09-07-2018, 04:25 AM
(This post was last modified: 09-07-2018, 06:10 AM by Marcus DuBois.)
The energy seemed to drain from the room. The events of the past few- had it been minutes? A half hour? Surely no more than that- had energized Malik far more then even his last hunt had.
Not even the visit to the Butcher, as much as his full throated pleas for mercy- the gift he'd relished with-holding from the women he took and tormented and killed, as much physically and mentally- even the full throated screams and wails as Malik had showed him exactly the fate he'd visited on those girls, the shiver of pleasure, the frisson of near ecstacy that quivered with them memory-
Even all of that was as nothing to the pure exhiliration and melodramatic life that had played across this stage, the life and death, agony and orgasm, worthlessness and importance, all rolled into one.
And now it was over, a snuffed out candle, the wisp of smoke all that remained over the now dead wick.
And Malik felt the power drain from him as the woman retreated. It was becoming a habit for her, it seemed, him watching the perfect roundness of a perfect ass, dark hair curling around neck and shoulder, eyes cutting angrily away, to disappear into the night.
Caedus had fled in his impotent sulk, his succubus Representative following soon after. CCD military units and staff suddenly self important, trying to claim authority or show themselves competent despite their complete and utter inadaquacy for the challenge that had appeared.
Dominions that had held their own, had fought alongside him, now looked deflated and lost.
They felt it too.
They- all of them- already missed the rush and heat of battle. And in that moment, Malik knew that Vellas had lost. Ascendancy could claim men such as them could be partitioned off into two departments. Marcus over the civilian side, Vellas over the military.
But not a man under Marcus' control would not be addicted to the existential pleasure that combat and fear and death and life came from using the power made then feel. Vellas may have a trained elite. Malik would have as much....and more. So much more. Experience would count. But numbers moreso.
And yet, even then, Malik felt himself diminishing, shrinking, clothing not as constricting, energy leeching away, until now, at least, he was human size again. Marcus DuBois. A man. Just a man. For now. Until next time.
Malik would make sure next time was sooner rather than later.
Marcus went to Danika. "Are you injured, Danika?" For some reason Marcus rather enjoyed using her name. It felt so very intimate. He found himself thinking of those moments on the balcony, her hand on his wrist, the look in her eyes.
And those lips. Plump and juicy that even now, he still wanted to sample their sweetness. Not that he showed more than a smile of concern. "Let me take you home."
Not even the visit to the Butcher, as much as his full throated pleas for mercy- the gift he'd relished with-holding from the women he took and tormented and killed, as much physically and mentally- even the full throated screams and wails as Malik had showed him exactly the fate he'd visited on those girls, the shiver of pleasure, the frisson of near ecstacy that quivered with them memory-
Even all of that was as nothing to the pure exhiliration and melodramatic life that had played across this stage, the life and death, agony and orgasm, worthlessness and importance, all rolled into one.
And now it was over, a snuffed out candle, the wisp of smoke all that remained over the now dead wick.
And Malik felt the power drain from him as the woman retreated. It was becoming a habit for her, it seemed, him watching the perfect roundness of a perfect ass, dark hair curling around neck and shoulder, eyes cutting angrily away, to disappear into the night.
Caedus had fled in his impotent sulk, his succubus Representative following soon after. CCD military units and staff suddenly self important, trying to claim authority or show themselves competent despite their complete and utter inadaquacy for the challenge that had appeared.
Dominions that had held their own, had fought alongside him, now looked deflated and lost.
They felt it too.
They- all of them- already missed the rush and heat of battle. And in that moment, Malik knew that Vellas had lost. Ascendancy could claim men such as them could be partitioned off into two departments. Marcus over the civilian side, Vellas over the military.
But not a man under Marcus' control would not be addicted to the existential pleasure that combat and fear and death and life came from using the power made then feel. Vellas may have a trained elite. Malik would have as much....and more. So much more. Experience would count. But numbers moreso.
And yet, even then, Malik felt himself diminishing, shrinking, clothing not as constricting, energy leeching away, until now, at least, he was human size again. Marcus DuBois. A man. Just a man. For now. Until next time.
Malik would make sure next time was sooner rather than later.
Marcus went to Danika. "Are you injured, Danika?" For some reason Marcus rather enjoyed using her name. It felt so very intimate. He found himself thinking of those moments on the balcony, her hand on his wrist, the look in her eyes.
And those lips. Plump and juicy that even now, he still wanted to sample their sweetness. Not that he showed more than a smile of concern. "Let me take you home."