Sacrificial Lamb Pt. 04-05

He kept up the pace for an impressively long time, even for a god. After a little while, Hemma started to feel her own waves of pleasure and it didn't take long for her to work up to her own climax. She yelled out her release, feeling the fluids rush out of her and soaking the god on top of her. He laughed and rode her out.

"I knew you missed me, little fox. I don't want this to ever end but I've been so pent up, I need release." He pounded into her and she whimpered. Her own cum helped to lubricate his way, but after a while she felt like she was being rubbed raw.

With a growl of frustration he sat up and flipped her onto her stomach, entering her from behind. Long, deep thrusts turned into shorter, shallower thrusts and he was breathing hard. After an even longer amount of time he finally pulled out and flipped her back over. He leaned down into her face and made sure she was looking at him.

"What did you do to me?!"

Hemma's eyes widened slightly with realization.

Fosta saw this and Hemma felt his anger roll off of him in waves. He moved his hand from her jaw to her neck and started to squeeze. He released her arms to steady himself above her. She moved her free hand down to grip his wrist, trying to pull him off.

"Wait! Wait! It wasn't me! I swear it, Fosta-" He choked her, cutting her off. Hemma started seeing black spots as she fought against him.

When he loosened his hold on her neck she gasped for air, her narrowing vision clearing.

"Consider your next words carefully," Fosta said, dangerously quiet. "What did you do?"

"It wasn't me." Hemma said again, once she could speak. "It was Vidar. I told him what happened between us and he did it. I told him not to but he thought, he thought it was funny..."

"Did. What?"

"He... this..." Hemma looked down at his still hard cock.

Fosta moved his hand from her neck to trace down her side to the scar on her ribs.

"Was he jealous?"

"What? No! He was angry!"

"Angry that you are mine and not his?"

Hemma saw her opportunity. While he was distracted, tracing the scar and no longer holding her down, Hemma took his free hand in both of hers and slipped the chain around his wrist. Once in place, it tightened against his skin, and Fosta jerked his hands away from her and jumped to his feet. He staggered back, looking at the relic in confusion and his knees hit the ground, his shoulders slumped. Hemma felt his magic leave the room.

Fosta looked up, meeting Hemma's eyes with a mixture of confusion, anger, and betrayal.

"What have you done?"

Hemma's heart was racing, amazed that it had worked. She sat up, wincing at the pain between her legs. She felt high on the adrenaline, and couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face. "Thank you Vidar," She whispered, genuinely thankful.

"You won't be able to take it off," Hemma said, watching Fosta, who was trying to get a grip on the chain to yank it off. "Only I will be able to do that."

Fosta made a move to stand back up, but Hemma stopped him with her own magic, forcing him back on his knees without touching him.

"Hemma," Fosta warned, trying to sound authoritative and controlled, even though Hemma knew he must be worried. She had a feeling he wasn't enjoying the experience of being powerless.

...

Fosta couldn't remember a time he had not been filled with magic. He wasn't sure he had ever been without it. He felt Hemma's hands take his own as he traced Vidar's brand and thought she was making a move to placate him. He allowed it, liking the idea of her choosing to take his hand in her own. Then he felt the metal tighten uncomfortably around his wrist.

He jerked his hand away, looking down at the relic now tightly cinched around his wrist. It was still warm from being clutched in Hemma's own hand. Delicately carved runes were etched into each link of the chain. Fosta felt it then. What had started as a trickle became a rush as he felt magic being forced out of his body. It felt like part of his very being was abandoning him and he felt suddenly very empty and weak. He didn't realize he was on his knees until he looked up at Hemma, who was staring at him with wide eyes and a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She looked astonished and victorious.

...

"What's your plan now, little fox," Fosta asked, trying to sound confident, as he sat weak and powerless, an angry red cock bobbing unsatisfied between his legs.

Even now his tone was patronizing, and Hemma was annoyed. But she was determined not to let her emotions control her actions and make her do anything she would regret. She would be better than this monster in front of her who had let his own rage and frustration control him. She stood up and walked to stand over him. She reached out and flicked his cock, making it bob. He nearly collapsed in on himself and Hemma found immense satisfaction in the tortured moan that escaped his pursed lips.

Hemma reached out with her mind and felt for him. His magic was undetectable, but there was something similar to a human soul stirring inside the god, and it was not alone. Hemma gasped, coming to a realization and suddenly changing her plans.

Instead of dragging him into his dungeon and locking him in a cell, alone for the next few millennia, Hemma saw a better solution, if it worked...

...

For many generations, Fosta had made a pact with the humans. In exchange for good harvest, just rule, and continued fertility, Fosta took one corrupt human as sacrifice. It had begun with good intentions. The priests who built the temple in the newly founded town asked Fosta what he would require for his favor. Fosta, who, at the time, was frustrated with the human condition and the outside forces that corrupted them, decided he would take action to help the worst of them. Not all humans were affected by dark magic, and not all corruption was caused by dark magic, but a significant population of the humans had been affected by the sins of their ancestors and carried the consequences with them.

Fosta saw that he could make a difference, and so the pact with the temple in the Village of the Gods was made. Every year, Fosta chose a corrupt individual and drew the dark magic out of them. Most survived and thrived afterwards, but that darkness had to go somewhere. Most of the dark energy was destroyed when it no longer had a soul to feed on, some made its way into the surrounding trees, which Fosta cut down and burned, but each year, some of that dark energy attached itself to the god himself and embedded itself into the god's soul, hiding, surviving, growing.

He didn't notice it at first, but by the time he did, he didn't care enough to do anything about it. And so it festered, corrupting the very god who sought to eradicate it. The death of the human he loved only fueled the fire, burying the once good god under grief, rage, and loneliness.

...

Hemma saw the darkness then. It moved like tar, coating and suffocating the soul underneath. In that moment it was as if her instincts had taken over, and she knew what she needed to do. She moved to where Fosta knelt and placed one palm on Fosta's forehead, and one over his heart, like she had seen him do before.

She reinforced her hold on him, even though he wasn't struggling against her. He watched her warily, but didn't say anything more. Closing her eyes, Hemma focused on the swirling, living mass and pulled on it. Fosta clenched his teeth and closed his eyes, brows furrowing in discomfort.

Hemma tried again, pulling harder, as hard as she could. The mass tangled itself tighter around his soul, refusing to let go. Fosta let out a louder groan, collapsing into Hemma who pushed him onto his back on the floor. She climbed on top of him, straddling his stomach and putting her hands back in place.

This time she didn't pull, she pushed. She pushed her magic into Fosta, willing it to burn away the tar. She grew hot and Fosta felt the heat building inside him. It felt like he was burning from the inside out. He started to thrash but Hemma held him down, bringing tree roots through the cracks in the floor to bind his wrists and ankles to the ground.

She did it again, burning the corruption from Fosta's soul and the darkness acted as an accelerant, burning quickly through itself until it tried to push its way out of Fosta's body and move into Hemma's. Hemma saw the remaining black threads under his flesh move through her palms and up her arms. Blood started to leak out of his ears and nose. Two beads of dark red blood were pearled on the corners of his closed eyes. She remembered what she had seen Fosta do before and focused on stopping the spread. It stopped at her elbows when it had left Fosta's body entirely. Hemma removed her hands from Fosta and held them in front of herself, focusing on pushing the corruption out of herself and into her hands where it formed a hovering ball of black, wriggling tar. It tried to reach for her, for Fosta, for any host, but Hemma kept it contained, focusing. She pushed her magic into it then. Bright red fire burned the tar until there was nothing left except dust that was carried off in the breeze, over the cliff.

Hemma looked down at Fosta, who lay on the ground beneath her. He was unconscious.

Standing slowly and breathing hard, Hemma heard rustling behind her. She turned her head to see Ospree looking at her with big eyes. Hemma reached into the unconscious Fosta's pants pocket and found what she was looking for. Key in hand, she moved to Ospree and unlocked the shackles around her wrists.

"I've never seen anyone do that before, aside from Fosta. How did you do that?"

"I don't really know," Hemma said, leading Ospree toward the pools to wash. They approaded the wall and Hemma placed her hand on the correct rune, willing the door to appear. It glowed and the passageway to the pools revealed itself. "I just felt it, it felt right..."

...

Hemma and Ospree washed together in the pools, and Ospree showed Hemma where there were salves to treat their already healing injuries. By the time they made it out of the pools and into a side room full of the dresses that they had picked up from town that very first day, they were both feeling like themselves again.

Hemma gave Ospree a pointed look when she was shown to the dressing room, and Ospree avoided eye contact, picking a dress for each of them.

"You know I won't be able to forgive this, right? You kidnapped me Ospree, you essentially killed me."

"I know. I know it was wrong, but when I saw you that day in the woods outside your village, I made a rash decision. Fosta, he was getting so bad, I was desperate to remind him of who he used to be. I know it's not an excuse, but for what it's worth, I am sorry that he treated you the way he did."

"Not sorry that you stole me away, or put me in the position to be abused?"

"I'm not sorry about the way things have turned out. You are more than you ever would have been as a human, and he does need you Hemma. You can make him better." Ospree looked up at her with hope in her eyes and Hemma looked away.

"I can't be responsible for what he decides to do. I won't let him define who I choose to be."

Ospree just nodded, still hopeful that her uncle and this human-turned-goddess would make each other better, stronger, good.

...

On a hill at the edge of a wood and grassy valley, not far from the Temple of Vidar, stood a small, newly built temple. The priest, Halvor, stood at a distance, admiring his hard work. It had a long way to go to grow into the complex he had planned, but it was a good start.

Halvor placed his hand around the pendant on his chest, depicting a phoenix in flight. His small congregation had already grown threefold and they were receiving pilgrimages nearly every day. The world knew there was a new goddess among them, and they were excited to learn about her and worship her. Their goddess of fire, rebirth, and healing.