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Fearful Priest 4

Shall we expose the Priest?

Lyam’s first reaction was to gasp.

His eyes opened wide, looking at the stone ceiling above. His body jolted into action with the fear and anxiety pumping blood in his veins. His body… Was ready for a fight-or-flight situation.

He bounced off the bed, pulling at the sheets that had been wrapped around him as he looked around.

He was not in the catacombs or the cell. He was in his bed. He was in his bedroom, with the sweat sticking to his fur. And outside? It was silent. No shuffling steps, no indication someone was out.

It could have been early dawn, or late evening, for what Lyam cared.

But it all felt like an eerie dream as he sat, reaching for his muzzle. He poked it, feeling it and feeling his body… He was exploring his body, closing his eyes as he passed his fingers over his neck, on his collarbone.

“What was that?” he mumbled, trying to get a grip on the situation and fight the nausea churning inside his guts. Then, he tilted his head back, taking a sharp breath.

No metal. No pain. No chain.

It all felt surreal as his body was light and relaxed. No soreness, no hickeys. Nothing. It was as if he’d dreamed it all, as if he’d been imagining things as he continued to explore his chest, feeling the nipples without any piercings.

Then, he descended to his belly, trying to chase the smile of relief that was starting to spread across his face.

“Could it be?” he asked, trying to think about that eerie moment. That eerie sensation. That dream-like moment with the Demon… Getting choked on that shaft, on that length… Being pummeled by that fake cock.

He imagined it well, and… Though he was ashamed, Lyam could feel the excitement. A fantasy. It could only be a fantasy, he thought.

And yet, the first brand appeared beneath his fingers. It was only a small brand, as if someone had carved the skin, but the skin had healed. Then, it was not the only one. More were spread over his body, and Lyam’s relief disappeared.

Instead, there was the fear, the tremors. His fingers descended further and further, finding no cage and only a sheath. His sheath. Familiar.

Then, there was the moment. The instant Lyam opened his legs wide and had his fingers descend onto his testicles that were… Fuzzy. And warm. And there. His testicles were still inside that scrotum, but they were… Bigger.

Much bigger as he glanced down, looking at those testicles now looking like grapefruits dangling from his groin. And he blinked before he looked ahead and saw a figure he had not seen before.

Glowing green eyes, hooves… And a grin.

Geruhlon approached, reaching for Lyam’s chin to pick it up, to have their mouths almost meet in a kiss. Just so he could whisper and blow air onto the Worgen’s face.

“Thinking this is all a dream? Not at all. And you have work to do.”

“… Work?”

Lyam blinked at the remark, at the Demon vanished, the limbs steadily consumed in fire before the ashes were whisked away. Remained then the silence as Lyam looked around, blinking.

He stood up, his eyes wandering left and right. No trace of the Demon. No hint of Fel in the air. Nothing the Worgen could smell as he wandered around, naked. He eyed his wardrobe, flung open and empty. Then his desk was devoid of anything. Not even any Libram or any trinket except for the rosary he picked up.

“What is that?” he mumbled, definitely feeling wary as he looked at his bed. Clean, too. No traces of fluid or cum. Or anything.

He blinked, then returned to the desk, to the dust and the clean spots where he’d put his old ruminations.

KNOCK KNOCK!

“Head Priest Lyam?!”

“Give me a moment!” cried the Worgen, clutching his chest as he leaned against the desk. His heart throbbed faster, but he recognized the voice behind the door.

Another young Priest, someone who often worked as a messenger.

“It’s important! We need you for the sermon.”

“The sermon? It’s not Sunday!” shouted Lyam in return, reaching for his forehead to massage it.

“Yes! But it’s the Blessed fields!”

“Crap! I mean Light! Sorry!” huffed Lyam, pinching his muzzle further before he walked away from the desk and then bent over to check under the bed. No fabric, nothing. No clothes.

His eyes widened as he observed it, and as he examined further, he had nothing to wear. All hemp clothes, even his former attire before becoming a priest. His wardrobe had been emptied, and his room was bare.

So bare, he could only grab the sheets to cover himself as he leaned against the door.

“Hector. Could you be kind and…”

“And?”

“Light,” mumbled Lyam, closing his eyes. If he remembered, he’d lost the Archbishop’s clothes in the catacombs. No way he could send him there. “Can you find me new clothes? Something for the neophytes?”

“Head Priest? What happened?”

Lyam sighed, unlocked the door just so he could see the Priest’s face, to see that young High-Elf, eager to prove himself.

He didn’t open the door wide, but enough to pass his head and upper body.

“I don’t have any clothes to wear so-“

“What do you mean? What are you wearing?”

“Nothing?” replied Lyam, his ears straightening up and then tilting in a quizzical motion.

“Doesn’t look like nothing, Head Priest. You had an accident while drinking?”

“Hey, watch out!”

Lyam cried, but it was too late as he almost stumbled back while the young Priest entered, bringing along the light from the corridor. Worse, the Elf now leaned forward, observing and then poking at Lyam’s chest. At his furred abdominal waist, even to his legs, before pinching something that wasn’t there.

“Is there a problem with the Archbishop’s robes?” asked the young Elf.

Lyam blinked, his mouth agape like a fish. He stepped back, with the Priest following him while the Worgen ran his hands over his chest. He felt nothing; saw nothing. He wasn’t wearing anything.

“The robes? I don’t think so. I-“

“Then we should get there. The Cardinals sent me and told me We need you to be ready, and fast!”

“I am not!” shouted Lyam, stopping when the Elf recoiled in surprise, the hands raised in defense. And Lyam noticed it: his fur puffed up. Then, he straightened it, passing his hands over his arms and torso.

“Should I tell the Cardinals you’re indisposed, then?” asked the Elf.

“I-“

Lyam closed his eyes and raised an index finger.

“Can you tell me what you see?”

“I see… I see you, Head Priest Lyam? What is the problem? Is this a game?”

“No. It’s very important that. Oh, Light. Follow me.”

Lyam grumbled, his shoulders dropping as it was pointless to argue or ask the young Priest. He wouldn’t understand, and explaining to him that Lyam was naked but seen as clothed would be a can of worms he wasn’t keen to open.

Not as he stepped outside, followed by the Young Priest who cried behind: “We need to go in the other direction!”

“I know,” mumbled Lyam, but he beelined toward the sacristy. He certainly hoped not to be seen, but it seemed there were many priests on his way, many who glanced and glared at him.

“Yeah. Clothed,” mumbled the Worgen, sometimes passing a hand between his legs to cover his modesty, followed by the young Elf who’d decidedly given up on convincing Lyam to go in another direction.

Instead, Lyam arrived at the Sacristy, only to find a few more priests, all suddenly turning toward him with their solicitous attitude.

“Headpriest Lyam, what can we do for you?” asked one, currently folding a hemp fabric.

“I need robes,” said the Worgen, approaching and looking inside the nearest closet, finding the numerous drawers empty.

“What for? Is there a problem? Do you need us to fix the Archbishop’s robes?”

“Headpriest Lyam! We don’t have time for games! Please!”

Lyam’s ears dropped while he listened to the Elf entering with his plaintive tone.

“What is happening? What is the issue with the Archbishop’s robes?” asked the same folding Priest while Lyam went for another closet.

“I do not know. He told me he needed new clothes. But when I examined the Archbishop’s robes, there was no issue. And now he’s coming here. Help me tell him to go for the sermons!”

“Head Priest Lyam? What is the issue?”

Lyam closed the closet and turned, sighing. After all, he wasn’t beyond this as he closed his eyes. It wouldn’t be the first ‘toying’ he’d received. Hence, he leaned back against the closet.

“What do you see?”

“You? Should we see something else?” asked the folding Priest.

“I mean. What do I wear? What color?”

“The Archbishop’s clothes? Purple and gold. He loves those colors. Right?”

Lyam watched then as all the Priests, even the young Elf, nodded along while Lyam looked at himself.

“Go on. Do your work. Stop dallying, little Priest. Or you’d prefer a punishment. I was kind enough to offer you a veil.”

His shoulders dropped as he could feel… A shiver went down his posterior, and a presence brushed his testicles.

“Fine,” he said, feeling the weight and presence disappear.

He didn’t need to see to know the folding Priest was offering a wink to his fellow.

“Maybe once Headpriest Lyam is done with today’s sermon, you could take a break. You look exhausted,” said the same folding Priest, his face beaming.

And… Lyam’s expression crumpled further while he looked down. And then stomped out.

“Maybe. But I don’t think he will let me.”

Again, the young Priest yapped and nipped at his heels to keep up while Lyam walked towards the transept.

Again, the Priests were going around, excited and chatting, only to stop when Lyam was near. But though they eyed him, none looked down. Slowly, but not assured, Lyam knew he wasn’t naked. Or exposed needlessly.

Even the Paladins didn’t seem to notice anything when he passed by them and asked them if they had seen anything strange.

Their sole answer was that Iruno was busy in the Catacombs today, making it obvious he wouldn’t be around. A weight removed for Lyam as he finally entered the Transept and saw… It was crowded.

He practically had to fight to push through the crowd that had filled the Cathedral. No, he practically had to rub shoulders, go hip to hip, just to progress. Something that ought to have been normal on such occasions, but the Worgen was afraid.

No, the Worgen was terrified at the idea of being caught.

He was almost rubbing his exposed groin against their bodies, legs, and posterior. Some women, some men… Some Humans, some Elves, even a few Draeneis and Worgens who seemed surprised and quickly nodded at him while he carved his path.

Finally, after a moment, Lyam popped free. He popped out of the crowd, only to almost stumble right by the Apse.

But he was out, watching the choir for the day, who eyed him. Then the numerous Priests and Cardinals watching him, many of whom had a satisfied grin while glancing at him. They would’ve even rubbed their hands or even laughed out loud if it didn’t endanger their position.

And so, Lyam patted his arms and shoulders, certainly feeling disgusting and icky as he approached the pulpit and finally…. Faced the crowd. Naked. Exposed. With only an illusion to cover his modesty. Modesty, he would have gladly kept under the folds, not exposed to the wind ushered inside by the wide-open doors.

Almost every field worker, everyone working from the land had gathered inside. On that occasion, they wore their cleanest clothes and brought their tools for the prayer of the Blessed Fields.

On that day, every year, the Priests would bless their farming tools so their harvests would be generous. So their grains would endure the harshest seasons. So their crops would cover the vast fields south of Stormwind.

Some were even coming from Westfall or further. A few were even there from the other continents, as it was rare to see any Draenei working the fields in the region.

Nevertheless, they all peered at Lyam with expectant eyes, with a gleaming desire to see the blessing happen and for another generous year.

Something daunting and heavy on Lyam’s mind as he glanced at the Cardinals behind.

It should have been their duty as Cardinals. It should have been them to do that in the Archbishop’s absence. And yet, the duty fell on him as it was simple: they could not bless.

Everyone was part of it, down to Iruno, who didn’t even honor the ceremony of his presence despite having the qualifications to be its minister, way above Lyam.

Still, the Worgen turned his eyes away from them and towards the Libram on the pulpit, Libram he opened on the bookmark before he coughed.

“I see many souls honoring the Cathedral with their presence. I am humbled by your coming from so far, eager to fulfill our sacred duty to the land itself,” began Lyam.

He could see the smiles forming, the attitude shifting.

For so many years, before the return of Varian, Stormwind had hardly cared for the poor. Even the Cardinals would have mainly focused on the war duties or the reconstruction, foregoing the builders or the small hands.

Even the current Archbishop had been distant, but not Lyam, who smiled and offered the comfort he would have appreciated in his younger years. In a younger life.

It was rare for a priest to come from any background other than being taught the liturgy and worship from their younger years. Many an orphan was so taught the secrets while they were kept in the Church, only to serve it for all their lives.

The exception was the Nobles. Mainly, the second or third-born would be given the duties to serve the Church and, in return, use their influence to benefit their own family.

Lyam? He was an exception, among exceptions.

He had never been an orphan or a noble.

His life had been pretty mild during his junior years, taught among the peasants. Later, offering a service that only a few men were keen to provide, while the masses desired it from women.

Flesh. The lustful desires had been his work and duty, even before the fall of Gilneas. And with it, he’d been partaking in them with renewed strength and stamina.

Or at least, it was until he narrowly got stabbed to death for his gain and had a change of heart.

Well… That would have been the gist, the idea. But that mark of shame and humiliation, it followed him. It followed him even now when Lyam continued his sermon and felt something press his ass.

“And so, the Light created the vast fields that were to be taken. The Land itself was ripe, but the Light couldn’t make the crops grow from it for the Land had been made, and in its pride, it wouldn’t relinquish its gifts to the Light’s creations,” said Lyam, discreetly shaking his posterior.

He could definitely tell the hand was still there as he feigned a smile, and he glanced behind him for half a second.

Just half a second, but right enough to peek at the grinning Cardinals, their eyes gleaming with malice. And then back at his posterior, finding nothing despite watching the fur being brushed and feeling the touch of a finger.

The Worgen frowned but didn’t push further as he turned to the Libram, to the words he’d been whispering before he closed his eyes and resumed.

“The seeds that had been sown would create vast forests and lumber, but the trees were unyielding to the pleas, their fruits too high to be collected.”

Lyam continued, his lips forming the words with ease, for he’d read those texts and listened to them before. But this time, he was telling them to the others as he felt something welling up inside him.

And yet, the worst was that hand drifting closer to his asscrack, to the swampy flesh in the middle. To the orifice that was nestled in between. A touch that was growing insistent, more so with Lyam clenching his buttocks to refuse the touch. Alas, that wasn’t enough to deter that phantasmal hand from pushing against the plump muscles, to pry them apart while a finger wiggled in.

Lyam continued to tense, to fight, to tighten his legs.

He even had his fingers planted into the pulpit, the claws digging into the wood as he leaned forward, with his breath heavy and-

A cough.

Lyam’s focus broke apart as he reopened his eyes onto the silent and expecting crowd, turning his head to see Ervron having his fist near his mouth before he winked.

And… Lyam took a breath, refocusing on the Libram and its words.

“The Light saw the Land wouldn’t yield. It reigned as a tyrant because it had itself been the center of all the creation, the very soil upon which everything existed. Its pride was that no one could exist without it.”

Lyam's lips opened and closed again, mouthing the words. But slower this time, much slower, as he sensed that finger now dancing upon his rim. He felt the tracing upon his swollen sphincter. And not only that.

Not only as other hands, as invisible as the first, were reaching for his body.

They went on his nipples, pulling and pinching them until they were erect.

They went onto his thighs, pulling on them until he opened them.

They went on his belly to stroke the fluff and the navel below.

They pulled on his ears, tugged on them discreetly, or pinched the tip.

They… Went to his genitals, to his soft cock that was between his legs, and pulled on it.

Lyam’s breathing was quick, hard to control as he swallowed his saliva loudly.

He leaned over the pulpit, feeling how his body was under assault from behind. And that he was… naked. Exposed, just no different from a prize or a toy. And he licked his lips before he resumed.

“Its cruel reign was to be ended. But the Light couldn’t undo the Land unless she took away her creation. And so, the Light turned her sight to one creation. Not the strongest or the fastest, she noticed. But one that endured thanks to the resilience and might.”

Lyam’s voice slowed again, steadily. But there was no other choice, as he could sense the finger pushing further against his rim, pressing and squeezing the tight entrance, which was tense. And enduring.

Or so Lyam would have thought before, with a forceful push, Lyam had that finger impaling his rim.

He stopped amid the sermon, his eyes bulging and his nostrils flaring. He looked at the expectant crowd, at the farmers who gripped their heavy scythes or their pitchforks. A few only bore sickles, but they were all wanting for the prayer to come forth and their tools, and then their presence, to be blessed by the light.

Lyam watched their eagerness, their fears, their anxiety as he wasn’t the Cardinal. And now, he stopped in the middle of the Sermon, unable to control his body as he trembled and then… Leaned with one arm on the pulpit.

“The Light offered them a knowledge that was beyond others. It was not the knowledge of the Lynx knowing when to strike a prey. Or the fish’s attunement to the currents and seasons. No, the Light offered her creation the knowledge to pry the fruits from the Land. To create the first tool.”

Lyam’s voice was raw, and rawer as he bent over, feeling the hand onto his cock was now grabbing it between fingers and yanking on it like one cattle farmer would yank on a cow’s teat to milk it.

The touch was rough, and rougher on the Worgen who had to keep quiet while his testicles were held tightly between fingers, and pressed like nuts that were to be broken. And then, there was the touch upon his sphincter that grew as the finger inside rotated and tugged in a different direction.

It wasn’t ending here, however, for the caresses were everywhere. If anyone could see, they’d witness the Head Priest’s entire body being stroked, from the top of the head to the toes, which were sometimes tickled, forcing the Priest to shift from one stance to another.

Never to rest, never to take it easy, as he had to maintain his stoic composure.

A composure that showed signs of weakness whenever the sensation of a tongue tickled the inside of his ear hole or his nostrils. When he felt a throb of a cock under his palm, if he dared to keep his hand idle for a second.

A cough.

Again, Ervron coughed, and Lyam’s head lowered, watching the lines on the Libram.

It was so difficult to read now, with each word becoming a jumble amidst the pleasure, while he felt his cock being pulled.

It had been so long since his cock had been freed, and now, his organ that had been so unused, so untouched, craved that touch. Every little caress was a firework inside the Worgen’s mind… Another hit through his spine, one that made his tail wag and his breath hiccup.

“Head Priest?”

It wasn’t Ervron or another Cardinal.

No, it was a Chorister. One whose angelic voice was met with a baby face despite his advanced age.

Lyam opened his eyes, raising one hand towards the chanter.

“Sorry. I- I had an epiphany about our Archbishop’s words. About… About the virtue of the land,” said Lyam, almost lying through his teeth to a crowd. To his flock. To those who’d come from so far to see him.

He was misleading them. But at the same time, when he hadn’t?

He had been cursed to serve the Demons, to do their bidding, and for what? For that torture? For that duplicitous pleasure in a moment that ought to honor the Light?

For his life to hang in the balance, to be at the mercy of creatures who knew no faith nor sympathy towards him?

His claws dug deeper into the Pulpit, though it wasn’t from pleasure but anger. And fury. And disdain, as he looked at the Cardinals, his eyes gleaming for a moment as he turned to the flock.

“The Light bestowed upon us the Land. Not to ruin or abuse it. But to help it grow and improve and become a garden upon which all creation could subsist in peace. The Light offered us the knowledge to till the ground so that the seeds would grow into crops. The knowledge to shape our tools from the very rocks in the Land’s heart. And…”

Lyam gulped. There were two more fingers against his rim. Two more stretching him, forcing it open… And he almost dropped, while his posterior was spread to the point that the Cathedral’s chill air brushed the rim as it clasped on the fingers without stopping their approach.

His hole was squelching loudly, sucking on those absent fingers. Even his cock, with the precum sticking to it, was producing a sleek sound to the skin sticking to itself. But nothing seemed to stop the digits.

And none seemed to hear the sound coming from Lyam’s quivering body as he had to use the Pulpit as support to stay up while his cock was forced to point down, to ooze down.

To deliver a hefty amount of precum behind the pulpit, to be absorbed by the wood.

At any moment, Lyam feared that he would get caught. He feared that the illusion, the veil, would vanish and reveal him naked, erect, and fingered.

And perhaps? He hoped it would happen, that it would unveil all the farce that had been unfolding inside the Cathedral. That it would help undo all the corruption, as the Cardinals snickered, enjoying his humiliation and shame publicly.

But it didn’t.

It didn’t stop as Lyam sensed a fourth and then a fifth finger going inside his asshole. Five fingers, practically a whole hand, forced against his butthole. One that continued to press onward, forcing onto Lyam’s asshole and practically threatening him… Threatening the Head Priest to collapse onto the pulpit as that wrist was sliding inside, making his stomach bulge. And none heard it, none heard the dry suction…

“The Light!” shouted Lyam, raising his voice and making everyone jolt. Down the Cardinals.

“The Light gave us that purpose! And though we are her voice! You are her hand! Without you! We! Couldn’t be!”

Each word was almost shouted, while he raised a hand, a finger.

A desperate attempt to catch the attention of whoever toyed with him, whether it was Geruhlon or the Cardinals. Lyam’s voice was starting to break while that fist inside his ass was now pumping in and out, punching his guts.

There was no pause, no break, no moment for the Priest to catch his breath while that fist descended upon his prostate, gave it a love tap with those knuckles…

All the while, his cock was tugged to the point of hurting. To the point, it was almost yanked out of his sheath, down to his own smaller, shrunken knot, which was given firm compressions. Enough for the cock to both hurt and…. Be pleasant.

Similarly to his nuts that were tightly held between fingers, and compressed further and further until the Worgen’s legs twitched from the pain.

But Lyam tried to keep his smile, his composure, despite the tremors in the corner of his mouth. He tried to maintain a poised mask, while the crowd seemed curious and concerned about his shouts.

“And so! It is her blessing! That Today! The Light blesses! Your tools! With her power! With her might! With her generosity!”

Lyam’s voice almost climbed as he felt it, the pleasure, raw, intense, spark inside his groin and then explode. Explode and aptly ravage his body, ravage his mind, ravage his soul.

The flood overtook him for a moment, making him blind to the light radiating from him and from the held work tools.

The whole Cathedral was bathed in light and power, with its aura overcoming the hint of Fel coming from the snarling Cardinals… And washing away the scent of cum, the scent of precum, the scent of ass coming from the Worgen as he had to hold on to the Pulpit not to drop forward while his cock shot something glimmering and white.

Cum. But like before, like he’d been forcefully milked. But as it dropped onto the floor, it was absorbed and taken away, leaving the Worgen confused and trembling as he heard the crowd whispering among themselves.

The Worgen? He held his head down, his expression flustered.

He came in front of the crowd. He came in front of the biggest crowd he’d made a sermon for. And somehow, despite all the ire he could feel at being forced to do this.

It had been good. No, it had been one of the most pleasant orgasms he’d had. One of the most pleasant experiences from the Isolation. And even as the hands were still around, yanking on his sore nipples or on his shrinking cock.

He… Smiled. He smiled and yet desired to frown.

But he didn’t. Not as he raised his eyes, watching the glimmering tools all over the room, with a few farmers leaving. But many more were around, eager to listen to the whole sermon.

No, this time… Lyam smiled entirely as he faced them… Despite feeling that hand playing with his asshole and that fist still lodged inside.

He smiled while his tail wagged, and he could feel his cock hardening again.

-

Lyam’s face burned. No, even his lips were sore from smiling so much. But he couldn’t stop himself, feeling like he was on cloud nine.

Even the Cardinals, snickering and grinning before, were frowning at him as he continued to speak. A few more farmers had left, but a few more citizens had joined, wanting to see the event as the Cathedral hadn’t disengorged despite the coming evening.

Many were coming, watching as Lyam spoke with such a tone and joyful presence. And in return, with each sermon, he would bless his speakers as if he were restless.

Each time, he would end his sermon with a cry, with tremors, with a raised hand. With gesticulations that attracted the eyes, while the Priest was growing more and more bold, leaving the pulpit behind.

It was high like no other, a moment of blissful impunity that the Worgen enjoyed as he had his arms behind him in front of the crowd.

This sermon was the last, one about the reward from the diligent workers who’d tilled all their lives and would enjoy the golden fields in the Light’s embrace.

But none could see… None could witness as Lyam was standing proudly, his cock being jerked off. His nipples were pulled roughly on… His ass was getting fisted to the point his belly had the shape of that fist inside.

His buttcheeks were smacked, and his testicles whipped.

But the pain, the rawness of it, made Lyam feel it like another experience.

Like a dream, but far too real and grounded to be. Like a nightmare, but far too blissful to care as he finished his last words… And through that high, he ejaculated.

He’d been milked so many times, but he’d still been cumming that same gold, that same golden cum that was absorbed in the floor.

This time, as he was at the edge of the choir and the altar, he was pushing it to the limit.

Even a Cardinal, a demon, had whispered harshly for Lyam to stay put. But the Worgen had ignored it as his cock had been aimed forward and… The cumshot hit someone in the face, a grizzled human with a bald head and a gray beard.

He’d been hit in the face, and though the Worgen was reeling from the high, and having cold shudders at the human being splashed by it…

The Farmer didn’t seem to notice it at all. Rather, he looked at the ceiling, then at the cum before he collected it with his fingers and sucked on them.

With no other reaction than a shrug, he returned to his blissfully unaware devotion.

Much like the many others who saw the blessing, the Light… And none of the Worgen’s perversion, none of his asshole being released, and the orifice gaping obscenely. None of his nipples that were sore and abused, swollen and red. None of his cock shrinking back into the sheath while he was exposed.

Finally, Lyam raised his arms, only to have them lowered by two Cardinals, Ervron among them.

“Head Priest. I think you need to take a rest. You have been doing this all day,” said the Elf, his voice suave and calm, though he patted the Worgen’s posterior.

“Oh… It’s…” began Lyam as he wanted to say it was nothing.

But no. His lips were dry like desert sand. His throat felt like paper. After the high came, then the sudden drop of his body, crying in agony and begging to stop.

His stomach cried out in hunger. His asshole begged for mercy. His legs were screaming in pain. And his lungs were now so sore he could only take shallow breaths before he slumped into the Cardinals’ arms.

His body was flagging. And the crowd cried, almost expecting something, before Lyam raised one hand and croaked a few words.

“This is all right. I am… All right. I need to rest,” he said, waving his hand and basking in their attention.

They were all looking at him with fear and concern, unaware of what had happened. What the Worgen had earned as he was slowly guided back to the corridors by the Cardinals, half-dragged, half-lifted.

“I have never seen such an intense sermon, Head Priest!”

“I could feel the Light’s presence! I could feel her in me!”

“I need to see that flame again! My family needs to see it!”

Lyam smiled, basking in their joy as his legs couldn’t bear his weight.

And so, he closed his eyes, listening to the cries and supplications for him to bless them. Their wants for his presence, for his zealous words, for his blessings…

His body was unable to do anything but follow, but Lyam was almost at rest when he was passed behind the doors, and the roar from the crowd died down.

“What has that Pet done? He almost dispelled my veil,” mumbled Helwerd.

“I don’t know. Maybe Geruhlon should send him away.”

“I won’t.”

The voice was familiar, sweet, cloyingly so as Lyam raised his eyes solely to meet the Archbishop’s. And yet not; the eyes were green, and that smile did not fade as the Archbishop approached, passing a hand under the Worgen’s chin to lift it.

They were meeting eye-to-eye, with the Worgen feeling so drained that he couldn’t keep his head up on his own.

“Lyam did an excellent job today. And he will surely do the same for us. Will you?”

Geruhlon’s voice again had that sickly and cloying tone.

One that was disgusting and perverted. And sickening.

Yet, in the afterglow, Lyam’s mouth opened and closed. Before he mustered enough strength to do one thing: a nod.

He nodded to the question, eliciting a chuckle from the disguised Demon before he patted his face and raised his hand.

“Feed him. Bathe him. Have him rest in his room. I want him ready and fresh when I want him again.”

The other Demons, even Ervron, nodded along and offered a ‘Yes’ before they stepped away, dragging along the drained priest through the corridor. Like a prisoner going back to his cell.