Kasyn, the Spunk-Prince

One day from now…

Blue Radical, via the aetherglass, and with fear in his eyes, says to Kyler, “My son is missing. He left the other day to visit one of his boyfriends in the Garment District. He never arrived there!”

Kyler says, “Stay where you are. Ian and some of his men are coming to fetch you.”

Blue Radical gapes, stunned. “But why?”

“Protection. For you but also for Kasyn and his sons. And your son. Something is going down. I don’t know what yet, but we’ll figure it out.”

Blue Radical cups his hands in his face and heaves a heavy sob. “But what about Blue Junior?”

“We’ll find him. And I have a good idea as to where to start looking.”

About two days ago…

Ian, with his long fingers working toggles, opens his fly. He’s not wearing a jock and I’m intrigued to see that even his dong has been red-kissed by the weird sunlight of Mars when that thick member falls out of his pants. His is one of the few circumcised cocks I’ve had in my mouth in recent years and I am fascinated once again by the naked arrow of its head, that wide ruddy mushroom crown of his meat, the dark band of the scar wrapping his pole, and that loose wrinkled wedge of his frenum that survived the circumcision. 

“What the fuck are you guys doing?” wonders Elisha, the young Cult Cthulhu priest, and he laughs a little bit. “What’s with the exposed cock, brother?”

I open my own fly button by button, and I unclasp the toggles of my waistcoat exposing my chest and belly. My prick rises stiff from between the undone fly-buttons. Ian says, “We’re about to fuck your brains out, boy, and you will love it.” He pulls on his pole and lets slip a shiny streamer of pre-jac that falls to the floor between his bare feet.

“What if I don't want you to?” Elisha twists on his bed and closes his slender but well-toned legs together.

Ian says, “I am pretty sure that you do.”

Elisha grins. “If I am to be totally honest with you, I must admit that I am very tempted. I’ve had no dick in my hole or my mouth—and mine in no other boy’s—since you separated me from Jaustin, and you may know that it’s a sacrament of my priesthood to indulge in sex with another male daily if at all possible.”

I still do not understand this weird and opaque alliance between—or perhaps merger of—the Church and the Cult, but I know that male-on-male fucking was adamantly not a holy sacrament of the Church prior to their infiltration by Elisha’s Cult Cthulhu. I had a distant grandfather who was broken on their Frame of Discipline centuries ago for the so-called “crimes” of sodomy and witchcraft. But I have also heard more recently that as many of as half of the males who dwell in their Holy Keep within my city are merely catamites who service the libidinal desires of the priest class much like those boys in my pleasure grotto. Except the boys in the grotto make a lot of money doing this. 

As Ian fucks, Elisha sucks, and I can feel that I am preeking heavily in his mouth, such a full flow of pre-semen that it probably tastes like a full-on nut-load on his tongue. I consider letting loose and flooding his throat with a full whack of my ball-juice, but I decide to hold it back for a bit, trap it and let it build until I have almost no choice but to fuck it right out between his wet open jaws. 

Ian drills harder, and he grunts and sweats from his brow. “I’m doing it, Kyler!” he cries, and then he pumps hard a half-dozen more times and spasms all throughout his taut body—red skin flushed, huge dark nipples livid—and he jazzes in many hard spasms inside Elisha’s cunt.

Ian withdraws his wet rod and settles back onto the mattress, that fat red dong still dribbling white cream onto his thigh. I roll Elisha onto his back and spread his legs with mine, pushing his knees to his shoulders, and I take Ian’s place in his socket. I willfully restrain myself from orgasm once again, though I’m nearly brought to it by the hot and slick leftovers of Ian’s spunk inside the boy’s slot. After successfully dialing back my need to spurt, this fuck becomes a slower, more languorous and almost sweet thing. I tell Elisha, my face lowered almost to his, that he can probably learn to be a good boy if he wants it badly enough.

He smiles and a tear falls from his left eye. “I am a good boy, Lord Prince! Feel how my body now serves yours!”

“Call me Kyler,” I whisper.

“Yes, Kyler!” He gasps and a wide grin spreads, and he says it again: “Kyler.”

I push into him a little harder and then a bit faster. My lips just inches over his, I ask him to open his mouth.

“But why, Kyler?”

“So that I may spit in it.”

He smiles: “But why, Kyler?” And then he opens wide and I slop a stream of drool down between his lips, between his teeth, and I tell him to swallow it. After he does, he again asks me why.

“It’s one way that I will mark you as my boy.”

“Do you mean it?” he cries. “Can this even be real that I will be yours?”

“Here’s another way that I will mark you,” I say, and I withdraw my prong from his cunt and I take it in both hands and give it a couple long strokes, and I jet long ropes and dollops of heavy semen over his torso, from his chin to his cock, and the very last of it dribbles out on the tip of his hooded penis. Very slowly, with two fingers, I smear the jizz over his skin, glossing his stiff pink nipples with it, pushing a little bit into his navel, rubbing it into the fine black hair of his trail, spreading a clot of it into that deep dent in his throat under his apple. “You’ll leave this,” I say, “to dry on your skin. I don’t want you to bathe for the next day or two. Your skin will hold on to the smell of my cum, the cum that you pulled out of me by being a very good fuck.” I can see Ian watching, smiling, probably remember that time years ago when I performed a similar ritual upon him, well  before he became my security chief, when his first role was to be a sort of big brother figure for my young sons and a sexual mentor for them as they aged into their horny gay bodies.

“But I may need a bath, Kyler!” Elisha raises one arm over his head and pokes his nose into his pit. “Surely I smell terrible!”

I lean into that black-fuzzed armpit, press my nose deeply into it, and then brush my lips against it, and I lick it with the full length of my tongue. “You smell just like a horny young man is supposed to.” I kiss his lips and he offers his tongue and I lap at it. “No bath for you until tomorrow evening.”

“Yes, Kyler!”

“And I will give that bath to you.”

“Oh please, yes, Kyler!”

He may be faking his deep submission to me at this point, but I don’t care. He will come around for real soon enough, and I feel that he is no longer an immediate problem. In any event, he is now safer with me than he would be if returned to the Holy Keep, and he surely knows that. I turn to Ian, who lies still naked on the bed next to Elisha. “Release him from confinement.  Give him better quarters and some new clothes. He may wander the main floors, and he may fuck as he wishes with anyone who wants his dick or his ass, including my husband and my sons. But he is not to have access to the orchid boys’ quarters, and he is not to bathe until I see him again.  But those are his only restrictions.”

Ian looks somewhat surprised at my decision but he just smiles. “It shall be so, Kyler.”

Meanwhile in Kyler and Kasyn’s chambers…

Jaustin’s naked because he’d agreed, despite himself, to comply with Kasyn’s demand that he strip; that same Kasyn who now wields the wide and ancient wooden paddle of spanking disagreeable boys (thought for centuries to be the most effective discipline for horny and misbehaving youths). In the room with them are Naxon and his soon-to-be-husband Torus, and their brothers Daemon and Phobos and Dak.

“The specific charge,” says Kasyn, “is that you tricked Naxon—a very special boy who is known to be at risk of pregnancy—into taking your bare fucking cock into his vagina and letting you empty your fucking streaming semen right into his box! Knowing fully well that he could get knocked up by you!” Kasyn wound up for the second strike upon Jaustin’s fat firm cheeks.

Jaustin sobs and yells as that strike fell. “I did not! The condom broke! It fucking broke! It happens sometimes!” His cock is stupidly big after all, and he probably hoped that the obvious visible evidence of his long fat pole would mitigate in favor of his case.

Kasyn leans close to Jaustin’s face. He says, “You knew it broke—because there is no fucking way you did not feel it when it broke (because it feels so good when it breaks!)—but you still kept fucking him as hard as you could because it felt so good—didn’t it?—jamming your rubber-free meat into that pretty cunt.”

Naxon steps close to Kasyn. He says, “It’s really okay, Daddy. Doctor Phibes gave me something right after. I am not pregnant.”

Kasyn delivers the third strike and Jaustin howls.

Daemon speaks: “Perhaps, Daddy, you will order me to fuck his brains out as part of his discipline and his training in how to be a good boy.”

Kasyn delivers another paddle-blow to Jaustin’s reddened ass and then he grins at Daemon, enjoying this obvious scam and Daemon’s unalloyed lust for Jaustin: “Do him. Now.”

Torus and Naxon hold Jaustin in place while Dak oozes lube from a tube onto his brother’s cock. Daemon slicks it over his knob and down his shaft. Dak slaps his hand against Jaustin’s ass and presses his lubed fingers into Jaustin’s pucker, giving his brother a little more slickness for his entry. “I know,” says Jaustin, “that you’re not all gonna fuck me, right?” Daemon jams it, fucking rocks it in, in a stroke or two, and Jaustin gasps and sweats out a low oh fuck and flexes out his ass muscles to meet Daemon’s strokes. Jaustin giggles a little bit and then he sobs, and Daemon fuck-punks harder into this music star who’d been his favorite masturbation material for so long. Dak presses one hand against the nape of Jaustin’s inked neck and forces the boy’s forehead against the bar. 

“I can’t believe I’m really doing this!” cries Daemon, gasping. “You’re incredible, Jaustin, you sweet fuck! I’ve had a fucking hard-on with your name on it for years!”

“Oh, baby baby baby,” says Jaustin—almost sings it—as he continues to push against Daemon’s thrusts, forcing the boy’s long cock as deeply as possible into his gut.

Daemon gasps and yells, signaling to his brothers and Kasyn that he is likely about to let loose his load, and he says, “Fuck! I can’t decide!”

“Decide what?” wonders Naxon.

“In or out? Where should I put my fucking spunk!”

Before anyone can advise with an opinion on this matter, Daemon screams another loud “fuck!” and withdraws from Jaustin’s cunt. He grabs his cock with both hands and tugs on it two or three times, and he spills out his ball-juice in long thick ropy jets over Jaustin’s back, spattering him white and wet from the black angel wings inked into the back of his neck all the way down his spine, and finally, a few heavy drops on his thick shiny red asscheeks, painting all of him, from his hairline to his ass-crack, with warm streaming Daemon-semen.

If an outside observer had happened to walk in to the room at this point, such an observer would probably have noticed first the heady sex-stench of seven boys’ bodies, of boys in intense rut, the scent of their sweat-soaked armpits and crotches and their spilled jizz, the fuck-aroma of Kyler’s young husband and their five sons chain-dicking the beautiful Jaustin Moss.

Naxon goes next, slipping his dong into the sheath that his brother Daemon had left so wet for him, reversing in a way what had happened earlier when Jaustin had slammed Naxon’s slot and put a cupful of cum into his fertile box.

Jaustin comes and says, “You getting back at me now?”

“Fuck yeah, bitch!” and Naxon rams harder and it is only a few more thrusts before he loses control and dumps his white load of boysnot inside Jaustin’s aching cocksocket.

Naxon pulls out and draws Torus close. “Go!” he says. “Nail him!”

Torus pumps slowly, savoring his brother-husband’s fresh fuck-slop inside the moaning boy. Jaustin groans and yelps: Torus’s cock is the biggest of the five sons of Kyler, and nearly the size of Kasyn’s (though, to be honest, still less thick than Jaustin’s). Kasyn watches Torus in action, his tall and toned and smooth body arched over Jaustin’s, his swollen veiny dong sliding slowly in and then almost out and then back inside again. Kayan watches and strokes his own pole, considering putting it in between Jaustin’s perfect jaws, pushing it into his slender throat. Naxon presses close to Torus and turns his head to the left and kisses him deeply, tongue to tongue, their shared slobber dripping down their chins, and a minute of this was all Torus can take and he sobs and laughs and empties his aching congested balls into Jaustin’s socket.

Dak, who is also waxing his knob, steps close to Kasyn and takes Kayan’s cock in one hand and then, with both hands, clenches their pricks together. “Let’s double-peen him, Daddy!”

Dak is, in Kasyn’s assessment, probably the kinkiest of Kyler’s boys, maybe exceeding Kyler himself, and perhaps the most intellectual as well. When he was just sixteen, Dak had published a pornographic novel of titanic length titled Dak Nails All You All, or Cum-Apotheosis Dak-Model 1.0  in which he depicts himself as the leader of a gay boy fuck-squad which seizes control of a gigantic and labyrinthine high-rise boys’ boarding school located on an orbiting cylinder, and there they use the supernatural energy of the fucking of their thousands of captives to summon into their reality a powerful aetheric entity. For hundreds of pages, Dak and his squad indulge in every sort of depredation upon their captives. At the story’s climax, it seems that the Dak character is subsumed into the aetheric entity and becomes some kind of god. Or, to put it another way, Dak is the dude among all of Kyler’s family who is most likely to approve if you shat upon him during a drunken bondage-fuck. 

Kasyn lets Dak organize the architecture of the double-penetration, and soon he and Dak are crotch-scissored together, on their backs and with Jaustin straddling them on his knees, upright and willingly lowering himself upon his fuckers’ combined cocks. After a bit of the usual adjustment, Kasyn and his stepson are inside Jaustin, their cocks smashed together, a double column of fuck deep, and as deep as possible, inside Jaustin’s spunk-slick hole.

Jaustin bounces gently on the double dick, careful not to dislodge the thick twin rod. He’s positioned himself facing Kasyn, and Kasyn looks up, admiring the lad’s ornately tattooed torso and his smooth pretty face, that wet smile that promised to drip down upon him. He reaches up and clasps Jaustin’s stiff cock in one hand and his heavy low-hanging ballsack in the other. Mine, he thinks. Kyler had revealed to him that Jaustin’s sack contained identical copies of Kasyn’s own nuts, implanted into him by Blue Radical after Jaustin had discovered that he’d been robbed of his own in a criminal boyectomy. He knows that when he eventually coaxes the cocksnot out of Jaustin that the spilled seed will be just like his own, that Jaustin—if allowed to breed—would engender more strange children like Kasyn’s own. He wonders what Jaustin would think if he ever learned this information himself. Would he be horrified or would he be determined to get orchid boys, or boys like Naxon, pregnant with his own weird sons?

Dak grunts and moans. Kasyn cannot see him, of course, his view blocked by Jaustin, but he can feel his stepson’s cock swollen against his own. He hopes Dak will cum first so that he can feel the boy’s hot spunk-flood trapped against his own dick and trapped with their cocks inside Jaustin’s slot. I could just tell him to do it. He obeys me like he obeys his father.

Jaustin bounces a little harder and faster and Dak cries out in joy.

“Are you gonna splat inside him, Dak?”

“Oh, fuck yeah I am, Daddy!”

Jaustin grins and let a string of drool fall from his lips to Kasyn’s belly. Kasyn glances around the room and sees that Torus holds Naxon bent over the wet bar, his condom-clad cock sliding in and out of Naxon’s vaj. Phobos and Daemon are watching their brother and their stepfather and Jaustin and jacking on their pricks.

“Let it go, Dak,” says Kasyn. “Fucking fill him!”

And Dak does, and Dak gives Kasyn that thrill he was waiting for, Dak’s cock pressed against his own, bursting out its cum-pulses, swamping Jaustin’s impossibly tight cunt and making this fuck too slippery for Kasyn to any longer restrain himself and he, too, throbs out his white goo into Jaustin and over Dak’s spasming dick.

Jaustin seats himself hard over them and knocks Kasyn’s hands away from his cock and balls, and he grips his huge staff in both hand, tugs on it quickly a few times and spends his spunk with such force that the first couple ribbons of it overshoot Kasyn’s head entirely, and the next few drape wetly over his hair and face and neck and chest. Jaustin gasps and laughs and dribbles the last of his cum into Kasyn’s navel. The trio disengage from their barely-possible configuration. Jaustin goes to his back next to Kasyn and Dak joined him on the other side. Together, they heave great post-fuck breaths.

Today…

Upon entering the gas-lit anteroom to his chambers, Kyler smelled that unmistakable scent of rutting lads: their sex-sweat, their spent spunk, their crotches and armpits and even the grease of their hair, even over the lingering aroma of smoked narcowhirl joints and burnt nagchampa. He’d known that Kasyn had planned a discipline session with Jaustin Moss, one to which he’d invited all five of Kyler’s sons, and so he was not surprised when he saw this scene in the low lantern light of the bed chamber: naked Kasyn sprawled diagonally across their huge bed, Dak with his head in between Kasyn’s knees and Daemon hugged around Kasyn’s chest; Naxon and Torus spooned together on a couch, and Phobos reclined alone on the chaise; all six of them naked and asleep. It took Kyler a moment to notice this detail: Jaustin Moss was no longer among them.

Yesterday…

Kasyn exited the living chambers into the long corridor that ran like an axis down the length of this floor of the compound, leading in each direction to the sons’ apartments. As he reached the stairway to the next level, he was surprised by the sudden appearance of Elisha, ascending the steps, a lithe dark shadow in the evening gaslight of the corridor. 

“Excuse me, Lord Kasyn. I did not mean to startle you.”

“No bother,” said Kasyn. He stepped close to the young priest and noted his attire: nothing but a skimpy nighttime harness and a white-pouched jock. His feet were bare but he wore leather anklets holding tiny platinum Cthulhist milagros within their braids. And Kaysn stepped closer and he sniffed. “What is your business this evening, priest?”

Even in the gaslit gloom of the hallway, Kasyn could see the young man blush. Kasyn said, “I think I can smell something on you.” He drew even closer and clasped Elisha’s bare shoulders in his hands.

“I apologize, Lord Kasyn. I’ve not had a bath since I arrived here.”

Kasyn laughed and said, “Oh, I don’t object! In fact, I rather like your stench. I think—I know!—that I can even smell my husband on you.”

Elisha cast his gaze down, submissively, and said nothing. Kasyn pressed: “Did Kyler spill his spunk all over you, baby? Did he cum on all these pretty tattoos?” Kasyn, with both hands, trailed fingers over the exposed ink art on Elisha’s abdomen and chest and upper arms. 

Elisha, still not meeting Kasyn’s eyes, said, “I do not know what you want me to say, my lord. I am here because Prince Kyler summoned me at this hour.”

“I want you to say,” said Kasyn, “that you understand that Kyler is my husband. He can fuck you all he wants, but the fact that he is mine and that I am his will never change. Do you understand? You should, being how you’re a priest of the very church in which he married me.”

“I understand!” Elisha cried and bowed his head even lower.

“Good boy. Look at me.” Kasyn, with one middle finger, nudged Elisha’s chin upward. “But I might anyway have you first pay the pole tax before you go to see Kyler.”

“Poll tax?”

“No. Pole tax.” Kasyn tugged loose his fly buttons and released his already fully-stiff prick. “On your knees.” Elisha dropped and let his mouth hang open. 

“You wanna choke on my dirty knob, baby?”

“Yes, please, Prince!” And Elisha grabbed Kasyn’s dong and, with his mouth, rolled back Kasyn’s damp foreskin and he sucked wetly.

When they were done, when Kasyn had discharged his stream of white fuck into Elisha’s throat, Kasyn pulled the priest back up to his feet and fondled the lad’s stiff jock-bulge. “Kyler will take care of this for you,” he said. “Perhaps even before your nuts ache too badly.” And they parted, Kasyn descending the stairs and Elisha heading to Kyler’s door.

As Kasyn descended the stairs to the atrium level, he considered how he had never once before, until just then, actually just pulled out his cock and demanded a blowjob from a boy—at least not one whom he knew wasn’t already intent on sucking out his nut. He wondered if the fact that this tactic worked without any resistance was simply a consequence of his relatively newly exalted status as Kyler’s mate, an effect of a conferring of noble status as a result of that marriage. But then he had this thought: Kyler never demands anything like that. He never compels it. He just gets it somehow. All his sons are his lovers and he fucks anyone he wants…because they want him, too. Every fucking delivery boy who comes here from the city ends up leaving with a load of Kyler’s ball-juice in his ass or his mouth. It’s almost as if it’s assumed that—if you’re a pretty male—and you see Kyler that you will have sex with Kyler. It’s amazing. What the fuck is up with that?

But this train of thought was disrupted when he reached the next landing and a voice—or maybe several voices joined as if in song—startled him with these words: “Good evening, Father.” Kasyn froze in place, and felt that shiver of unseen eyes on his back. He turned and saw his sons—his first three sons—Seth, Koth and Dak, harness-and-jock-clad, barefoot, their thick ruddy hair raised like crowns over their high brows. “We have something to show you,” one, or maybe all of them together, said. Their bare feet were not on the floor. They seemed to hang in the air, and—floating—they all three folded into a hovering crouch.

Today…

It’s been some years since Ian has taken the paddle. He yelps when Kyler brings down the third blow upon his reddened humps. “Where,” says Kyler, “in the shitting fuck is Jaustin Moss!”

Another blow claps down and Ian screams. “Fuck! I don’t fucking know, Kyler!”

“And that fact—that you do not know—is precisely why this is happening to you now!” Kyler strikes again, harder than before, and Ian sobs. “Your fucking job is to know things like this! That’s literally your whole job description, Ian!” And another blow falls on sobbing Ian’s ass.

“Please, Kyler! I can’t help you like this. Please stop hitting me!”

Kyler gasps and steps back. What am I doing? This isn't like disciplining one of the boys. I’m actually hurting him. If it had been correct and proper discipline of a boy, Kyler’s cock would have been engorged, but now it rests flaccid in his jock. Kyler drops the paddle. “I’m sorry. But I need an answer.”

Ian wipes his eyes with his fists and turns to face his prince. “Please, Kyler. Give me the information that you have so that I can process it. My Lord, please, forgive my impertinence, but you have told me nothing other than that Master Moss is missing.”

Kyler sighs. He says, “Kasyn and my sons had a rather intense orgy with Jaustin Moss. At some point they all fell asleep and none of them remember anything after that other than that Jaustin was gone. I interrogated all six of them with the paddle—even Kasyn—and they know nothing. I went into my office and found some things a bit off. Someone had been in my chair and some items were moved on my desk. One of these items was a report that I’d not yet read: your report on some of your findings on Mars. I have since read it, and I have some questions. Tell me with no official language or bullshit what I need to know.”

Ian slumps to the floor and holds his head in his hands. He says, “My Prince, you are not going to believe this.”

“Try me.” Kyler goes to the bar and opens a bottle of prosecco. He offers Ian a glass and tells him to please sit in a chair and begin talking.

Excerpted from Ian’s report:

There exists a race on Mars, a race of boys unlike anything we have seen, even stranger than the orchid boys of the Moon. I call them ‘boys’ because that’s what they look like, but they are actually of two sub-sexes—the phob and the demo—and the way that they breed is that the phob fucks the demo and seeds into him a sort of sperm that the demo must then ejaculate into a cis-human female. This has been their way for centuries. But now they have adapted. Yet another sub-sex had emerged that can be impregnated by either of the others. They no longer need cis-humans in their scheme. And they are breeding at an incredible rate. Kyler, I have seen them up close, and they are amazing! You will recall how Jaustin Moss has wings tattooed on the back of his neck. These Martian boys have literal feathered wings! One of them, their most powerful leader and his huge army, has taken the Imperial Keep in the Core Kasei and he has met the challenge of the Priapic Configuration to take the Aetheric Crown. My Lord Kyler: the Aetheric Houses—after almost four centuries—are about to have a new Emperor. And that Emperor is a Martian boy with wings!

There’s a commonly reported phenomenon in the Church of the Penultimate Dildo when a new Pope is confirmed. This new Pope is usually a cardinal that no one has ever heard of before, but somehow the faithful perceive, at the moment of his election to that ultimate office, a sort of transubstantiation in which this otherwise no-name dude in  a red robe becomes the Holy Father, the direct conduit to their god. Kyler has always viewed this as patently absurd, but now, upon absorbing Ian’s report, he feels something akin to it: A new Emperor! And, despite himself, he takes to his knees. 

He is the first to learn this news. It will rock the Aetheric Houses.

A message comes across the aetherglass: His Holiness, the Pope of All the Church has arrived in the City.

Meanwhile in the Holy Keep of the Chaos Ejaculatum..,

The nektonic witch Corvis is unimpressed with the lean naked boy who writhes against his bonds in the Frame of Discipline. She is even less impressed with the inquisitors who torture him.

“This is the Slut-Maker’s son,” says a cowled priest. “Blue Radical’s pup,” he clarifies.

“So what?” Corvis peers at the sweaty boy, whose skin is welted in dozens of places over his torso and legs, and who had evidently been bleeding from his nose at some point. “What does he know?”

The boy: “I don’t know anything, bitch!” He tries to spit at Corvis but his mouth is too dry.

She frowns at the two inquisitors. “Release him,” she says. “He is of no use to us.”

One of the inquisitors throws down a cane lash upon Blue Junior’s muscular chest, leaving a bleeding slash, and the boy screams. “I am afraid that is impossible, witch. He has been sentenced to Full Duration in the Frame.”

Corvis approaches the cane-wielding inquisitor. Full Duration. They intend to kill him whether he gives up anything useful or not. She extends the middle finger of her right hand—its sharp pointed nail tipped in osmium—and she jabs it two inches deep into the left side of his neck. When she withdraws this talon, a gout of garnet blood fountains from his neck and the inquisitor falls to the floor, clutching his neck and gurgling. His partner jumps back and watches with an aspect of fascinated horror as the other bleeds out on the floor. Corvis takes a step forward. “I said, release him!”

Before the second inquisitor can decide whether to comply or resist, three of Magran’s coven sisters appear in the room as if manifesting from the aether. One of them, silent as a shadow, plants a short blade in the back of the inquisitor’s neck before he even realizes that he is under attack.

“We’re done here,” says Corvis to her sisters. “The Cult Cthulhu can continue working with these Church freaks if they wish, but we are going to get ahead of them. We will figure out now what is really going on with Kasyn Mutara and Prince Kyler and their spawn. And once we have those answers in our hands, neither the Church nor the Cult will be able to stand against us.”

To be continued…