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Sanguine Supplication

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“Kh-Khonshu, please…” he began, his voice straining slightly. Small beads of sweat were beginning to form on Marc Spector’s furrowed brows as he trembled on his hands and knees before the large stone statue in his dark, empty office. The night air was warm, and Marc was wrapped in nothing but a white bed sheet. He had been lying sleeplessly all night, doing his best to ignore the full moon beaming outside, beckoning to him. He tossed and turned before finding himself, once again, suddenly compelled to kneel before the statue of his god. How many nights had he spent splayed out before this unfeeling and imposing stone figure? How many more nights would he have to suffer this way, struggling to resist temptation?

“Give me blood,” he heard a voice demand suddenly, as if it were coming from deep within his chest, within his head… Had he said it? Was it his voice?

Marc clenched his strong jaw slightly as if to determine whether or not his own lips had formed those words. It was then that another wave of yearning hit him, like the kindling of a fire smoldering deep within his melting core. It was a dark and dreadful lust, a grim desire to feel blood on his hands. Hot, red blood… gleaming in the pale moonlight...

His feverish gaze darted up to the blank face of the statue. Khonshu, the Egyptian god of the moon, the protector of nighttime travelers, god of vengeance, He Who Lives on Hearts…

“Give me blood, child.”

Marc brought his hands up to his head, groaning. His scarred and calloused fingers grasped onto his dark, thick hair with a growing sense of desperation. The night was still so young. Such a long way to go.

“No, no, please, no…” Marc said aloud to the voice in his head, to himself. ‘Fight it,’ he thought, eyes closed tightly. ‘I can’t go out there like this. I don’t want to kill anyone. It's not real. He can't make me do anything. Fight it!’

“Do not fight me, my son,” the voice continued, and Marc suddenly felt a gloved hand gently caress his face.

Marc startled, lurching up with a gasp. His brown eyes, the sclera tinged with red, frantically searched the room. There was nothing. ‘It was real,’ thought Marc. Not just a sound or voices, but something tactile. Unmistakably tactile.

At that, Marc’s thoughts raced to the collection of pills stashed away in his medicine cabinet. Haloperidol and friends. Against all proper warnings, he’d gone off them a while ago. They had made him feel dizzy, stiff, and nauseated. They sapped him of his virility, his vitality, and made him feel restless. He wanted to experience life, wanted to feel and see and touch. He wanted to be able to go out into the night and do good in the world to make up for the grimy trail that was his sordid past, and he couldn't do that as an itching, nervous wreck. It had worked for a while, had quieted the voices, but now that they had worn off, the darkest part of him had awakened, lusting for blood.

Marc could feel the fire in his core spread, hot tendrils snaking out into his chest and tense thighs. His heart pounded like a drum, pumping his quickening blood through his body with each beat. He pushed the white sheet off of his shoulders, sitting back slightly to look up at the Egyptian god statue once more.

“I-I’m not going to do it,” he said, quietly at first before finding the firmness in his voice, “You can't make me kill for you again.”

“Oh, come now, child” replied the voice, “You know this is the way of things.” The voice seemed to be coming from every corner of the room then, only to focus to a point right against Marc’s ear. There were suddenly hands on his bare chest and shoulder, hands gloved in white. Khonshu, who chose to appear in a stark white suit topped with the floating skull of a great and awful bird, knelt next to him and grasped at him gently, murmuring into his ear. Marc stared up at his patron god, his bloodshot eyes full of dread. “You belong to me, to do my bidding,” the god continued. His grim voice was almost soothing, in the same matter-of-fact tone used in explanations to children. “To deny me is to suffer. Find those that harm the travelers of the night. Kill them. Offer up their lives to me. Give me blood, Marc. Feed me.”

Marc pushed away from his immovable god in a panic, causing him to fall onto his back, tangled in his white shroud of a bed sheet. Feet slightly apart with his hands at his sides, he tensed his exposed body as he stared up at Khonshu’s terrible image.

Khonshu opened his hands out to his sides with calculated grace, and Marc instantly felt the effect it had on him. A guttural moan escaped from his mouth as the burning bloodlust flared up into an inferno.

‘I-I can’t… I can't do this anymore!’ Marc’s mind raced, fraught with need. This yearning was stronger than any longing he had felt in his life. Stronger than any desire for food, sex, drugs, money… One of his hands grasped at his heart, the other resting below his navel, at the seat of his desire. “I can’t... kill for you!”

“You can’t?!” Khonshu’s patience was wearing thin, “You silly child! Why do you think I brought you back from the dead? You are mine! My avatar. You are alive to serve me! And you know it, deep in your heart.” Marc couldn't shake the images in his mind, images from his past. He remembered the thrill of seeking bloody vengeance on the wicked, hearing their twisted screams as he opened their veins... Khonshu’s voice dropped to a lull, throaty and suggestive. “And you like it, don’t you? You like serving me. Yes… Deep down, you love it.

Something in the way Khonshu spoke those last words made Marc look down at his sprawled out body. Maybe it was the pounding of his heart, the hot rush of life through his branching blood vessels, but he could now see through his hazy gaze the physical manifestation of what he had been feeling: his cock was agonizingly hard. Aching...

“Oh fuck…” His voice pitched up slightly and he failed to quiet a shameful whimper. A deep blush burned across his chest and cheekbones as he closed his eyes, resting his head back against the hard wooden floor.

“I’m pleased you are no longer choking down those sacrilegious drugs,” Khonshu remarked offhandedly. “They cut you off from me. They cheapen you, my son, my avatar of vengeance. You want blood as much as I do; don't deny it.”

“Mmmm… Fuck…” Marc moaned and turned to his side, folding into himself slightly. He grasped at the white cloth in his hands, practically tearing at it. The image of blood coursing like a river filled his thoughts and made his inside melt even more.

“You cannot deny me.” Khonshu crouched down in a smooth motion, forearms resting on his knees as his legs parted. His avian skull cocked to one side, entertaining a thought. “I can see how stubborn you are, child, but I am not without understanding.” He placed a gloved hand onto Marc’s forehead, stroking his hair gently.

Marc temporarily overcame his embarrassment to look up at his deity, his lusty eyes laced with a vulnerability that delighted Khonshu, eliciting a chuckle from the old god.

“I will allow you to slack in your duties for this night and this night alone, my son… But you must still do something for me.”

Marc’s expression teetered between agonizing desire and frustrated contempt. “What do you want?” he asked, his voice breathy with an undeniable, unspoken appetence to satisfy his god.

“I still demand the blood I am owed.” Khonshu stood resolutely. “If not the blood of the guilty… then yours. And well, well, well! It looks like you already have the same idea. That’s a good boy.”

Despite the emptiness of Khonshu’s gaze, Marc managed to follow it down to his own hand. He let out a small groan of despair as he sat up, staring at the crescent dart he was inexplicably holding. Moonlight reflected off the sharp, white blade menacingly, as if it too ached for blood. Did he have it with him the whole time? Did he already know it would inevitably come to this? Marc could not remember, and he felt a stinging in his heart, disgusted at his own depravity, his sickness…

Khonshu stood behind Marc, reaching down slightly to caress both sides of Marc’s face with his hands. “Yes, my son, you are sick,” he said, as if reading Marc’s thoughts, “But that is a part of you. That will help you push yourself past all limits. I will not forsake you, if only you continue to honor me. Make me proud. Feed me.”

Still sitting, his legs butterflied in front of him, Marc leaned back against Khonshu’s immovable form. His hand shook slightly as he held the crescent dart up to the inner thigh of his left leg. His heart was pounding, and he could feel his desire mix with guilt and an animal rage. ‘Don’t hit the femoral artery,’ he managed to think to himself, even through the blazing fire of his lust. ‘I need this. I need this so fucking bad…’

The loud sound of rushing blood in his ears was suddenly quieted. It was almost effortless. Marc gasped from the stinging bite of his beautiful blade as it slid through his skin. His pink insides seemed to bloom out gracefully between the parting skin, red life emerging like a breath of fresh air. Such tight skin covering strong muscles, so easily reduced to soft velvet and silk…

“Oh, yes!” Khonshu crooned, greedily gazing at the stream of red that began flowing down Marc's thigh and onto the brilliantly white cloth beneath him.

Marc clenched his teeth and hissed, and just as the shock was about to give way to horrible, delicious pain, he was suddenly overwhelmed with a deep all-encompassing feeling of pleasure. It seemed to burst from his very core, making his body shudder as it traveled straight up his spine to his brain.

“Uhhnn! O-Oh my god-!” Marc gasped and moaned loudly, head held back slightly as his eyes closed. He almost let out a sob as he looked down with lidded eyes at the trickle of blood still flowing from the fresh cut.

“Yes, I am,” Khonshu replied coyly, stroking Marc’s face and throat. “I am your god. And I will reward you greatly.”

Marc could already feel the burst of euphoria begin to dissipate, like a lover pulling away. Higher thought turning off, he steeled himself before bringing the blade back to his flesh.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Khonshu interrupted him softly, caressing his chin with his forefinger and thumb, “Do make it pretty for me, won't you?”

Somehow Marc knew what that meant, and he did his best to focus on his self-deprecating work. Teeth gritted, he continued his first incision, turning it into a curved line. The shining, liquid life was already beginning to coat his crescent dart and his now-steady hand. Biting his lip to stifle a growl, he made another curved cut to form a perfect crescent moon. He keened in pain, leaning his bare back against Khonshu’s legs as more hot blood flowed from his wound. The pain was much stronger this time, tightening his muscles and scratching his brain. Khonshu let the pain manifest more fully, savoring every bit of it.

“Mmm, yes! You’re doing so well,” Khonshu purred, reaching down to slide the fingers of his hand through Marc’s thick hair.

While Khonshu basked in the satisfaction of his own pleasure, Marc pursed his lips, the biting sting of his cuts licking like fire. In an adrenaline-fueled fight, injuries gave him a rush, excited him even, but this was different. He was open, vulnerable, and he felt incredibly needy. Khonshu then gripped Marc’s hair firmly with his fingers, tilting his head back so that Marc’s glazed eyes could look up at him.

“Again,” Khonshu commanded, “Look upon me while you offer up your blood again.”

“Fucker…” Marc muttered, reaching blindly for a blank space further up his thigh. He spread his quivering legs wider and almost snarled as he sliced into his skin. “Rrrrrgh! Fuck!”

“Oh, that’s so good… Keep it there! Be still.” Khonshu slid down to kneel in front of Marc, grabbing hold of his legs to watch the scarlet flow more closely. It slid across his glistening skin and immersed itself into the white fabric. Marc stilled his blade, doing his best not to cry out in agony as blood continued to pool beneath him.

“K-... Khonshu…” Marc warned through clenched teeth. His eyes darted up at the god in front of him, then back to the blade embedded in the fresh cut in his leg. His brain was electrified, unable to sort out the thrill from the fear.

Khonshu kept his hands on Marc’s knees and said, without hesitation, “Twist it.”

“W-What? I-I don’t und- Aaaaaah!” Marc yowled in pain, his cuts suddenly searing like a hot iron.

“I said twist it! Twist your crescent dart into your flesh! Obey me!”

Marc, his chest heaving with quickened breaths, twisted the blade in his wound, bracing himself for the increased pain that would come with the additional gush of blood. However, the wanton cry this action ripped from him was not from pain, but instead from the overflow of pleasure that filled his core, spilling into every part of him. The discrepancy between what he was doing to his body and his shameful reactions to it all was beginning to confuse his mind even further, and Khonshu could see it in his increasingly feral demeanor.

“Oh, fuck, fuck… Gaaaah! Uhhnn! Mmm, my god! Fuck!” Marc roared. He mindlessly withdrew the blade from the throbbing wound and dropped it onto the wet, bloody fabric beneath him. His legs twitched and quivered with another wave of pleasure as he pressed his grasping hand to his bloody thigh. In a fit of zealous lust, he suddenly clawed a finger into the deep gash, causing his torso to spasm. He moaned loudly, writhing, and Khonshu laughed throatily, tightening his grasp on his legs. Marc lifted his hand, covered in crimson wetness, and slid it up his abdomen to rest against his muscled chest, astounded at his own desperately beating heart.

“What a beautiful sacrifice you’d make…” Khonshu said, reaching out and taking Marc’s face in his hand, grasping it firmly.

“F-... F-Fuck you…” Marc replied, shivering from aftershocks, ashamed at the feeling of being so subservient.

Khonshu chuckled. Even looking as spent as Marc did, his little avatar still had bite. The god continued to proudly admire Marc’s handiwork silently before suddenly asking, “Do you like being alive, my son? Do you like the life I've restored to you? Do you want it to continue?”

Marc tensed instantly, his mind racing to make sense of the questions. He didn't trust such an inquiry coming from Khonshu, and so he tried his best to regain his wits. His god wouldn't let him, however, and so Marc’s mind continued to feel forced out of focus, that same blazing lust growing once again inside of his weary body.

“Y-Yes… I want to live… Please…”

“Then prove it.”

Marc’s heart skipped a beat. “Wh-... Yes. Yes, I will… My lord… T-Tell me how.” He was suddenly holding the same crescent dart in his hand, slick with blood. Had Khonshu handed it to him? Did he pick it up himself? It hardly seemed to matter at this point.

“Your other thigh is looking a bit bare. Show me how much you appreciate the life I've restored to your body. Show me the breath of life, the key to the Nile, red with blood…”

“Fuck… You want me to... Again?” Marc already knew the answer. He growled in a dark mixture of pleasure and dread, sucking in a breath or two to steady himself before turning his attention to his right thigh. Such a supple canvas, aching to feel the dark and pointed kiss of his crescent dart...

Hesitating for just a moment, Marc began to make his first incision. It was getting more difficult to see clearly, and he couldn't tell if it was due to blood loss or the increasing pressure between his legs as his dark lust continued to build. Marc had only just pierced his skin, hissing once again at the sharp bite of the blade, when Khonshu knelt forward and placed a hand on the back of Marc’s head, grasping at his hair. Marc looked up at his god, a warm blush beginning to grace his cheeks and chest yet again. If such a sensual frenzy wasn’t already building up inside of him, dulling his shame, he would be mortified. But his mind was blank now, and the strong desire to serve flushed out any doubt.

This time, however, the pleasure from his sharp sacrifice didn't come and go in waves. Instead, it continued to increase with each pounding of Marc’s heart, and his breath grew more ragged. His whimpers and moans began growing louder and louder between each pass of the blade against his skin, and it was as if each gush of blood meant more and more pleasure. It was beginning to be difficult for him to remain upright unaided, and so Khonshu propped him up with one hand on his shoulder, the other hand caressing his face.

Khonshu chuckled deeply. “I always knew you were a freak,” he said bluntly. That statement seemed to do something to Marc, giving him a sharp twinge of guilt and ecstasy in his core. Khonshu could sense this, and he brushed his thumb against Marc’s parted lips. “Tell me, my son,” he continued, “Tell me how much you like this. Tell me how much you like bleeding for me.”

Khonshu reached his other hand forward to press down on Marc’s temporarily, pushing the crescent dart deeper into the blossoming wound. Marc’s eyes rolled back slightly, eliciting a guttural cry from deep within him.

“Uhhhhn! Y-Yes! Fuck. Oh, my lord… F-Fuck, yes! I do!” Marc paused to glance down at the long cut on his leg, the small river of glistening blood flowing down into the increasingly bloody cloth below him.

“Say it. Don't hide. Look at me and say it!" Khonshu could see his avatar grow more and more frenzied, and he pressed his thumb past Marc’s lips. Marc groaned and bit down on the intruding thumb gently before letting it go. He forced his eyelids open, his shaky gaze moving up to Khonshu’s skeletal face, struggling to keep his eyes open with every moan.

“I-I like b-... bleeding for you! Mmmm! I love it! Oh, fuck… I love spilling my blood for you!” Marc moaned again, lifting the crescent dart and placing it back into his skin to make the second, gory cross cut. He groaned at the overwhelming bliss from the fresh blood oozing out of him. He closed his eyes and bit down onto Khonshu’s thumb once again, harder than before, leaning his face into his god’s hand and keening as the sweet scent of blood filled the air.

“You’re doing so well, child!” Khonshu praised his eager avatar, admiring his handiwork. “Ha! You really were made to serve me, weren’t you?” The god let the hand that was on Marc’s shoulder slide down his chest to graze his left inner thigh, the bloody crescent moon already beginning to coagulate.

Fuck yes! I live to serve you! Oh my god, yes…! Mmmm. Khonshu, my lord…! I-I’ll do your bidding! Pl-lease! My body is your vessel! I’ll f-find those who are wicked and guilty! I'll make them pay! Fuck! I sw-... I swear to you, my god!” Marc cried out, groaning hungrily as he continued to carve into his flesh. “I’m made to serve you, and I will! Use me! In the name of v-vengeance, under the moon-! Oh, please, I can’t…! Oh, god, I can’t take this anymore! I beg you! Uhhnn!” Marc, at his wit’s end, dropped the crescent dart for the final time, hands trembling. He couldn’t resist reaching down to grasp his throbbing cock, desperately hungry for release from the filthy pleasure that had been tormenting his mind and body.

Khonshu cackled with delight, easily forcing Marc down on his back onto the bloody sea of white cloth. The god ran his hands down Marc’s scarlet-splattered chest and tight abdomen, stopping to admire the fresh wound on Marc’s inner thigh. Carved into Marc’s skin was now a cross symbol topped with a loop: the ankh, the symbol of life eternal…

Marc mewled and moaned, unable to release the immensely pleasurable pressure built up inside of him. Khonshu rose to his feet and, with an unseen sneer, stepped around to place his right foot onto Marc’s throat. Wide-eyed and ravaged, Marc glared up at his terrible god, using both hands to grasp and claw at the foot that was now forcing him to choke back his whorish cries.

“Your mind, your body,” Khonshu began, his voice firm as he pressed his foot down ever so slightly, “Every single part of you… belongs to me. Your blood is a fine gift, my son, but it is already mine. It is not yours to give. Tomorrow night, do not disappoint me. Seek out those who would harm the travelers of the night. Bring the fury of my vengeance upon them. It would please me greatly to have their blood, and I will reward you. Kill them. Feed me. You will obey me until the day I see fit to allow you to die… Now come. Come for me.

Marc’s glare turned into a look of panic. Deprived of breath, forced to teeter on the edge of climax all this time, he knew this would shatter him. For a brief moment, he tried to resist, but even without a single touch, his body couldn’t help but obey his deity. Stars exploded behind Marc’s eyes, and every muscle in his body tensed as the rush of hot come pulsed out of him. Khonshu mercifully released his foot to let Marc suck in a breath. He cried out as his crushing orgasm continued to wrack his convulsing body, gasping for air, for the breath of life.

 

Some time had passed before Marc opened his eyes again, having blacked out. The moon had faded with the distant rising of the sun, which was now blazing lowly in the sky, already making its descent. Had he slept all day? He stirred slightly and winced at the pain coming from his inner thighs, a sharp reminder of his price for a moment of pure bliss. He blinked and staggered to his feet, leaving the blood-soaked bedsheet and crescent dart where they were on the floor before the statue of Khonshu.

“Khonshu, you fucker…” Marc muttered, but he knew in his heart that his god was right. He was beyond feeling any guilt or shame at how easily Khonshu had bent him to his will. The grizzly, sensual tug that the dry and cracking blood had on his skin was evidence enough of his submission. He was meant to serve Khonshu, and if what he had experienced last night was anything like the blessings he would receive for doing his duty, then he didn’t have to be told twice.

“Tonight,” Marc said aloud, to himself, to his god, to the whole damned world, “whoever dares to harm innocents under the moon will sure have picked the wrong fucking night to do it on.”