The Mage's Passion

by Reed James

  “Too much,” gasped Faoril, sliding off my face and shuddering beside us on the blankets.

  Serisia grinned as she leaned forward, draping her breasts on my chest. Her nipple piercings rubbed on my scarred skin as we kissed. She moaned, her pussy clenching on my dick as she savored Faoril's spicy juices.

  Her tongue thrust into my mouth as she came. Her pussy massaged my cock. The hot, spasming tunnel of flesh sent jolts of pleasure down my shaft to my balls. I groaned, my hands clenching on her ass, then erupted into her hot depths.

  I growled into the kiss as my hips thrust up. My cum boiled into the phantom's cunt. Serisia shuddered atop me. She fed off the cum. It was what let her stay corporeal and with me as long as possible.

  It was also what would eventually drive her mad if she stayed too long. She straddled a fine line between love and madness. I did not know how long she could keep it up, but I would treasure every moment we had until she had to pass on to the next life.

  Chapter Twenty-Five: Phantom's Mistake

  Knight-Errant Angela

  We split up to explore the ruins after breaking our fast the next morning. Our second full day of searching. I was still sore from yesterday. We left our horses to graze on our hilltop camp as we descended to the temple square.

  The temples of Murathi were mammoth and the square they surrounded could fit most towns in the world. The orcs that had constructed Murathi out of the huge stones they quarried had been ambitious. And the temples were works of art.

  They had stacked the stone high and formed large, vaulted rooms. After the first day we searched, only for a few hours since we arrived after midday, Faoril had gushed on the architecture and she, Thrak, and Serisia had spent the evening talking about the marvels of it.

  The orc was an enigma. He was better educated than Sophia, and she was raised with the finest tutors and then further instructed by the priestesses of Saphique.

  Of course, Sophia hated learning, so maybe that was why she didn't know as much.

  “Be safe,” Xera said as she headed off to the next temple she planned on searching.

  “You, too,” Sophia said. The acolyte and I would search another temple while Thrak and Faoril, assisted by Serisia, would take the third.

  The day already grew hot. The myth of the orc lands as being always locked in winter were preposterous. Summer had come, and it was just as warm as it was in Secare but with the bonus of having more flies.

  Big flies.

  I smacked one, a big, black thing larger than the tip of my thumb. How did they survive the frigid winters?

  The square before the massive temples was covered in grass peeking out between the smaller paving stones. There were parts of the square where dirt had washed down from surrounding hills, forming small rises of pure grass that spread like tentacles of a massive kraken towards the center of the square.

  It was impossible to say which temple was to Pater. None had any markings that indicated which god was worshiped where. We believed the piece of the High King's sword would be in the Temple to Pater.

  “You are descended from the god Pater,” Sophia blurted out suddenly as we passed into the entrance.

  “What?” I asked as I looked around. “Of course I am. All humans are descended from Pater and Slata when she birthed the duel-sexed races during creation.”

  I scanned the temple. It was dark, lit by shafts of brilliant sunlight streaming through small holes in the roof. Dust danced thick in the air, illuminated by those shafts. The ground was covered in dirt washed in through various gaps in the stone walls while the air smelled stale, musty.

  Dead.

  “No, I mean, you're a descendant of the High King, and he was Pater's bastard son.”

  “Pater had a lot of those,” I shrugged. “I'm sure you have some of Pater's blood in you. He is a randy deity.” I laughed. “The god of fatherhood has to produce many offspring. Most of the gods are his children, even his wife Slata and your goddess. And he fathered angels, demons, lightning born, the muses, and dozens of heroes.”

  “I know, but you have more of his blood than an average human is all,” Sophia countered. Then she sneezed. “Ooh, I hate being in here. So much dust.” She sneezed again.

  I laughed.

  “What?” she demanded.

  “You look so cute when you sneeze. Your nose twitches and your face scrunches up.”

  “Well, I'm glad my—” her words cut off as she sneezed again. Her eyes watered as she sneezed two more times. She straightened, wiping at her reddening eyes. “I'm glad you're enjoying this.”

  “Come on, I think that's the altar.”

  ~ * ~

  Fireeyes

  The army of undead orcs I had animated stumbled before me into the ruins. I stood on the hilltop where Angela and her band had made their camp. Their horses had bolted at the first scent of the undead. Their whinnies of terror almost sounded like children screaming.

  It reminded me of some of my experiments. Children had a great deal of vitality and were fascinating to vivisect.

  The simulacrum knelt nearby as I readied my spell. She watched as I drew a five-pointed magic circle in a flat spot, furrowing the hard ground. Then I scratched in the arcane markings, focusing on life, with air and earth for binding the spirit to my will.

  My circle ready, I stepped into it and drank a vial of pussy juices. Magical energy boiled inside of me and unleashed my magic. It flowed out of me into the circle. Black light glowed around me. The circle would project my spell farther and enhance it.

  The magic lashed out into the ruins to find the phantom, racing past the slow march of the undead orcs who only now had reached the large square before the ruined temples. My magic quested, searching for the ripple in reality the phantom left behind—a trail.

  My magic found it and veered to a temple on the east side of the square. It penetrated the stone. The phantom ghosted alongside her husband and Faoril. The mage would have to be the first target of the phantom's rampage. She was too dangerous.

  My spell slammed into the spirit. She could not resist. Necromancy was my specialty. Her pure screams of fear and pain echoing through my spell were so satisfying as I stripped away her humanity and let out the true nature of a phantom—anger at those who still lived.

  I smiled as I ended my spell. She would rampage now. The woman's soul was a fool for ever becoming a phantom.

  My cock was hard. I left the circle, eager to see the carnage I had unleashed.

  Chapter Twenty-Six: Necromantic Dangers

  Xerathalasia

  I studied the temple, my eyes looking for anything that might lead to a concealed passage. I had worked carefully through the temple for the last hour, ignoring the dust filling the air and coating my naked body.

  I bent down at the altar, a massive stone slab hewn from the same dark rock. My fingers caressed the tool marks hammered into the surface. The place was a mix of the crude and the remarkable. The stones were rough hewn and maneuvered in place by brute strength, but the construction was refined and advanced, forming a structure that seemed as well built as the cities I had witnessed in the Magery.

  My finger ran along the bottom of the stone where it met the floor. I felt no gap or movement of air.

  I sighed as I straightened up. My ears twitched. I froze. Had I heard a man speaking on the wind?

  I slowed my heart and focused on my ears. The sound was faint, a murmur making unintelligible noise. Magic was on the air. A mage worked spells. I didn't recognize the voice. It was not Faoril, and it didn't have the gravelly growl of an orc. The cadence of the speech reminded me of Fireeyes, but this voice was deeper than the dead warlock's.

  I glanced around. Light streamed through a hole in the wall over my head. I nimbly climbed up the stones, clutching my unstrung bow in one hand. My quiver of arrows clattered together as I worked my way up the wall, my fingers and toes digging into cracks and indentations in the stone.

  I reached the top. The sunlight was brig
ht to my eyes, and I winced as they adjusted. A foul scent of death washed over me. I grimaced and breathed through my mouth as I climbed higher up the temple's walls, my eyes scanning for the source of the reek and the magic.

  Halfway up, the shambling corpse of an orc stumbled beneath me, followed by another. My stomach wanted to revolt. Necromancy danced in the air. No wonder the voice reminded me of Fireeyes. This was sort of thing that foul man would have done.

  I was glad my arrow had killed him.

  I quickly strung my bow as the corpses stumbled beneath me. The wood creaked as I bent it to attached the string. Then I drew an arrow and fired it at the first zombified orc. The arrow embedded in his shoulder.

  The corpse didn't even feel it as it stumbled forward.

  My weapon would be useless against this. But I could raise an alarm and alert my companions. I drew in a breath and shouted.

  ~ * ~

  Acolyte Sophia

  “Did you hear that?” I asked Angela as she knelt before the altar.

  “Hear what?” she asked.

  “I don't know. I thought I heard a yell.” I frowned, glancing at the entrance to the temple. “Should we check it out?”

  “I think I found something,” Angela gasped. “There's a tunnel beneath the altar. I just need to pry up this stone.”

  I turned back from the entrance and peered at Angela as she grasped a large floor stone. It ground against its neighboring stones as she pried it up and heaved it to the side. A hole opened below. It was dark and an earthy musk rose from the depths.

  “There's a tunnel,” Angela grinned. “I think we've found it.”

  “What about light?” I asked as Angela dropped into the tunnel.

  “Can't you make a light with your magic?” Angela asked as she stood in the tunnel. It was narrow and the roots of plants poked through the side.

  “Umm...?” I frowned. Could I make a light? Was there a spell that did that? I think there was. I slipped my hand in my robe and rubbed at my nipple. I could control my breast and make my milk flow at will. I shuddered as my finger grew sticky with my breast milk. I held up my hand. “Saphique, let my blessed milk shine the way.”

  I gasped in delight as the beads of milk staining my fingers glowed with a soft, pink light. I dropped into the tunnel, the light spilling around us. I held my finger up high as we pressed through the tunnel.

  It was tight and narrow. Thrak would have had a hard time squeezing through here. Even Angela and I had to duck. I bet an orc would have to crawl to fit through here. The sides of the tunnel were earthen, with paving stones over our head.

  “There's something ahead,” Angela gasped in awe. “It's reflective.”

  I peered past her. There was a stone block at the end of the passage, an altar with something glinting atop it. I frowned, struggling to see. The piece wasn't that large, forming a T. It was made of a silvery metal and set with a large ruby.

  “Is that it?” I asked. “That doesn't look like a sword.”

  Angela picked it up and shuddered. It nestled in the palm of her hand. Awe filled her eyes and her red hair flashed with fire for a moment. The energy washed around me and mixed with my light. For a moment, the pink burned red before the energy passed us by.

  “It's a piece,” Angela whispered. “The handle and the hilt.” She touched the ruby then the branching arms of the crossguard. “The pommel is missing, and the blade, but we've found the first piece.”

  “Only four more to go.” Excitement beat in my heart. If this small fragment held such power, what would the entire sword contain? “You can kill Dominari with this. You're going to succeed, Angela.”

  Angela hugged me.

  ~ * ~

  Journeyman Mage Faoril

  A shiver ran across my skin. I lifted my head and swept my gaze around the temple. My hand shot for my robe pocket and seized a vial of cum. My senses came alive. I felt magic. Had an orc shaman found us? Was it a survivor of the Ghost Wolves seeking revenge?

  Serisia screamed, “No!”

  The phantom convulsed. Her flesh became translucent for a moment, then flicked back to solid as she screamed. She fell to her knees, her back arching. Thrak, on the other side of the ruined temple, whirled around, his hand going to his ax.

  “Mine!” Serisia snarled, her voice twisted and gravely. “My husband. He's mine.”

  I downed my cum as the phantom swelled. Her face grew ugly, twisted, with only vestiges of Serisia buried in there. Her hair turned black and brittle. Her breasts sagged and grew wrinkly as her long limbs became as twisted as a spider.

  “That is my husband you are stealing!” Serisia snarled as she swung a clawed hand at me.

  I sent out my magic, swirling air to grip her and lifting paving stones to shield me. The magic rushed out of my body, commanding the elements as the crazed phantom shrieked her rage. Her hand went translucent and phased through the wind and rocks.

  Then became solid and struck me.

  Pain exploded across my side. I tumbled through the air screaming. The rock wall of the temple rushed at me and—

  ~ * ~

  Thrak

  Faoril slammed into the wall with a loud, meaty thump then fell limp to the ground. Blood matted her head and hair, pouring out to pool on the half-exposed stone floor. The twisted phantom of my wife turned on me, her eyes blazing red.

  “Did you think I would let her usurp me?” she raged, her voice echoing through the temple as she stalked towards me. “You are my husband. She cannot have you. No one can.”

  “Serisia,” I shouted, my heart screaming in my chest. “Please, what are you doing?”

  Her hand swept out at me. I dived to the right, rolling across the paving stones and came up in a crouch. She swung again. I dashed to the right, ignoring the flare of pain as her sharp claws tore at my flesh.

  She swelled, growing to easily twice my height. “No woman can have you. You're mine! You belong with me! You do not deserve life without me.”

  My heart sunk. She had succumbed to her madness. I never knew it would happen so swiftly. I thought there would be warning signs. Time for Serisia to realize her danger and move on before she became a monster bent on killing those she loved.

  My heart broke as her swiping hands ripped at the ground behind me as I raced to Faoril. My wife was truly gone. She would never recover from this. All I could hope for was an exorcism, to drive her back to the Astral Plane where she might find peace. She stayed too long. I held on to her too tightly. I brought this upon her. I destroyed my wife with my selfish grief. I kept her tied to this world, anchored here. The dead didn't belong in the world of the living. I never should have let her become a phantom.

  “I'm sorry, Serisia,” I yelled as I bent down and scooped up Faoril's limp body. She still bled, so she was still alive.

  “You love her more than me!” Serisia bellowed.

  Her words hurt more than her claws.

  I burst out of the temple into daylight. A horde of shambling corpses of the Ghost Wolves I had butchered in my rage faced me. Terror seized at my heart. How could my victims be here? I recognized them all. I had killed them all. Their bodies bore the unmistakable wounds of the ax on my back.

  I hated the rage. I hated what it made me do. How it made me kill even those who had broke in fear and fled, no longer threats. Many of those corpses bore wounds in their backs, cut down while fleeing.

  “I will kill you both!” Serisia snarled. “I will drag you into death and punish you, Thrak! You are my husband! How dare you love that whore more than me! You will both suffer!”

  I dodged as one of the orc corpses swung at me with a rusty sword while Serisia barreled after. I held Faoril in my left arm, cradling her limp body to my chest as my right hand drew my ax. I swung it one-handed, cutting through my victims as I fled my wife.

  I would not let Faoril be further harmed.

  ~ * ~

  Knight-Errant Angela

  I boosted Sophia up and she scrambled out o
f the tunnel. My heart beat with excitement. I had found the first piece of my ancestor's sword. Hope lifted my spirits. I would conquer Dominari. Such power beat in the crosspiece. Even in my belt pouch, I could feel the crosspiece brimming with energy.

  “Angela!” Sophia screeched and suddenly dived. Something moved above her. A foul reek, like a corpse that had been left to lie in the sun for days, assaulted my nose.

  I jumped and snagged the top of the tunnel. My armor clanked as I hauled myself out of the hole and drew my sword. Sophia raced away from a shambling orc. She let out another scream as the orc swung a rusted ax at her.

  There was something off about the orc. It stepped into sunlight streaming through a gap in the temple's wall and I grimaced. Its swarthy skin was bloated with rot. Dried blood caked its body from deep wounds left by an ax. He looked like one of the orcs Thrak had killed when the Ghost Wolves attacked us.

  “It's a zombie,” Sophia shouted, racing back towards me.

  She dived past me as the corpse of the orc raised its ax and swung in a heavy, clumsy stroke that left it completely open to attack. I parried and swung my blade, biting into its bloated side. Foul air burst out, the belly deflating like a punctured waterskin.

  I fought the urge to vomit at the stench.

  “I need you to enchant my blade, Sophia,” I shouted as the corpse attacked soundlessly. Sparks lit up the dark ruins as I deflected its blade. “Zombies aren't affected by regular weapons.”

  “Right,” Sophia muttered as she cowered behind me. “I have to touch your blade to do that.”

  “The tunnel. Let's see how stupid it is.”

  Sophia ran away from me. I blocked another attack and kicked out, catching the zombie in the stomach. I pushed it back. The corpse stumbled, fighting to keep its balance, then I turned and rushed towards Sophia. I leaped over the tunnel's mouth and landed, whirling as the zombie charged after me.

  It didn't notice the hole.

  It crashed into it, half-plugging it with his mass, one leg down the hole, the other bent and twisted at an angle from its body above the hole. The zombie scrabbled, struggling to pull itself out of the hole.