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Night fell with a hush over the eternal holy city, bathing all the golden lakes and chalk-white pillars in a sea of darkness. Not a single soul stirred at this late hour when Calamities freely roamed the world. All was still for the time being.
Dawncloud’s mighty peak sat silent as a tomb under Kephale’s shadow. The candlelight fading under the twilight hour left but embers behind to briefly catch an imposing silhouette against the wall. Ash drifted upon the breeze, leading the veiled figure forth to the grand Temple of Worldbearing.
There, Nikador—wearing the strikingly commanding visage of a man rather than a cold shell of divinity—who had long awaited the arrival of dusk, set foot inside the pristine hall.
The scent of smoke led him to the altar where offerings to the titan were burned. Candlelight, incense, flowers—such things were not absent from his own temples, but Nikador was no Worldbearer. The God of Strife's followers preferred offerings of large animal carcasses to fertility tokens and wreaths, smearing blood alongside his name as a symbol of carnage.
His iron boots echoed throughout the empty space, disturbing the silence laid out between endless marble archways. Each step was heavy in that wide open space, as if thunder erupted from his heels. This was the only sound in his ears, until a sharp inhale pierced the atmosphere.
Approaching the altar, Nikador was confronted with a figure kneeling atop it. It was a young man of similar stature, one with a rosy, kind-looking face. He wore long white robes tied off at the waist that ever so slightly exposed his thighs, and a crown of blue flowers rested atop his head. He was doubtlessly handsome, even beneath the dim flickers of moonlight.
Flustered, the man asked, “My lord, what are you doing here at this late hour?”
He was seemingly unable to recognize the god standing before him in the dark. But by the way his shoulders stiffened, perhaps he could sense the power emanating from Nikador's person.
“I should be asking you the same, young acolyte. Who are you, and where is your master?” He demanded.
“I have no master save for the Sky Father above.” The reply came with a wary tone, yet he did not tremble so readily before the embodiment of Strife. “My name is Phainon. I am a mere servant to the Throne of Worlds, Kephale.”
Nikador approached the altar to better glimpse the acolyte. In doing so, however, he caught an unusual scent of musk in the air. It was unlike the natural perfumes of a priestly court, barely hovering between notes of incense.
Trays of clover, sage, sesame and pomegranates were laid out beside the man, as was a vial of oil dripping gold from its spout into a shimmering puddle below. He even wore a pendant of crimson hematite clasped tight against his pulse. The jewel bobbed forth as he gave a nervous smile—tempting, beckoning forth to be touched and praised.
Ah, so that's what this was.
A worshiper of his rival, Kephale, who happened to be clad in Nikador’s very own colors, feasting on the seeds of his sacred fruit while his mouth bloomed a wild crimson. Blatant shows of provocation like this were not so easily overlooked by the titans.
However, while Nikador had traveled far to pursue the hunt against his eternal rival, perhaps brute force was not the only way to lay siege and conquer. Victory was also often achievable without resorting to violence.
He stood tall before the man, faintly brushing his knuckles against a barren ankle. Phainon’s breath stuttered in his chest, as if anticipating more from a simple touch. The air seemed to grow heavy as they lingered in this shared space.
In a low tone, Nikador spoke, “And just what exactly are you doing here upon Kephale’s altar?”
Phainon's pale lashes fluttered, catching the light with grace. It was truly remarkable how such an innocent face could conceal the deepest desires of men within. Had it not been for all this coquettish meandering, presenting himself as part of a fertility ritual to the gods, he might have seemed entirely angelic.
“Why, performing my nightly prayers, as every faithful servant should.” This was Phainon's nondescript response. From the way his blue eyes roamed over the man before him, appreciating his muscled frame and built chest, it became evident that he had little interest in conversing.
Without the cold metal of gauntlets restricting his freedom, Nikador's calloused fingers trailed slowly up a pair of pale legs. He ignored the shivers welling up under his touch, stopping at the meat of Phainon’s thighs where his chiton wrinkled inwards. The man was squeezing tight, rigid as a statue in his desperation.
Nikador dug into the skin firmly, yet not so hard as to leave unwanted marks on his pristine body. With a gasp, Phainon’s resolve crumbled as clay under the sun. He parted his thighs then to reveal his sex, already puffy and slick with arousal. And thus the acolyte’s shame—or rather, his pride—was exposed.
Though Phainon appeared hardly older than Nikador himself, he was evidently experienced in pleasuring himself. It was not unusual for young men at the height of fertility to fulfill their desires, yet the ease with which he performed for the gods was unusual. Just what was the chaplain doing each night while his disciple prayed?
“So, this is what Kephale preaches to their followers? Pleasuring oneself in the name of Worldbearing?” Nikador hummed, absently running his fingers up the seam of his sex. It felt warm and wet; prying his folds apart revealed a sensitive cunt, already weeping for his touch.
“This is a show of my longstanding devotion to His Eminence! Do not…ngh!”
His fingers traced the man’s hole, gathering his wetness to push inside without much resistance. Nikador purred out, “Oh, what was that? You wish for more?”
“Ah…no, I shouldn’t…” Phainon’s voice trailed off, unsure. Though he did deign to recline backwards, further revealing himself to the god’s eyes with a deceptively shy expression. He was throbbing down below, pulsing with pure need despite his words.
Humoring him, Nikador felt further inside, tracing past his walls as Phainon tightened around his fingers. He plunged knuckle-deep into the man, finding his way through the soaking hole towards his most sensitive areas. Each delicate thrust in and out was matched with a low whine. Though Phainon’s hands were large and capable, it seemed only Nikador was truly capable of pleasuring him.
“It feels good, does it not?” He received a shaky nod in return, Phainon’s lids fluttering shut as his breath quickened alongside the pace. “Then accept it. I’m sure your beloved Sky Father will forgive your disloyalty just this once.”
Phainon reveled in the attention he received, accepting Nikador’s every thrust and pinch around his aching clit with hopes of drawing Kephale’s gaze. His hands clasped around the side of the altar for refuge, and deep moans were drawn from his mouth willingly.
“Ah…hah, my lord—please, harder!” He cried. Nikador obliged, setting his sights on Phainon’s damp outer folds while plunging deeper inside. The sounds he was making trailed below his belt, and as time drew onwards, it became more impossible to ignore his own arousal.
With an unrestrained thrust, his fingertips brushed painfully slow over the cervix, and the acolyte instantly released all over his hand with a muffled shout of, “O Kephale above!”
Hearing his rival’s name uttered in the midst of their intimacy, Nikador felt something dark emerge from his heart. He pulled out of the man’s hole at once, leaving his body shuddering terribly with the aftershocks of his orgasm. No mind was paid to Phainon’s shrieks—instead, he manhandled him onto his lap atop the table.
Angrily, he hissed, “That crumbling statue has nothing to do with this. If you are to praise any titan’s name at this hour, let it be the almighty Nikador, the guardian whose name is Strife.”
Tears in his eyes, Phainon could only manage a whimper of, “You…?” His hips bucked forward instinctively, forcing his leaking cunt over the god’s clothed erection. The front of his pants was drenched in no time. Unable to contain his arousal, Nikador unbuckled the clasp of his belt and pulled his stiff cock free.
Phainon was visibly stunned by his girth. His hands trembled and reached for it, then pulled back hastily. Amidst his inner conflict, a tongue ran over his lips, leaving behind a wet sheen. Nikdor wasted no time in claiming his mouth, swallowing every gasp and emerging prayer to the heavens.
Simultaneously, he slicked up his length with Phainon’s fluids, letting it knock against his sensitive clit. “That’s right,” he said eventually, licking away the thread of saliva between their tongues. “Tonight, as Kephale watches helplessly over the mountaintop, his sworn enemy will instead make love to his most devoted believer. Is it not poetic?
Phainon merely whined against his neck, opting to suck on the red flames trailing across his body while the stimulation against his sex paralyzed him in place. Nikador’s cock slightly breached his cunt, just barely nestling inside the hole. He grabbed Phainon’s bottom for support, admiring the man’s muscled form momentarily before thrusting further into that wet heat.
Those plush, reddened folds molded around Nikador’s thick girth as he sank all the way inside. When he finally bottomed out and their hips met, the erotic image of Phainon speared upon his length was all he could see.
He rocked along slowly, testing the waters as Phainon moaned and nipped against his pulse. How hot his walls were—an almost inhuman burn, concentrated heat akin to that of a divine coreflame. Nikador’s cock throbbed angrily from within, yet his only wish was to savor this moment—the honeyed pace, the slick sounds emerging from where they were joined, the scent of sex rife in the air, and the thrill of pinning this handsome young man to his chest and fucking him on another god’s altar.
Nikador groaned, low and unrestrained. He groped Phainon tightly, securing him in place and allowing the acolyte’s own hands to wander across his wide chest. They sought purchase upon his shoulders, and Phainon tossed his head back with a pleasing arch. At this angle, the tip of his cock just grazed against his cervix, and both parties bit down fiercely to contain startled whines of pleasure.
When the leisurely rhythm of their hips proved to be too torturous, Phainon could no longer restrain his babbling. Overwhelmed with desperation, he began spouting off verses once more, “O Kephale, I pledge my eternal love and devotion to you, the one and only Holy Father of Worldbearing who—ah!”
Nikador retaliated with a harsh, bruising thrust, growling out, “From now on, you may only utter the name of your conqueror.”
“...Conqueror?”
Phainon squirmed in his lap, but the god did not relent. He continued to rub against his cervix, feeling for that sensitive opening while denying him the stimulation he so desired. “This battle between gods has been extended far beyond bloodshed. Now, young disciple, it would appear that you have become a spoil of war. Naturally, as the embodiment of Strife, my weapon alone shall decide the outcome.”
The words hung in the air, unusually tense in their delivery. While Nikador remained overcome by lust, attempting to further pleasure the man he’d already claimed as his own, Phainon seemed to have other ideas about their coupling.
In an instant, his pleas transformed into an indignant frown. Phainon removed his hands, pulling himself away from his partner’s lap and leaving his cock hard and leaking in the air.
“Well, I don’t think that’s very fair,” Phainon snipped back. And with that, the sacred intimacy between them had suddenly been shattered.
Nikador straightened in place before him, somewhat dazed by this unexpected turn of events. “What?”
Phainon crossed his arms, scrutinizing the god even further. Though he remained a mess of fluids and bruises, his tone was even, scolding, almost.
“There’s no glory to be found in an accolade only obtainable through slaughter.”
A perfect recitation of a line from a book written somewhere amongst the mortal planes of Amphoreus. While humankind often sang his praises and lauded his monuments with laurels, it was rare for his own words to be thrown back at him. Rare enough that this vivid scene of passion fell apart at the seams.
Slipping out of his divine role as the God of Strife, the man more commonly known as Mydeimos furrowed his brows. Was Phainon actually unhappy with his performance in the bedroom—or, temple, for that matter? He’d always had a habit of allowing literature to speak his part when emotions ran high, quoting poetics as if they were engraved into his mind, but this shift in attitude was far too abrupt.
He raised his hands in a placating motion, attempting to salvage what he could of this situation before their desires ran dry. “I'm not actually killing you. We're having intercourse—”
Phainon huffed, promptly ignoring him. “If I recall correctly, you haven't really done anything to be worthy of calling yourself a conqueror. All you did was put your cock in me and started acting like you have an ego.”
He gave the other man a long, meaningful stare, one that had Mydeimos shivering down his exposed backside. Phainon grew close once more, sultry in his careful movements, and placed a coy finger beneath his chin to draw him upwards.
“So,” he whispered, breath hot against his lover’s lips, “what makes you think I'll just give myself to you willingly?”
“I…” Mydeimos struggled for a dignified response.
Where were they again? Who were they? Surely this had not been written into tonight’s script. Phainon had seemed more than willing to be pressed against any surface and dominated before; though he did not mind this adjustment at all, the timing of it all left him with an uncomfortably confused erection and little to say in defense of himself.
Perhaps being denied was what he needed, though. If he could get any harder after lodging himself deep within Phainon’s cunt, it surely happened now.
“Shh.” A finger pressed against his bottom lip, teasing the plump skin. “Don't worry. As your one and only equal in this life, I'll give you the fair battle you've been longing for all along.”
Phainon straddled his lap again—Nikador’s lap, cornering the embodiment of Strife and war and bloodshed against his rival’s table. Though his tone remained sweet, it was steady, controlled in a way that even a god could not measure up to under these circumstances.
The almighty Nikador, at the mercy of a mortal man. It was strange, and incredibly arousing.
At the promise of receiving a fair fight, he swallowed harshly. His cock peeked through Phainon’s folds once more, brushing his clit with enough friction to knock the air clean from both of them. His slit beaded with precum in anticipation of more, and the acolyte just smiled amidst the pleasurable new sensations he endured.
“Looks like you're ready for me,” Phainon praised him. In one motion, he sank upon the titan’s lengthy cock and let his walls squeeze firmly around it. His cunt was still tight, fitting snugly against Nikador and hugging the curve of his thick girth just right. The god stifled a moan against his shoulder, suddenly vulnerable.
Phainon rocked his hips gradually, taking his fill while commanding the rhythm of their dance. His cheeks were alight with a ruddy glow, striking blue eyes half-lidded as he soaked in this tension held between them. How perfect he looked and felt; no other human could possibly match a god in battle like this.
He fucked himself down upon that cock more fiercely than before, pumping in and out with vigor. Slick dripped continuously from his soaking hole, landing clear upon Nikador’s thighs and painting them both in his ardor. How the god yearned to lean down and taste him, sucking up all his fragrant juices and burying himself completely in his lover’s heat. Yet all he could do was remain pinned to the altar, palms laid across the acolyte’s wrinkled robes and his length was battered to the point of nearly bursting.
Sensing his release building within, Phainon took the opportunity to begin murmuring fervently beside his ear, wetting the skin there with his sly tongue. “O God of Strife—does my devotion to the supreme Worldbearer displease you? Have you so little respect for our divine father above that you're willing to steal away and defile their most devout?”
He shifted downwards forcefully and stimulated the man against the edge of his cervix; so deep, so feverish, so flawless in his sinful devotion. He laughed bright and clear against the god’s cheek, spilling mockery about with each thrust.
“Or could it be that you envy them? That you wish you also had a faithful believer who would do anything for you? Is that it?”
Nikador was at a loss for words. Being talked down to and used as little more than a toy at the disposal of this man was utterly humiliating. So much so that he edged ever closer to his orgasm.
“It’s alright, I understand. With how tragically weak you are right now, falling apart under one of Kephale's acolytes, of all people…you must not have any worshipers of your own left, hm? What a pity.”
“I—” He choked, feeling drool gather at the corner of his lips. Phainon wiped it away with his thumb, doting even as sweat built on his temple.
The acolyte panted, “There, there. You’re doing so well for me. It’s so, so good.”
The head of Nikador’s cock grazed the barrier between his womb repeatedly, swelling harshly against the spongy surface. He couldn’t take much more of this; Phainon was surely bent on fucking him until he gave way and pumped him full.
“D-do you feel it too, my lord? I—hah, oh, right there!” Phainon screamed out, driving himself downwards with such force, even Nikador felt himself biting back pleasured tears. It was far too much, for both of them.
With shared cries, they met their climax together; Phainon trembling violently with his release while Nikador submerged himself in deep, filling him completely with a hot load of semen.
The clarity of his orgasm hit far sooner than Nikador expected after being struck with such intense emotions. Even coming down from their coupling with a powerful release wracking his body, his erection was still held firmly within the acolyte’s heat. He was seemingly plunged so deep inside that nothing could pull him free.
Catching his breath, he returned to Phainon’s view, flicking his forehead scoldingly. “Are you done running your mouth?”
Though the man jolted and then yelped at the overstimulation to his core, he appeared in similar condition to the god—coated in their shared fluids, yet unwilling to yield. Had he truly met his match in this mortal man? A follower of Kephale, no less?
“Hm? It depends,” Phainon considered, shifting his hips against all odds. His aching walls pushed against the god’s cock, coaxing the last spurts of semen from his slit with a satisfied grunt. “What punishment does Lord Nikador have in store for this ill-mannered priest, I wonder?”
A priest, was he? It was a bold claim, challenging the titan’s authority once more. But it was not without merit; in fact, it made more sense, given the man’s unwavering tenacity before the divine. Who else but a proper devotee lauded with titles of renown could dare stand against an enemy king and still smile?
“…So you aren’t a mere acolyte at all. You are the chaplain in service to Kephale—the one who conveys their divine whispers to the world.” Nikador sighed, considering just how he had been roped into this complicated arrangement.
Phainon merely grinned. “So what if I am? The Sky Father has never shunned me, and has only accepted me with open arms. The bond we share is long and...intimate.”
With another downwards thrust, Phainon had taken Nikador’s cock back into the depths of his cunt and begun teasing the head with unbearable force. A glint in his eye, he bit down hard upon his jaw, leaving blemish after blemish in his own brief conquest.
“Does it displease you, my lord, knowing that I dared to commune with my god even in the midst of our coupling?”
His words stirred up the makings of a tempest deep within Nikador’s heart.
Kephale could hear everything? Every prayer, every plea and whine made upon this altar—every shameful moan this all-powerful, fearsome god had uttered while the lustful priest forced an orgasm from him? The rival he had been hunting all along had instead deployed their own subordinate to quell him?
Phainon broke his stupor with a passionate moan, riding his cock wildly as lechery gripped at his mind and soul. “Perhaps my prayers will finally reach their ears, and Kephale shall bless me with a child in their own image. Finally, I will be entirely full of their love—ready to bear new life in honor of my most beloved titan!”
That was enough to send Nikador hurtling completely over the edge. He simply would not stand for this blatant humiliation any longer.
No matter how much power Phainon exerted within this temple, he would never be a true match for any god. Not the Worldbearer, and certainly not the authority of Strife. This road to complete domination had not yet crumbled to ash; his victory was still well within sight.
In one swift motion, Phainon was rolled over onto his back with Nikador’s crushing weight holding him down against the altar’s dampened surface. His laughter quickly faded to another startled yelp, long limbs flailing off the wooden base as bottles of oil and garlands alike went crashing to the floor in an instant. Still filled to the brim with the war god’s cock, all he could do was strain his neck helplessly and accept this change in position.
“Comfortable?” Nikador snarled. He pinned the man’s wrists above his head and simultaneously peeled his clothes up to his neck, entirely exposing the muscled abdomen clenching with desperation beneath. His pink nipples were puffy, growing stiffer with the night’s chill in the air. How brilliantly statuesque he looked—a true, divine beauty made in Kephale’s image.
It would be no feat to fill him completely with the virile god’s seed and keep him round with a child of their own unique creation. And all that bothersome Throne of Worlds could do was observe from a distance while the deed was done.
The oh-so perfect high priest had already been tainted by the enemy. It was only a matter of time until his pristine image was entirely corroded away by the titan's everlasting marks.
Phainon just whimpered as Nikador’s girth was engulfed further by his heat. That loose hole of his was beyond slick, nearly sopping wet with his unfettered arousal. Determination welling within him, he drew those thick, supple thighs up over his own shoulders, completely encasing the priest in a primal mating press.
From there Nikador’s thrusts turned aggressive, seeking to completely overwhelm the priest’s senses with his own divine musk and boiling heat. His cock set to stimulating each and every part of Phainon’s cunt—reaching from his pulsing labia and weeping clit to the head of his womb deep within. A complete claim of this man’s sex that had the Coreflame of Strife singeing ardently at his soul.
Still attempting to hold his own, Phainon stammered, “It—it matters not if you mark every part of me. My god has already staked his claim.”
He bared his neck freely, displaying golden sun runes across his pale skin. This was his final sleight of hand, the only card remaining. But Nikador did not falter at all. Rather, he was only spurred on by such provocations.
“These scars upon your skin may yet be effaced by my will,” he declared.
Procuring a blood-crystal chalice from the space between them, Nikador feasted on the priest’s wide-eyed reaction. “What a shame, you went and ruined all these priceless offerings. I suppose only my own honeybrew will suffice now.”
He swiftly poured the bitter brew over Phainon’s body, letting his sacred fruit seep into the crevice of his navel, across his heaving chest and down to his stuffed pussy. The cold drink stung harshly against the skin, causing him to cry out and thrash against each calculated thrust of that huge cock.
Nikador reveled in it all, licking and sucking over every visible inch of skin. How sweet Phainon’s sweat and tears tasted, his body now a vessel from which to imbibe.
Phainon was worshiped from his blushing shoulders to his taut breast, receiving biting prayers across those erect nipples that would someday bear his milk.
He was extremely sensitive there, whimpering and squirming about with red-rimmed eyes. Yet, having fallen under the titan's spell, he could do no more than take it all, leaking everywhere while still enduring those heavy thrusts.
"Hah—oh, t-titans above," he swore. Nikador swiftly silenced the man with a bruising brush against his walls, allowing his cock to take its own fill of him and corrupt that pure pussy from within.
Eventually, with fruit juice smeared about by his tongue, all traces of gold were thoroughly coated under the god's decree, staining even his pure white robes with the dark hues of Strife. It was a beautiful sight to behold. Raw lust, for blood and fierce loving, had consumed them both.
Laying there like that, helplessly ravaged by the mad god, Phainon had become a masterpiece fit to hang beside the likes of Chryseus Leo in Kremnos’ grand arena—a true symbol of conquest celebrating eternal victory.
Intoxicated with lust and power far beyond the potency of any dew of divine blood, Nikador embraced his calamitous ways and deepest desires without a hitch. He slammed into the priest with all his might, robbing him of all dignity and producing sounds previously unheard on these sacred grounds.
“Ah—! I…I can’t…!” Phainon shrieked, raking his manicured nails harshly over the titan’s sensitive vertebrae. He should have drawn blood in the process, just as golden as the other gods, an equivalent exchange of divine wrath.
In and out, his cock plunged deep within, and loud squelches resounded in the silent hall alongside pitiful moans. Phainon tightened considerably around him, sheathing him deep within and begging him to be bred full already.
“Please—my lord, have mercy! Fill me with your child already!”
Folded nearly in half, thighs aching and wrists clasped above his head, he could do more than sob. Fat tears cascaded down as his cunt spasmed; he was screaming for release, taking each and every thrust against his womb until he was pulsing violently with pure need. “Ngh…husband, please!”
At that, Nikador promised in a low whisper, “You, who are far more fair than even Kephale, need no god of creation to bear life. I alone shall fill this tight womb of yours and grant your wish.”
The tip of his cock penetrated just against his womb, reaching further inside than ever before. Phainon’s back arched off the altar and he squirted uncontrollably, soaking every surface in sight with the force of his release. Just moments later, Nikador was spilling over and seeding him, pushing sperm right through to where it would take.
He kept spilling and spilling, already rounding Phainon out beautifully. Even with his cock pressed between those throbbing walls, cum still emerged from his weeping pussy in a cascade of white liquid. The sight was enchanting, and he could hardly look away.
The lovers trembled together amidst the aftershocks in the following minutes, singing each other’s praises in hushed voices before succumbing to the dreamlike haze of their afterglow.
────
The pair was sticky with their shared juices, and utterly spent. Phainon had not stirred since his last orgasm, while his partner was more than content to retreat back into the shadows from where he had first emerged.
Nikador had nearly left the room when he heard a shaky voice calling to him, “And just where are you going…?”
Still defiant, he was unwilling to pity the man for reaping what he sowed. “I’ve had my fill for tonight. I shall leave Kephale to their precious offering now.”
“Don’t make me beg you not to leave,” Phainon groaned out. “Be good to your Worldbearer, Mydei. You’ve insulted my pride enough for one night.”
Mydeimos sighed wearily. He stepped back over the shattered dishes littering the granite floors, crossing his arms as he examined Phainon’s disheveled figure in its entirety—white hair strewn everywhere, coated in ejaculate and honeybrew and various other fluids, face still damp with tears of desire. He was a beautiful mess, sure to outshine the Gem of All Worlds taken from his divine corpus.
How much more would Phainon glow when the weight of his pregnancy set in? It was almost unbearable to consider what power he would hold over Mydeimos when he grew swollen with their child. He was quickly getting ahead of himself.
“This is thrice now that you’ve broken character. And thus, victory is mine,” Mydeimos openly boasted, relishing in the pained scowl he received in return. As if the wounds he bore was not enough, his ego had been both stroked and crushed all at once, now furthered by this apparent loss.
Though, it was a miracle Phainon lasted this long, honestly. Despite the eternal patience seared into his golden blood, he was still as reckless and sensitive as any person, flawed beneath that pristine marble facade he wore. Just as the almighty Nikador was not immune to his husband’s wiles, so too was Kephale human at heart.
Phainon threw off his robes and tossed them in his direction. “Just come here already!”
And so he did—willing to do whatever it took to satisfy the needs of his beloved.