was aghast at the devastation he’d unleashed. Men, horses, war dogs, soldiers and commanders, living humans reduced to this appalling sea of burning holocaust.

He crawled away, mortified at his actions.

For a thousand nights Marcus woke screaming in terror at the monster he had become. He would never be free of the horror he’d visited on that field. He would forever know of families destroyed by his actions, of young men who were now annihilated, or scarred for life.

So Marcus left his palace crumbling to dust. He abandoned his riches and courtiers. He again vowed to live simply. He would still use his powers, but only in the service of needy people. In a village he healed a sick farmer. With a wish the farmer’s field became verdant. In another town a sickened heard of sheep miraculously recovered. A poor beggar’s bowl overflowed with coins. A flooded grain store was discovered to be dry and free of the toxic fungus which had plagued it yesterday.

Small miracles were left in the wake of the simple man in a grey robe. This small life helping real people was infinitely more satisfying and meaningful to Marcus than all his previous excesses. Meals earned in grateful thanks for his help were more fulfilling than his magicked feasts. An apple picked from the tree accompanied by bread still warm from a cottage oven sated his appetite in ways un-earned sweet morsels of his earlier life ever could.

One malady the sage couldn’t cure was the advance of his own years. Mortality weighed heavily on him. Every season walking the roads became more gruelling. His aging bones complained at the cold winters. His robes seemed less protection against the weather. What use the powers of a god when death in old age would end him?

And his most cherished memory was fading with the passing decades. He could barely remember the touch of her alabaster flesh, the earthy taste of her, the velvet clenching around his manhood. Despite indulging in extravagant sexual escapades in his former life, and despite trying to connect with real relationships as a hermit, Marcus reminisced about his time with the white goddess. Never had he given of himself so fully. Never had he so selflessly tried to fulfil his lover. Never had he been so truly happy as when he was in the embrace of his goddess. He had tasted heaven, and every lover since was just a shadow. He abandoned any hope of human intimacy.

Marcus resolved to beg the gods for one more boon. He desired to spend eternity with his un-named alabaster goddess. And he would even be willing to indulge her dark demon aspect if that would earn her forbearance.

Epilogue

A bent old man in a grey robe supported himself with a wooden staff. At seventy years old the journey to the hidden cleft of rock had nearly surpassed the man. However it was imperative that he make the journey on foot, alone. He was certain if he’d attempted to ease his travels with any magicked comforts or other people’s assistance the hidden temple would have eluded Marcus.

An unremarkable man in a white robe greeted the traveller, “Welcome, Marcus. It has been, what… oh… forty years since you last visited these sacred halls. I see the journey has been long and arduous. It is well you travelled simply, or you wouldn’t have found your way here again. It seems you’ve discovered wisdom on your travels.”

“Keron!” Marcus exclaimed in surprised recognition, “You look exactly how I remember you! But… how? Did you earn the favour of the gods you serve?”

“Tomorrow all your questions will be answered,” replied the guardian, “For now let me help you to your room. You look about ready to drop dead, and that would disappoint a god who was anticipating your return.” He shouldered Marcus’ pack and allowed the man to lean on his shoulder as the two hobbled down the main hall, staves tapping counterpoint on the flagstones.

There were no statues on the marble dais. Neither the alabaster Great Dane bitch nor the obsidian dog were in the main hall. It was disappointing not to see his goddess but Marcus was incredibly worn and weary from his journey. A hot bath, a good sleep and a hearty breakfast would suffice until the new day. Tomorrow he would worship her. He fell asleep while fantasies of spending eternity in a silk bed cuddling his goddess filled his thoughts.

At dawn Marcus found a clean grey robe and hearty breakfast of sweet pastries and fruit. He followed Keron down the corridor to the main temple hall. On the dais were two exquisitely carved statues of canine form. The detail in the statues was flawless; the statues were polished to shine in the diffuse light. As though carved from rich mahogany and redwood sat a bitch to the left and a male to the right. Marcus recognized the breed – Dobermann dogs.

“Have the gods changed their aspect?” asked Marcus as he respectfully approached the altar.

“Let’s see, forty years ago that would have been… Great Danes. Snow and Midnight. Ah, they were glorious creatures,” Keron smiled in reminiscence, “Littermates, could you believe it. They lived to an astonishing fourteen years old, which is almost unheard of for giant dogs. No, these magnificent beasts,” he gestured to the dais, “are Teak on the left and Oak on the right. I know, I know… not very original names. Gods seem to lack the infinite creativity of humans.”

Marcus was bewildered, “I don’t understand. The gods are dead?” Pain at the loss of his white goddess stabbed into his heart, “How do gods die?”

Keron silenced him with a gesture, “Say why you are here. Speak your desires out loud.”

Carefully, painfully, Marcus lowered himself to his knees before the mahogany statues. The beasts opened their eyes but regarded him impassively. “I have grown old. I have learned to live humbly. I have but one desire unfulfilled.” He drew a breath to steady his nerves, “I want to spend eternity with the alabaster goddess.”

“There is no alabaster goddess and there never has been,” Keron scoffed, “Snow and Midnight, Teak and Oak and all the dogs I’ve had in the intervening years have just been dogs. Canine companions to keep a lonely old man company.”

Marcus shook his head, bewildered, “But you told me they were gods and that by pleasuring them I earned powers!” he protested.

“No, you told me they were gods,” said Keron, “But it’s true you did pleasure a god. I was infinitely amused that you’d actually go so far as to fuck dogs to gain your powers.” He laughed at the confused human, “I don’t give out my gifts to just anyone. You know, nobody else who visited here actually went so far as to suck off one of the dogs, let along fuck and be fucked by them.” He chuckled, “Ah me… you certainly did please me. So!” he rubbed his hands together, “You want immortality and to spend it fucking a dog. Sounds great! Obviously you’ll have to pleasure a god again – it’s a big ask, after all. How do you feel about bulls? Ever wanted to drink piss directly from one? Ooo! Or horses! I’ve always wondered if a human would survive being fucked by a stallion! Just think – immortality for you if you do!”

Fin.