Page 10 of The Night Belongs To Lovers

“You are free to do what you will. I shall, however, remain at your side and, for a time, be your grammarian, a guardian to teach and watch over you until you are fully aware of the power and privilege I have bestowed.

“Yes, look around. Corioli and the far-off Rome will both bow before you. If you desire, all the lands of the treacherous Volci shall burn.

“Fear not the wrath of other gods, for does great Ares—or Mars, to you, fear retribution for his wars? They will not cross us; our cause is just. Vengeance and justice are merely two sides of the same blade, neither more exalted than the other.

“You will soon discover that most gods are a decadent, slothful lot, satiated by their name renown, drunk on the essence of their sycophantic worshippers. You, my fierce one, shall build me an army of retribution great enough to frighten both mortal and god.

“For now, my sweet son, stay in this moment with me, at the start of your Becoming, your rebirth.” With a welcoming smile upon his beautiful face, Olympius softly glided over to the much larger Coriolanus and embraced him. His feet did not touch the ground; gravity held little sway over him.

At first, the newly immortal Coriolanus stiffened at the unanticipated and surprisingly strong embrace. Soon, though, he felt an energy wash over him, a sensation he had never felt before, at least not to this degree of intensity. It bore a similarity to his feelings for Aufidius but exponentially deeper. It was a connection on a spiritual level, a sense of belonging—a particular fit. Yes, that was what it felt like. The two godsfit.

Had they always meant to find one another, to be together, to be one? It made no sense to Coriolanus. They were veritable strangers, but he could not deny his feelings. It all rang true.

Basking in the warmth of this powerful emotion and this unexpected bond, Coriolanus reciprocated the hug, showing Olympius that he understood its nature and welcomed it. No lingering feelings of resentment, bitterness or hate, all misplaced and misdirected, remained. The negativity had washed away with the last vestiges of his mortality.

The embrace was more than a showing of camaraderie and respect for fellowship on Coriolanus’ part. What he felt for Olympius went fathoms beyond friendship. There were no pats on the back, no masculine uproarious behaviour. It was tenderness and undeniable affection.

And desire.

Coriolanus not only sensed the enchanted blood coursing through his body, he felt its physical presence heating him, tingling his new, godly flesh and hardening his cock.

Instinctively, he began nibbling on Olympius’ neck, lashing at the protruding veins with his tongue. He wanted more—more of that delicious, energizing blood. He wanted to feel even closer and be more intimate with his Maker, saviour, and—love. Love? Was this what he was feeling, wrapped up in emotions of contentment and lust? Or was it merely gratitude? He was so confused.

And so very hungry.

In response to the erotic, though near-tickling sensation upon his neck, Olympius pulled back, took a moment to stare into the handsome face of his beloved warrior-god, made even more stunning by his new immortal state, and then went in for a deep kiss. Two tongues moved furiously between two hungry mouths, their passion fueled by a want for added contact. And for Coriolanus—blood.

Soon, that craving quickly turned to discomfort.

Aware of the godling’s hunger, as he had once felt that same clawing need after his own Becoming, Olympius stepped back, breaking the intimacy. He motioned to something behind him, something in the darkness.

“Drink the essence of these vessels I have provided to replenish your strength and align your faculties.”

As if dragged by invisible ropes, thoseof the conspiracy, including the soldiers taken at the repugnant gravesite, all directly responsible for slaying Coriolanus’ mortal body, moved swiftly toward them. Unconscious, they were plucked from where Olympius had placed them earlier. It was their time; now was their purpose; they were ready to be consumed. Only Aufidius was absent from the lot of the condemned.

“Do they look familiar? Consider them another gift, beloved, deserved of this blessed occasion.”

Coriolanus’ eyes went wild with hatred and contempt as he looked upon the men, the soldiers, and all the betrayers. And as he stared, he felt utterly—ravenous. He raised his head and gazed into the face of the god before him, looking for answers as the insatiable hunger, this unknown pain grew within him.

“Yes, that unshakable ache,” Olympius noted, for he could see the distress within Coriolanus’ changed comportment. It pulled at his heart; he could not bear to cause further pain to the one he adored above all others.

“I see your craving, my warrior-god, your insatiable thirst. Quench it! Let newly realized instincts guide you. The blood! It calls to you! Mortal blood—that rich liquid which flows beneath their skin. Muscled or as thin as parchment, it is all fragile flesh that provides no impediment to our feasting. As the heart beats, the blood flows to sustain a mortal’s life and vitality. The scarlet fluid also carries their experiences,emotions, and strength.

“But not just theirs. Epochs of memory and vast wells of knowledge passed down through the blood from one generation to the next, all hidden within that sweet liquid, waiting to be tapped. Humanity can rarely access this deep ocean of complexity.But we can. Absorb their life essence, and let it nourish you.

“Blood is our sustenance—the food of the gods! Our sacred Ambrosia. Our holy Nectar.Nothing else is needed. Nothing else will satiate our unending hunger and remove the pain that is the price for immortality, for godhood.”

Tentatively, Coriolanus moved to pick up one of the soldiers. When he did, Olympius grinned, delighted by the godling’s shocked face at the ease with which he lifted the large and robust man off the ground.

Coriolanus immediately focused on the veins of the neck. He stared at those bluish strands, barely visible beneath the mortal’s tanned flesh, with an intense interest. However, even such a small effort as this caused his undeniable pang of hunger to throb.

And the warrior-god was exceedingly famished, for though he was mighty, Olympius had not given him as much enchanted blood as his Maker had upon his Becoming. He knew better. The more blood one provided during the ritual, the stronger the god emerged at completion. Olympius wanted his warrior-god to be powerful but not a threat to him.

Olympius did not provide Coriolanus with the power to one day do to him what he had done to the treacherous, possessive Coeus. He wished to believe his beautiful godling would never betray him,but dark history proved caution must prevail over affection and desire—even love.

“Rip into their flesh and bite down, my warrior-god! Teeth shall become deadly fangs that instinctively descend upon your urge to feed and retract when you feel satiated. Keep them forever on display as fearsome indicators of your immortality, as some, like Hades, known to you as Pluto, do. Or bring them forth only for feeding and battle, for they are weapons as much as harbingers of godhood. I care not either way, but should you choose to walk among mortals, they will expose your divinity.

“Now, the time for lessons is over. Begin! Drink deep this mortal blood and leave nothing but hollow corpses, drained of every last drop of vitality. It is no less than what they deserve.”

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