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The blade slices right through skin and bone. The great burst of pain I expect doesn’t come. But one touch to my bleeding, fleshy ankle with the bone protruding assures me my foot is gone.
Acid burns my throat, but I force the blade onto my other ankle, sink the blade deep, cutting, sawing, slicing.
Silence impregnates the air as my blood weeps onto the ground.
Crawl to me, Zenya.
Nyxion’s voice is deeper than ever, a command so irresistible but filled with….hope
Overwhelmed, heart ricocheting in my chest, I get down on my hands and knees, leaving behind my severed feet, losing them. Naked, I crawl forward, following the chill in the air and the scent of dark wisteria overshadowing hints of rot and decay until the soft sweep of a robe brushes my cheek.
Relief fills my chest, and I grip Nyxion’s leg for dear life.
“So close, little killer.” He possesses me. But he does not raise me up and place me on firm ground. “Now, root for me,” he commands.
The earth beneath me gives way with a shuddering groan. My breath is ripped from my lungs as countless skeletal hands emerge from the depths, their cold grip pulling me down intothe darkness. I can feel their intent—burial, entrapment. Will Nyxion stop them? How long will this play out?
Root for me!
I scream as dirt falls onto my face, and the scent of burial flowers overwhelms my senses. Wait! I force myself to think beyond the rot dragging me down, narrowing all my tunnel vision to the perfume of those burial flowers.
Root for him…and for me.
In the suffocating darkness, I channel every ounce of my will and weave black and purple roses into the soil around me. With soil clotting my mouth, I plunge their roots deep, feeling them dig in and hold fast.
The skeletal hands falter, their grip weakening as the roots constrict and grow. I conjure the flowers from the pages of my journal—rhododendrons, dahlias, hyacinths, night jasmine. I explode with hundreds of stargazer lilies, their roots spreading like a network of lifelines around me.
The flower roots anchor me, their delicate yet resilient strength pushing against the corpse hands. One by one, the skeletal fingers loosen their hold, falling away, overpowered by the burgeoning bloom. My network of flowers grows stronger, lifting me from the depths, their shallow roots saving me until the dirt falls beneath me.
The beauty I’ve summoned helps me rise.
The next thing I know, cold air lashes my face, my feet are standing on solid ground, and Nyxion is kissing me, fucking me with his tongue, his hands greedy as they ravish me. He kneads my breasts, then rubs his thumbs against my erect nipples.
He doesn’t care that I’m covered in dirt or grave dirt or bone dust. Or fleshy pieces from the corpses. His hands worship me, ravish me.
I moan deeply into his mouth and coil my arms around his neck, digging them into his long, black waves.
Holding my mouth with the strength of his jaw, Nyxion angles his neck, deepening the kiss while he palms my wet center, rubbing my folds and stimulating my clit.
I arch against him, hips desperate, grinding against the hard bone of his cock. It’s larger than ever, hungering for me.
Before I know it, he’s slammed me into the core of a massive rib cage, the bones like claws closing in. The lilies and roses tether us, growing all around us. Without forsaking my mouth, his hands dig into my ass and raise me until my legs are wrapped around him. I love the taste of him. The dark side of the moon and the blood of the ancients. His dark beauty haunts me. His God cock poised at my entrance.
Tearing his mouth away and sinking his teeth into my throat, Nyxion buries himself into me with one great thrust. I scream from the pain of his bite and that cock tearing me open, plunging deeper than ever. His nightmare of a Godhood. Even with my soaked fluids easing his entrance, he still fills all of me. His girth—thick and hard as steel.
Pulling out to the tip, Nyxion slams into me again. This time, he tugs at my nipple with his teeth, then licks the pain away.
“Fuck, Zenya,” he growls, locking his eyes on me. “Your cunt feels tighter than ever, new, hotter and wetter than a melted star gripping me.”
I rock my hips. “Move, damn you!”
“Mmm, maybe I like it here,” he groans deeply and attacks my breast again before suckling my other tight bud.
“Nyxion,” I whimper, crying more tears. “You said I-I would earn?—”
He stops my mouth with his, digs his fingers into my ass harder, and hammers into me, pounding in longer, deeper, making me feel every damn inch. He seems to grow and swell inside me until I feel like I’m coming apart at the seams.
When my skin starts growing, fusing to his like the roots of flowers, I know I am to some degree. With every thrust, we become more. His bones are my bones. His flesh my flesh. Our bodies coming together as one.
