Page 14 of The Night Belongs To Lovers

He needed to possess Coeus’ power to eradicate the Romans who had destroyed his world.

And so Olympius took that power with all the strength, will, and burning hatred for his Maker he possessed. He drank Coeus’ dark essence, that ancient, enchanted blood, and consumed his immortal body, the flesh the prostrated Titan could not remake invulnerable. As immense power flowed into him, Olympius felt the strength of thousands of years of life, experiences, knowledge, and abilities added to his own.

After the deed was done, like the afterbirth that washed over him as a mortal babe, Olympius swam in the carcass of Coeus, his Maker, his would-be-master. He relished the moisture of the remaining fluids as they coated his smooth skin. Olympius licked himself clean after cannibalizing the blood-soaked meat; his insides were glutted and could absorb no more. It was delicious sustenance beyond the blessings of Ambrosia; it was freedom!

As a final act of appreciation for his Maker’s hecatomb, Olympius crushed the Titan’s bones into powder and scattered the odorous dust to the winds. The cord of bondage between parent and child was irrevocably cut, liberating him!

Concerning his Maker’s final words as he succumbed to oblivion, Olympius ignored them, for they were nothing but the bitterrecriminations of a defeated monster. And words, no matter how vitriolic or damning, held no power over a god.

Now, two hundred years later, in a Roman atrium, before a shrine to him, while looking down at Veturia weeping at his feet, Olympius felt ebullient. He had a great warrior-god at his command and a power inside himself strong enough to conquer nations. The other gods would come to fear him. Those petty immortals would rue the day they instructed their virgin oracles to guide Roman soldiers to his mother’s ancestral lands, his kingdom, to slaughter and enslave his people.

Coeus’ secret influence was irrelevant; they were all accountable for the evil deed, and his Maker had paid for his crimes.

Coriolanus, his warrior-god, would forge an unstoppable army, and he would lead them to victory over their enemies.

Olympius turned once again to his Roman disciple.Roman!The reality of it heightened his ecstasy. “What do you have to say to me, mortal woman, for what I have given you?”

Taking a dagger from the altar of the shrine, Veturia bled herself, soon lifting her blood-soaked arms skyward to be tasted in tribute by her dark god. She allowed the emotions killing her from within to hypnotize and control her actions. “Praise great Olympius, god of rage and retribution,” she exclaimed. “Praise Olympius, god of vengeance and wrath!” She sang his praises in a rapturous, methodical melody, a thrall to the Lord of the Night.

In the distance, Olympius sensed the presence of his love, his Coriolanus; their connection was puissant and unbreakable.The warrior-god’s power emanated outward, floating on the air, invisible, like the threads of The Fates.

He heard the faint drum beat of the heart of Coriolanus’ final victim. It was a familiar sound, like one he had danced to in his youth over the hot sands of Alkebulan. In its rhythmic frenzy, it pounded out one sumptuous word. Olympius knew it intimately.

Revenge.

CORIOLANUS

The Present

As Corey turned toward the DJ booth, he noticed Big G shutting everything down. Corey gleaned from the man’s thoughts that the strip club’s management assumed he had left after his first performance, possibly because he was embarrassed or overwhelmed; no further speculation occurred.

The floor manager had collected the tip money thrown up on the stage for him after he walked off leaving everyone spellbound. Big G held onto the cash, intending to contact Corey about the money and a much-desired repeat performance.Corey was pleased that his mental invasion of Big G’s noggin revealed that the man was not just a harness-wearing dick pig who loved mid-90s dance music: he was a fair and honest businessman.

And though the god appreciated the mortal’s genuineness and business acumen, what use was money and the pursuit of it to The Eternal? Like the few gods he had encountered over two millennia always did, Corey took what he wanted, like Tony’s lip balm—or human life.

Corey discovered early on in his godhood that he was of the bloodline of the Titan Coeus, one of the first immortals. This was a being he had never met, and one Olympius seldom spoke of.

According to his Maker, being of Titan blood meant they were superior to any Olympian bloodline, more beautiful, and more powerful, especially as time passed. They could be exceedingly gracious or vengeful. But they were fewer in number than the Olympians.

Still, all the pleasures of Gaia’s body—of Earth—were theirs by right of what Olympius calledFirst Divinity. Their power over matter, elements, and energy, kinetic and psychic, made the toiling that mortals did to survive and thrive unnecessary.

As far as anyone attached to the club was concerned, Corey was an enigma, having intentionally left them with little to go on except a phone number and the name he gave: Corey Marcias, his public identity for the last two decades.

Now—Coriolanus? That name meant strength and authority, which he still carried with pride. He had earned that name, but itbecame an archaic appellation long ago. Corey had not used it in centuries, though intractable Olympius refused to call him anything else.

Growth and adaptation, moving successfully through the ages with grace and fluidity, was a talent Corey possessed in spades. It was a function of modern godhood he realized centuries ago his Maker struggled to comprehend and could never master. And though some time had passed since they last saw each other, the idea of Olympius evolving never crossed Corey’s mind.

Tonight, the god held no illusions that any mortal at the club genuinely wanted to know him as a fully-formed individual. Was he not just a flesh and blood sex toy to them, a fantasy for the men to jack off to later that night, wishing he was there with them? A gorgeous dark-haired stripper they imagined seductively tonguing their flesh like a delectable dessert and kissing their mouth with an insatiable hunger.

Or his favourite, performing fellatio with talent and skill that would make their eyes roll back into their heads. Way back! The giving of pleasure, be it to man or immortal, was something the god excelled at.

Corey could suck a mean cock!

Wasting no more time, the god moved closer to his prey, still seated at his table, though now entirely alone. He could hear the sound of the man’s beating heart, the level somewhat elevated by his desire to find and know the dancer who had bewitched him. The god did not have to read his thoughts to determine the mortalwanted to take him—or, perhaps, for him to be the aggressor, which was the more likely craving.

As the strip club was closing, Corey heard the bouncer tell his prey rather brusquely to leave but to come back another night, spend more money, and perhaps the guy he had been asking aboutall fucking nightmight be working.

Corey was the club’s most popular new performer in some time, and the demand for his return was exuberant. Though it made the god smile, it would all have to wait; one mortal had Corey’s exclusive attention, at least for the rest of the night.

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