Crimson Reborn Ch. 20

A dozen voices spoke in Lucy's mind. They were not being helpful. Some made muffled shouts of anger and confusion. Others whispered dark warnings. Lucy herself kept the discord out of her song, but it rang in her head nonetheless. The more attuned of her followers could sense it.

She'd retreated to a place she rarely visited of late. The creatures who surrounded her represented her first steps, crude things of blunt force. David lumbered in place while Jillian laid between him and the Bull. Lucy sifted through the memories for the minotaur's name, but found nothing. The Bull had grown immense, feasting off of Jillian's milk day in and day out. A shaggy coat of charcoal grey hair adorned its chest, and its hoofs left gashes in the floor wherever it walked. The twelve inch rod of cock it wagged between its legs was never soft and almost always gushing cum. Luckily, Jillian took care of the Bull's leaking tendencies as much as he took care of hers.

The former friend's mind drifted in a sea of pleasure, incoherent, but at absolute, divine peace. All three of them had long ago foregone anything as mundane as thought. Through no intervention of Lucy's, the three had become something more primal than even herself. Jillian had grown in size to match her partner. At the moment, she was on all fours, breasts the size of small refrigerators, constantly pouring out pink milk. It pooled in the floor to be magicked away at her whim, usually when she no longer wanted to wallow in it, but did want a clean slate to fill. Her mouth stretched wide around the pole of flesh as a tongue, much longer than it should be, snaked around and underneath the Bull's balls. Jillian's face, entirely unrecognizable to her former life, was a mess of cum, puffed lips and running eye shadow, an effect that seemed to please at least one of the males.

Behind her, hands sinking into the massive flesh pillows of Jillian's ass, Lucy's husband thrust with a lazy rhythm. Once, he'd been a mortal man with a cock the size of a Greek column. His body finally grew to match. He loomed over the plush fucktoy at nearly ten feet with the breadth to match. His body roiled with muscle, hands pawing whatever he could find to fuck. The body was designed to carry the massive ballsack that crammed between his muscular thighs. Even pulled tight, skin squeezing against the testes, it was as big around as a bean bag and utterly brimming with cum. Emptying himself into Jillian or any of the other concubines who fancied a drenching of cum would spare him only an hour or two of relief before he needed it again.

Lucy once looked at her creations with pure pride, but now the voices told her something was wrong. Peering into the souls, she saw little left of the tattered humanity within them. She hadn't taken it, but these three, and maybe others, had found away to give up even more of their formal selves. They were barely sentient anymore, having become akin to a primal force. It unnerved their mistress. Especially since they did not seem to notice her call as quickly as they should.

She left them, pausing on the other side of the door. After some consideration, she waved her hand over the wood. Glittering ruby chains snaked into existence, wrapping around the door again and again until it glowed red. Gems bloomed from the wood, creating a pentagram of rubies that flashed with inner light before the whole thing went dark. Her hand lingered on the door for a moment more, thinking of her husband, but he was gone. And the beasts which remained could be dangerous.

The halls of her former, meager home stretched in all directions, a twisting labyrinth of carnal pleasures which only she could truly navigate. It wasn't a space where reality felt comfortable any longer. If a mortal somehow appeared inside of it, the poor soul would spend eternity opening doors on scenes of mind searing sex, never getting a step closer to the exit. For Lucy, though, the way out or further in was always a mere turn of the hall.

The exterior remained the unassuming ranch style house that Lucy once called home, complete with front porch adorned with rocking chairs. In one, Oliver and Alice fucked idly, using the rock of the chair to facilitate their thrusts. Alice faced outward, breasts cupped in her hands as dribbles of milk dropped onto the wood planks below. Oliver sat in the chair, arched in a peculiar way to keep himself sheathed in his mate at all times. As Lucy emerged, the delicious sway of her tits sent him over the edge. He grunted and Alice moaned as her insides received a fresh coat of her favorite spunk. They decoupled as she waited. Alice purred as she swayed back and forth with legs apart, gloops of cum dripping out to mingle with her milk on the porch. "Something wrong, mistress?" she asked, dreamily.

"You two still remember being human, don't you?"

"Sure," Oliver answered. "Bit fuzzy, but I remember it."

"Like a bad dream before we woke up," Alice said.

"And if you did forget it, you wouldn't mind?"

Oliver stood up, cock bobbing in front of him as it stirred back to life. His body stretched, a lean rippling mass of muscle and sinew. Black claws idly scratched the poor roof as he answered, "No, I guess not. What would the point of it be?"

"We shouldn't forget where we came from or what we were before. Cause, that might have unforeseen consequences." The voices in her head rattled in a discord of agreement and disagreement. "Enough!" she shouted. Oliver and Alice backed away, their dreamy lust vanishing into startled shock. Lucy smiled at them, "Sorry. Containing multitudes isn't as fun as its cracked up to be. Have I mentioned that some of the loudest ones are talking Middle English, which for some reason I don't understand. Ancient Germanic, sure, but some stubborn witch who died in the seventeenth century just can't be bothered to get her message across without 'forsooths' and nonsense."

"How can we help?" Alice asked.

"Do you have a copy of 'how to be a goddess in three easy steps'?" Lucy quipped back, harsher than she intended. For a demoness who loved being whipped, Alice was still rather sensitive to even the most delicate rebukes. Lucy smiled. "That's good! Your feelings are hurt. I mean, sorry, but human Alice wore her heart on her sleeve. Means part of the old you is still there."

Neither of the demons heard her. Their eyes focused on the limousine which had appeared at the end of the driveway. "Uh, mistress," Oliver said, pointing.

Lucy followed the gesture as the voices in her head suddenly unified. Shadow, they said in a low chant. The door to the limo opened and from within a white gloved hand beckoned.

***

For her second meeting with another god, Lucy chose a dress of dark crimson, nearer to purple than red. She slid into the limo with indefinable grace, taking a seat opposite the man the voices called by many names.

Unlike Veridian, this was no living plant or amalgamation of wind and leaves. At first glance, he seemed to be nothing more than a garishly dressed man in his forties. He wore a purple jacket adorned with silver buttons over a neon green vest and white shirt. The pants, shoes, gloves, and the hat sitting beside him on the seat were all white, but a white so void of color that it fascinated any eye to catch upon it. His face was lean, but kind and inviting, at least at first. With further observation, Lucy noticed the skeletal nature of his sunken, black eyes. It gave her the impression that the body was more of a vehicle than part of his being. His hands folded over a cane made of near black granite, adorned with small points of light. At times, the top of it glowed a deep hue of purple. He smiled at his guest. "Miss Lucy, its a pleasure. I'd offer to shake your hand, but..." He winked.

"I suppose it would cost me something," she answered.

"Quite. Nature of the business, I think." He leaned forward and stared into her eyes. "Rowdy bunch in there, ain't they. Hi girls." He held up his hand and wiggled his fingers.

Lucy tried not to break his gaze, but looking into those dark circles made her skin crawl. "They don't seem to be a fan of yours."

"Naw, I imagine not. Lots of 'em over the years. Only one me. Last one almost had me, too. Getting slow in my old age. But, from what I've heard, you're a little more flexible. A little more willin to make a deal."

"And lucky me, you have everything I need?"

"Everything? No. Help? Yes. You see, Godfolk don't much like sharing the stage. Most of us got the spotlight by killin our mamas and papas. New gods don't get much of a chance, neither. Only so many souls to go around. Even infinity is a small number to folk like us."

Lucy leaned forward, elbows on knees and rubbed her temples. "Can we not do the oblique doubletalk stuff? I've got the worst kind of headache, which is really the last thing you want to hear from a sex goddess."

The wide grin on the man's face faltered for a moment. He shifted slightly in his seat, and his tone went flat, "Aight. You made one deal already. Cycle of time and life for your world. I want you to make another. None of our kind likes it when someone has a private stash, so to speak. You don't get to have a world all to yourself. For one, it'll break that little mind of yours. Even if you did manage to feed up on a whole universe of souls, you'd crack from the weight. Share the spoils and share the load."

"And how does that screw me over?"

"In the grand scheme? Not that much. Short term, I'd want a show of good faith. Not something you'd miss, naturally. Other gods get to poke their head in, try and tempt away some of your flock, but otherwise we keep to ourselves. One little reality on the fringe of existence isn't worth all that much."

"What do you mean other gods? You're here. Veridian came. What's stopping you from doing whatever you want?"

"You are, honey. Look at where we are. Think of this like a submarine at fifty thousand fathoms. Little places, little bubbles, can serve as ways in for folk like me. Can't reach outside of them, though. Not without spending more than I'm willing. You've done a fine job keeping everything together. Now we just need a little last agreement to shore up the foundation."

"And you're feeling charitable?"

"I'm always in a giving mood, but no. This ain't no charity, darlin. The way I see it is opening a new market, not just for those little human souls, but for the big shots, too. And I'll be your broker. Others will come and offer up a little buy in, but I'll take a little off the top. That's what's kept me in business all these long years. So, let's say it plain. You give me one soul, and I've already picked it out. One soul to make a little bridge between us, and I'll shoulder this whole reality, prop it up on a disc of magic and shadow so that it keeps spinning along with all the others. Additionally, that opens the door for others, mortals and immortals, gods and demons, angels and myths, to come calling. Everybody wins."

All of the voices in Lucy's head clambered to be heard. They decried the other god, called him a cheat, and threatened, toothlessly, to rebel if Lucy agreed with him. Yet one voice, the most familiar to Lucy, remained silent. When Lucy's thoughts prodded toward that voice it answered, I don't know.

Lucy sighed. "What soul did you have in mind?"

The Shadowman smiled. "Oh, one you're not even using."

***

Darcy concluded by her third day that she'd been sent to Hell for her sins. She didn't know which sins or which Hell, but the evidence otherwise convinced her easily.

One minute, she had been in the throes of pleasure beyond her wildest imagination. And the next, she'd been thrown away, violently wrenched back from the true epiphany of ecstasy. All of which left her in a decrepit and, she was reasonably certain, haunted version of the town of which she had once been mayor. She wasn't supposed to stay, though. The voices whispering behind doors and through cracks in the walls told her as much. She was meant to leave, to walk to the edge of the town and take one more step. Darcy didn't know what would happen if she did as the voices suggested, but she guessed she might wind up back on Earth. But she also knew that meant she would never have another chance at that moment of purity again. "And that's worse," she reminded the strange voices. "To have to live out a life like this. To be normal for another thirty years. I'm not leaving. Tell her!"

The voices never answered. It wasn't a conversation. They simply said their piece, and Darcy said hers. Neither party listened to the other.

By her best measurement, which was a sort-of-sun passing overhead from time to time. Eight days had passed since the restaurant where she tasted divinity. In that time, she'd seen no other living person. She'd not eaten or slept. At first, she'd tried to find her way home, but soon realized this version of Small Creek wasn't playing by any rules. Streets dead ended that shouldn't. Houses moved from one side of the street to the other in the blink of an eye. Anything could change if Darcy looked away for half a second. Only two things stayed constant. The road out of town, which always seemed to be right behind her, and her restaurant.

On the third day of her imprisonment, she decided to search the kitchen for food. Not out of hunger, but out of boredom. It wasn't until she decided to go into the kitchen that she remembered the kitchen even existed. Looking at the door filled her with a sense of unease, as though someone was politely suggesting she look somewhere else. Beyond the door was her familiar kitchen, a disappointing result after such a peculiar feeling. But the kitchen had a back door, and it gave her the same funny feeling. When she tried it, she didn't find the alley which should have been behind her, but a corridor.

Filled with hope, she trekked through the hallway's twists and turns, finding and entering door after door, but always winding up back in the same stretch of hallway, her kitchen at one end and infinity at the other. But, trapped and with no other option, she set about finding some way through the labyrinth. In some places the voices grew louder, and in some places she heard other voices, not the ghostly things that followed her around town. The new voices didn't offer warnings. They said things like, "Harder" and "I'm going to shove this fat cock in your ass".

For days, Darcy wandered the halls, chasing whispers. She came up with systems to mark doors and succeeded in finding new rooms from time to time. Yet, she never made it more than a few hours without winding up back in the kitchen. When she did, she would sit and rest for a while, resisting the temptation to leave the restaurant for good. It was near the end of one of these rests on her eighth day when a knock came from inside the alley door. Free of any fatigue, Darcy rushed to it and yanked it open, "Lucy, please --"

It was not Lucy. A man stepped through the door, a man unlike anything Darcy had ever seen. He was tall, but not only in height in a stretched way which made him loom no matter where he went. He wore a pair of slacks, black shoes, and a crimson colored vest. He walked forward with his hands in his pocket and a smile spreading wide across his face. The purple bow tie beneath his chin pulsed with light as he took off his bowler hat and bowed down low. "Miss Darcy," he said. "A pleasure to meet you."

"Who are you?" she said, her voice croaking from lack of use.

"My pops calls me Shade. Other folk don't call me at all, but if they did, they'd call me Trouble."

"Did she send you?" Darcy asked.

Shade looked over his shoulder at the open door behind him. "In a way, she sure did. In another, it was my Pops. In another way, I came myself. And in one more, you asked for me."

"No, I didn't. I wouldn't even know how to --"

"Sure ya did. What did you think you were begging for wandering all those passageways? Not leaving is the same as demanding to stay. Cept you don't want to stay here exactly. You want to go where that goes." He rolled past her, pointing down the hallway behind him."

Darcy resisted an urge to run down the hallway. Perhaps it had changed since he came through, after all. She put the idea out of her mind and whirled around on the new arrival. "Fine. Whatever she wants, I agree."

"Come on, now. Don't play your hand before you know the game."

"What game? I'm trapped here. I can't leave, not without...not without what she took from me. I need it back. I won't be able to live without it."

"Folks can live without a lot of things," Shade said, his eyes flickering. "Don't worry, sugar. You'll get what you want. Because I come with felicitations and good tidings. Our respective elders have struck a deal. All you have to do is agree."

"Agree? To what?"

"Why, to be my bride, of course." He flicked his hand out, and a red rose bloomed from his palm. "Not a bad offer, if I say so."

Darcy took the flower cautiously. "You want me to marry you?"

"Course. You're a pretty little thing. And I've been a bachelor for far too long. What good is being Trouble if you ain't got no one to get into trouble with you?"

Her eyes narrowed. "What does it mean? This is some kind of bargain right? If I'm your bride, what happens to me?"

Shade folded his arms on his chest. "I got a peak at what happened to you with the last god's bargain. Turned into some kind of flesh beast, fucking yourself senseless. You can be that again, if'n you want. Or you can be something else. If I get a say, you'll be mostly what you are, but a little on the shadier side." He smirked, and then his face went slack. "This is the offer, sweetie. You either get me, and I get you. Or you stay in your box, and I stay in mine. She ain't coming through that door. You'll fade away like everything else if you stay much longer. Or you'll go mad. On the other hand, we get hitched, and you'll see worlds you never imagined." His hand flicked again, and a gold band appeared in his palm. "Well, what'dya say?"

Darcy considered her options for what she felt was an appropriate amount of time. She picked up the ring and slid it on her finger. The metal felt cold, even stinging. As she flexed her hand to admire the glimmering metal, the chill spread up her arm and jabbed through to her heart. She did not have time to panic as the feeling faded as quickly as it happened. Besides, a new warmth stepped close to her.

Shade's hands settled on her shoulders. She looked up at him, expecting to see the cruel or mischievous smile. Instead, his face was fixed and serious. He lowered his lips to hers, and they kissed. A thrill shot through her, nothing like the immediate ecstasy Lucy had given her, but still exciting. After many days alone, it felt good to be in the arms of someone else. Her hands came up to his chest, pressing gently on the muscled body. It shocked her to feel a heartbeat in his chest, a quick one at that. His hands warmed her shoulders, and his lips fumbled against hers as they parted. They both smiled.

Shade tapped his foot, and from that spot a flowing fabric emerged. It crawled into existence, spreading over everything in sight until it reached the walls and crawled upward. Darcy watched, confused, but not afraid. Within a few moments, the kitchen became a room of flowing velvet, spotted with cushions and low light lamps. The ceiling disappeared into a high, empty sky. Looking into it made Darcy press herself into Shade's embrace.

They did not speak as he scooped her up into his arms and walked over to a newly formed bed. He laid her down gently, pausing to leave lingering kisses along her cheek and neck. Darcy wondered what sort of marriage skipped ceremony entirely as he unbuttoned her shirt and pulled it open. Her bra disappeared into a purple smoke that lingered in the air for a second. Shade knelt beside her on the bed, looking down at her exposed breasts. His fingers moved over her stomach, tracing small circles as he admired her figure. Darcy smiled as she watched his eyes, fascinated by their genuine excitement. "Have you never..."