


Codes: ScFi nosex




********************************************************************************
*   WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING  *
*        WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING        *
*                                                                              *
*                                                                              *
* For the love of SPOONS no one under the age of twenty-one (21) or the age of *
* consent for their geographical location (whichever is HIGHER) needs to be    *
* anywhere near this.  This is a story meant for legally-adult readers.  Don't *
* let your kids read this.  Don't let your dog read this.  Don't let your      *
* religious leader within the same postal code as this.  You know, really, YOU *
* probably shouldn't even read this horrible, nasty, terrible story.           *
*                                                                              *
* Hopefully it goes without saying, but if you ever even vaguely ponder the    *
* SLIGHT idea that MAYBE you would CONSIDER doing anything even REMOTELY like  *
* anything depicted herein--GET HELP.  NOW.  Therapy is a wonderful thing.     *
*                                                                              *
* This story can (and probably does) contain one or more of the following (bet *
* your last nickel on "more"): Incest, pedophilia, watersports, extreme female *
* domination, bestiality, psychological torture, and who knows WHAT other      *
* sick, perverted, dirty, terrible, and disgusting things I can come up with.  *
* Really, you ought to stop reading.  Right now.  I'm serious.                 *
*                                                                              *
* ...still here?  You sure?  This is bad-bad mojo.  Last chance...             *
*                                                                              *
*                                                                              *
*        WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING        *
*   WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING  *
********************************************************************************



                       Formatted to be eighty characters wide

        10        20        30        40        50        60        70        80
         |         |         |         |         |         |         |         |
         v         v         v         v         v         v         v         v
12345678901234567890123456789012345678901234567890123456789012345678901234567890
================================================================================


                              THE POISON CHRONICLES
                        Chapter Seven: Inceptive Destiny
                                       by
                          Forbidden Fantasy Storyteller



        Just after dawn, in the conifer forests of the Khangai Mountains.  An
old elk stag calmly trudged along, head down, munching on grasses as it went.
Occasionally it would stop, lift its large head, and look around.  An ear would
flick, eyes darting around, then it would lower its head again and resume
grazing.

        The stag's herd was a few dozen yards away, grazing as well.  All were
unconcerned with the hind, or females, as far from rutting season as it was.
None of them were aware of the predators watching, waiting.

        The Spring air was crisp, carrying a faint but persistent chill, and
there was the slightest breeze.  Months earlier, cameras had been set up around
the area, as this wasn't too far from a watering hole used by the elk herds for
years.  They captured and wirelessly transmitted the entire scene a few miles,
bouncing through signal-enhancers, to my empire, where most of the eight hundred
citizens would be watching.

        I exploded from my cover, running across the field and aiming straight
for the buck.  I was naked, save for a small knife strapped to my arm.  The herd
bellowed and bolted, bleating their alarm and causing birds to scatter.  I drove
the stag away from the rest of the herd, toward a grassy hill.  The stag bucked
and kicked, and unfortunately I got too close.

        One kick caught me in the shoulder, the two hooves shattering my joint
with a crack as loud as a gunshot.  I cried aloud from the pain but ignored it
as my symbiote kicked an endorphin rush in to let the wound be dealt with later.

        I continued to harry it, though I had to lope along and favor my
torn and bleeding shoulder, right onto that hill--and Agrippa leapt from it,
latching onto the stag, teeth digging into its throat, immense paws wrapping
around it at the shoulders.  They went down in a THWUMP, and the tiger held on
tightly as the bleating slowly ebbed, the kicking decreased.

        I stood nearby, holding my shoulder and grimacing, though keeping my
eyes on Agrippa and the elk.  My shoulder was shattered, and even through the
endorphin surge it hurt like hell.  I did not, however, ask my symbiote to heal
it.  It would wait a while, to be turned from a hindrance into a boon.

        Finally, Agrippa released the elk and got to his feet, and I reached
over to scritch his blood-stained muzzle affectionately.  Crouching next to the
elk, I unsheathed the knife and carefully cut through the stag's abdomen.  Bones
were pulled apart, letting me reach in and cut out the heart.

        Getting to my feet, I held it up for the cameras, adopting a dramatic
pose.  It would look good for the viewers.  After a moment I cut the organ in
half, then crouched once more.  One half was given to Agrippa, who gobbled it up
in one gulp, and I did the same with my half.  It was an old, old ritual the two
of us partook of, ever since I taught him how to hunt as a cub.  It was also a
way to bond; as we ate the heart, we shared the beast's power and fortitude.

        He started to feed from the carcass as I wiped the blade on the grass at
my feet and returned it to its sheathe.  While he fed, I sat nearby, trying to
ignore my throbbing shoulder.  I had always waited for him, and now was not
going to be any different.  He was my friend, my comrade.  He had never
abandoned me, no matter the cost to himself, so I wouldn't abandon him, now,
just for something as trifling as an injured shoulder.

        I had time to reflect, and I thought about my life, idly stroking my
braided beard as I looked up into the sky.  I was born no one special, my
ultimate destiny unseen until much later.  I marveled at the twists and turns
life can take; I was imprisoned for pedophilia and rape when I was given a
choice--become a test subject or spend the rest of my life waiting for a few
dozen shivs.

        That is how I met my symbiote.  An alien creature whose species lives
inside hosts, augmenting them in almost every way conceivable in return for
shelter and certain chemicals they need to live.  I'd found that my symbiote was
no more enamored of humanity than I; where I was disgusted with the supercilious
way they treated the planet that birthed them, it was enraged at being treated
like a lab rat and dissected, studied, analyzed.  A match made by Coelus
himself.

        We started gathering our "family", and when my symbiote was ready to
spawn, we chose our Queen--one who, through the ineffectual actions of her
sister, had almost become our enemy.  Where the sister was ruthless but stupid,
Marie was ruthless and of a delightfully Machiavellian bent, and we forged a
relationship that let her take her place at my side as my Queen.

        A while after, the very government who brought I and my symbiote
together attempted to press us into service as their "agent", though through
friends in the Delphi Project and my own contacts, I'd barely managed to turn
their attention to more--pressing--matters.

        Then there was that winged fellow.  Amun-her-Shepshef, one of a race of
ancient beings born in, of all things, a star.  In my symbiote's experience,
they take the form of a creature native to their system, though why this one had
proclaimed to be an Egyptian, the son of Ramses the Second no less, we didn't
know.  We didn't particularly care, either.

        He was--obnoxious.  Claiming Earth as his "protectorate", determined to
rid "his" world of symbiotes--and, if needs be, their hosts.  Obviously, we
couldn't allow THAT.  It was a hectic race to keep him busy while we sent drones
out into the world, and we gave him a simple choice--attempt further action
against us at the price of millions of human lives, or stand aside and let "his"
people know a joy thought impossible.  He bought our bluff and left us mostly
alone.

        I say "mostly" because there were further skirmishes over the years
since then, as drones I attempted to put into positions of power over various
countries--well, they all had inexplicable fire-related "accidents".  I don't
really know if Amun realized they were simply attempts to keep him occupied
while I focused on my real plans--but even if he did, he obviously couldn't
ignore my drones.  What if I WERE able to, say, get the presidents and kings and
such of countries around the world under my control?  I had banked on him not
wanting to find out.

        There would come a time--so very soon--when the world would burn.  The
plague that is humanity would be nearly wiped from the planet's surface,
allowing me and my family to assume our rightful place as the gods and goddesses
guiding the world into a new era.  It would be an era of enlightenment, of the
Roman gods returning in our forms, keeping the hairless monkeys from once more
removing themselves from the natural order--OUR natural order.

        That made me smile.  What a world it will be.

        Agrippa apparently had his fill, and was sitting off to the side,
cleaning himself with painstaking care.

        I got to my feet and scruffed his head cheerfully.  "Ready to go, then,
you big oaf?" I asked him, and he rumbled a purr in response.  Even though my
shoulder ached, it was hard to not smile around Agrippa.  He was such a good
sort.

        We jogged back to the compound, where most of the citizens had gathered
in its center.

        One of the largest buildings in the compound was my palace, a stone
structure inspired by ancient Roman architecture, complete with a large balcony
from with I could address my subjects.  The largest structure, however, were the
baths.  Inspired by the large "thermae" of Ancient Rome, my thermae was enormous
and was the pride of my burgeoning empire.  That is where Agrippa and I headed.

        Dubbed Thermopolis by my subjects, it spanned nearly twenty acres and
was able to accommodate almost twelve hundred people, it certainly lived up to
the loose translation of "bath city".  It took four years of crews working
around the clock, burning through every favor I was owed, owing quite a few
more, spending an incredible amount of money--but it was worth it.

        It was patterned after the ancient architecture down to the pipes buried
into the ground that fed water to it, heated by fire pits tended to constantly.
The only modern-ish plumbing was for the toilets, however; everything else was
similar to what you'd have found if you wandered through any of the Caesars'
bath houses in Rome.

        The main reason for that was not aesthetics; my empire was in the middle
of the Khangai Mountains, in Mongolia.  That made it difficult to near-
impossibility to have much in the way of modern methods of construction.  The
ancient forms of architecture, however, were much better-suited.  They were also
much more difficult to implement, especially since so much work had to be done
by hand, but--looking at Thermopolis, you would know it was worth every bit of
blood, sweat, and tears.

        As our daily life was even loosely patterned after Rome, Thermopolis
became our place of meeting, both formal and friendly.  We all rose before dawn,
and since work usually ended mid-day, there was plenty of time in the afternoon
to visit the baths.  Some jobs of the empire had to continue, so the baths were
visited at all hour of day and night.

        If you were so fortunate as to visit Thermopolis, at your service would
be masseurs and food vendors, bartenders and slaves, poets and musicians.
Thermopolis was a bustling place, and almost no matter where you were, you could
hear the grunt of a weightlifter, a masseur's occasionally fierce tending to
sore joints, and the ebb and flow of conversation.  My subjects were devotees of
Thermopolis, which made the work around the empire flow quite nicely.  None
shirked a single duty, but all wanted to hurry to the baths.

        How do I know no duty was shirked?  I had friends and pets amongst them,
but the real proof was the work itself.  My empire was functioning with nearly
Swiss precision, which could only have come about from dedication TO the empire.
I, myself, took part in the work--though I was the Emperor, I did not shy away.
I was there when Thermopolis was built, helping to dig the channels for the
pipes, helping to push the walls into place.  I had personally had a hand in
nearly every building built.  That was, of course, as much to inspire my
subjects, since they saw that I did not ask them to do anything I was not,
myself, willing to do.

        Food and drink--including light wines--were readily available to patrons
of Thermopolis.  Men and their pets called out their offerings at the entrance
and in the shops around the interior perimeter.  The fare was usually light, as
the prime time for bathing was in the afternoon, well before dinner, our main
meal of the day. 

        Thirsty bathers also drank to replenish the bodily fluids lost by
continually sweating and over-heating.  Alcohol, including wine, also was
available, though sparingly.  I preferred juices and teas and such to be
consumed, though my subjects policed themselves and never let those who chose to
consume alcohol get out of hand. There was some opposition to drinking alcohol
at the baths, but the matter was always pretty evenly divided.  My ruling was
simple--I would allow it to continue only as long as no adversity was brought
about as a result.  The moment there was even ONE alcohol-fused fight, or even
"just" an argument, anything--that would be the same moment alcohol would be
banned.  I think it was a fair ruling, and apparently my subjects did, too.
They were given the power to police themselves, and they did so admirably.  I
admit to turning a blind eye occasionally as a drunken man was ushered out quite
quickly by his companions.

        Before entry into one of the baths, the changing room--the apodyterium--
was the first stop.  The apodyterium had cubicles and shelves where one could
tuck away clothing and other belongings while one bathed.  Leaving belongings
behind unprotected was without risk, of course, for thievery was unknown in my
blossoming empire.  When crimes came to my personal attention, they were
punished severely.  In the entire time I held the Khangai Mountains as the base
of my empire, there were only two serious crimes.  One was thievery, and one was
unauthorized use of another man's slave.  Both were punished by banishment--and
in the harsh mountains, that was a death sentence.  Harsh, perhaps, but the "bad
seeds" needed to be excised, lest they infect the rest of the subjects.

        Privately owned girls, or one obtained at the baths called a capsarius,
would attend visitors while they enjoyed the pleasures of the baths.  Some even
brought numerous pets along, to not only bathe them and tend to their physical
needs of pleasure, but to be paraded about.  Extemporaneous shows of girls were
often seen in the baths.

        Of course, the slave girls carried one's bathing paraphernalia--exercise
and bathing garments, sandals, linen towels, and a toilet kit that consisted of
anointing oils, perfume, a sponge, and strigils (curved metal instruments used
to scrape oil, sweat, and dirt from the body). 

        Before stepping into a series of baths, visitors--young and old alike--
exercised in an open courtyard called the palaestra.  The exercise was usually
neither extremely vigorous nor competitive.  It was done, instead, to maintain
health.  Even modern doctors would have agreed with their ancient counterparts,
the latter knowing that bathing, exercise, massage, and a good diet--all things
that a bath house provided--were the basic ingredients of good health.

        Exercise also worked up a light sweat recommended before a bath.  Most
men's work-outs consisted of running, wrestling, or boxing, though ball games
(both modern and ancient ones) were also played.  Girls who had the permission
and instruction of their Masters also partook in this prelude to bathing.
Trochus, a game that consisted of rolling a metal hoop with a hooked stick, was
considered a more appropriate woman's exercise, as was swimming, though more
than a few Masters had their girls exercising with weights or combat.

        After changing in the apodyterium and working up a sweat in the
palaestra, a bather would step into the tepidarium.  This was the first stop on
the way to the hot caldarium and then the cool-watered frigidarium.  The
tepidarium was the place where "strigiling" often took place, the habit of using
the tools to wipe oil, and with it sweat and dirt.  Instead of using modern soap
with its fake chemicals and the like, bathers would cover their bodies with oil
to loosen dirt and then wipe off the mixture with various strigil devices.  This
was done by a slave girl, whether the bather's own or one of the workers of the
bath house.

        One could also a massage there.  That was definitely less painful than a
depilation, which consisted of having one's body hairs plucked out, as hairless
bodies were found fashionable by some men.

        The hottest room in Thermopolis was the caldarium, and was over a
hundred feet wide and crowned with a concrete dome.  The hot water and steamy
air were designed to open the pores, and water and air temperatures were known
to rise well above a hundred degrees Fahrenheit, with a sticky one hundred
percent humidity to exaggerate the effect.  The caldarium consisted of a large
hall that contained a large pool a little over three feet deep.  Slave girls
would use a pouring dish called a patara to refresh the bather with cool water.

        This room and its waters, like the tepidarium, were heated by the
hypocaust, the system's furnace.  The hypocaust, below ground and stoked by men
in shifts, heated a tank of water transported by pipe to the appropriate pool.
The furnace heated the air drawn underneath the floor of the caldarium to heat
its tiles.  Sandals or wooden clogs were provided so a bather's feet weren't
scorched.  Hot air then rose up through hollowed-out bricks that lined the walls
before exiting through chimneys.

        After having taken a warm bath in the tepidarium and a hot one in the
caldarium, perhaps even stopping into one of the numerous sauna-like rooms, it
was time to close all the skin pores that had been opened.  A bather did this by
plunging into the frigidarium's cold waters.  The dip is meant to refresh and
was often the final bath of a visitor.

        Those waters were fed from the man-made rivers running along one edge of
my blossoming empire, naturally quite frigid by the location.  The Khangai
Mountains didn't often get too cold, but it was rare to see much exposed flesh
outside of Thermopolis.

        While the baths stimulated the body, they also could stimulate the mind.
A half-stadium off-center of the complex served as a place we could sit and
watch our favorite entertainment.  Some chose to watch a display of juggling or
gymnastics, or to listen to the sounds of jesters or musicians.  Others attended
a discourse by a philosopher or a poetry reading, or perhaps an erotic display
from pets.

        The midday sun was usually all that was needed.  Some rooms had unglazed
windows--the place to go if one wanted nothing more than to sunbathe and relax.
When the sun wasn't enough, such as at night or the shorter days of Winter,
torches were lit, lining the walls and carried by girls, providing more than
enough illumination.

        Lastly, there was the artwork.  Those who decided to simply take a walk
through Thermopolis came across dozens of statues, many of them perched proudly
in wall niches.  These statues were not the cold stone of antiquity we see in
museums, but brightly painted statues that were sometimes gilded.  Statues
weren't the only forms of art that adorned Thermopolis, of course.

        Floors, wall panelings, and columns were carved from a rainbow
assortment of colored marble imported from the far corners of the planet (and
costing a VERY pretty penny, to boot).  Paint and brightly colored stucco
adorned bare stone and walls.  Roofs and floors covered with glass mosaics
glittered in the sunlight that passed through holes in domed chambers.

        My Thermopolis was, like its ancient predecessors, designed to please
the body, spirit, heart, and mind simultaneously.  Considering how well my
subjects took to it, I'd say it was a success.

        It truly was the heart of my empire--auctions of girls were held there,
for the only currency my empire had--hard work.  Meetings were also held at its
front, celebrations--everything imaginable revolved around it.

        I smiled warmly, gazing at the immense structure, as I strode toward it,
my symbiote seeping through my pores.  In moments I was wearing the outfit that
had become my new standard.  A royal-red toga over a white sleeveless tunic,
leather gloves and boots gilded with raised vine decoration.  A few feet from
the entrance a platform had been erected, and I climbed it to stand at the
podium.  My Queen was already standing nearby.

        "My people!" I shouted, grinning warmly and raising my hands in warm
welcome.  There were cheers and applause, and I motioned for quiet--after
basking in the attention, of course--before I continued.

        "It is I, your Emperor, Marius Faunorius.  I and your Queen Vidisia
Orculia welcome you as we begin Ludi Floriales!"  Another round of applause,
more cheers.  Ludi Floriales was the celebration in honor of Flora, goddess of
Spring, of flowers, of fertility.  There was always grand feasts, wonderfully
lascivious displays, and most wore brightly colored outfits with garlands about
their heads.  Crops were sown shortly before, making it an idea time for such a
lengthy celebration, and the last day usually involved horse races.

        "This, my people, is a special festival.  Today marks the beginning of
our empire's march across the globe!"  I shouted the last words at the top of my
lungs as I thrust my fist into the air.  This was also met with applause and
shouts.

        It had been in the planning stages for YEARS.  EVERY little detail was
meticulously pored over, my Queen and I plotting and counter-plotting, to get
everything perfect.  Years of sleepless nights, prayers to the gods, and it was
finally all coming to fruition.

        "Your god and goddess have, as we promised, given you safety, comfort,
love--and now it is time to take these gifts and give them to the world.  Soon,
the world shall know the same love your god and goddess have shown you."

        I paused again, and when it was quiet enough, I continued with, "Yet--
if we are to show the world we are the path, we must be unified.  We must all
work together, and to do that there must be no dissent amongst you."

        The crowd started to murmur.  This was an issue I'd heard about only a
few days previous, and here was the perfect time to address it.  "Who questions
my divinity?" I called out into the crowd.  "Who has doubts?  Come, let me quell
them, and reaffirm my love for each and every one of you."

        No one moved at first, but finally a young man of thirteen or fourteen
cleared his throat and slowly raised his hand.  I recognized him, as I knew the
faces and names of every single person.  Having a symbiote grant you an eidetic
memory was good for many things.

        "Come, son," I called, beckoning him up.  He wore a tunic-and-toga
ensemble many of my men had adopted.  I knew him to be the son of my compound's
chief blacksmith, which was another point in my favor.

        When he stood next to me on the platform, I glanced to his neck.  There
was a bad scar on it from an accident in his father's shop.  The smile that
threatened to form was barely kept in check.  There would be time for self-
congratulation later.

        "My son, you question my rule?" I asked, loudly for all to hear.  My
tone as gentle, in a paternal way, and the smile I gave him was warm.

        The young man cleared his throat and nodded, saying, "Uh--yes--yes,
sir."

        "A questioning mind is a keen mind!" I called out, clapping the young
man on the shoulder.  "Never stop questioning, but always ponder--truly ponder--
the answers you are given."

        He nodded at that, meeting my gaze with his own.  He would be a fine man
when he grew a bit older, strong of character.

        "As you all had witnessed, this mortal shell was injured in the hunt
that opened the festivities."  I lightly touched my right shoulder; it was still
seeping blood, and by poking and prodding the skin around it just so, I could
see the ligaments and cartilage.  It still hurt like hell, but the key was to
not SHOW it.

        "You have experience with wounds, lad?" I asked, knowing damned well he
did.  The physicians of the compound were kept quite busy keeping up with my
subjects.

        He nodded again, and I lightly tapped my shoulder, near the wound.
"This would be something serious, yes?"

        He peered closer and raised his hand a few inches.  I gave his
questioning glance a nod, and he lightly poked the wound.  Tears welled up in my
eyes, and I had to squeeze them shut for a beat. At least I kept the smile on my
face, though it wasn't easy.

        Blinking the tears away, I said, "A major wound, perhaps even dire."
And before his eyes--and the eyes of everyone close enough to see--the wound
was pulled closed by so-tiny black tendrils.  The lad gasped softly as the wound
sealed and scarred over right before his eyes.  It started to fade, though I
knew it wouldn't be gone completely for a few hours yet.

        "That is not enough for the questioning mind!" I called out, drawing the
lad's attention up to my eyes once more as I looked from him to the crowd.
"'Surely', says the questioning mind, 'surely a trickster can forge such a
miracle on himself.  But no trickery can do such to another, one who is not an
accomplice.'"  I looked back to the lad, saying, "Does your own mind raise such
a response?"

        He gulped but managed a nod, and I laughed, clapping his back again in a
friendly manner.  "Good.  Once more, never let go of that skepticism.  It will
serve you well in life--again, as long as you ponder the answers you get.  The
answer I give to that question?"

        I paused, just a beat, then placed my hand on the young man's neck,
right over that bad scar.  I'm sure it brought about quiet derision from others
his age; even amongst my growing empire, where honesty, truth, kindness,
compassion and--most of all--true love for all were paramount, young boys could
still be cruel.  They were just more surreptitious about it, and grew out of it
quickly.

        The young man gasped again, louder this time, placing his hand over my
own.  My symbiote had extended itself through my palm, diving into the lad's
flesh and re-knitting it.  It couldn't have been anything approaching
comfortable, but I believe he was too shocked.  This wasn't something I did
often, so as to keep its impact powerful.

        After three or four minutes, I finally pulled my hand away, and he felt
the skin with his hand.  Tears came to the corners of his eyes as he felt only
whole, unmarred flesh.

        "Has your faith been restored?" I asked him, cupping his cheek tenderly.

        "Yes, sir!  Uh, lord!  Umm..."

        I chuckled and patted his cheek.  "Good lad.  Go rejoin your father,
hmm?"  He hurried off, and I watched as his father grasped him tightly by his
shoulders, the pair exchanging grins.

        A few minutes of the crowd murmuring appreciatively, then I lifted a
hand to quiet them.  "There are more announcements.  First, our allies from
the Delphi Project shall be here on the morrow.  Those of you asked to greet
them should already have your duties written down for you.  Whether you have any
official duties or not, I trust you all to welcome them warmly."

        There was general agreement in the crowd; we kept our ties to Delphi
quite strong.  In a way, we were still a "sister Project" of theirs, though few
here really saw it that way.  Still, they HAD helped us so very, very much, and
at the end of the day they were our allies through thick and thin.

        "The next announcement is a most joyous one."  My Queen Vidisia Orculia
stepped up beside me, beaming a grin at the crowd.  "Your goddess--is about to
gift us with another god."

        It took a moment for that to sink in, to be understood.  A few murmurs
rose--then the crowd burst out in ear-shattering applause.  My Queen's symbiote
was ready to spawn.

        Spawning is an interesting event in the symbiote species.  Biologically,
they don't REQUIRE genes from other individuals to reproduce, though it's
socially accepted that, when possible, multiple symbiotes will "pool" their
genetic structure and form a spawn.  However, this isn't that easy.  Their--for
lack of a better term--"spawning season" only occurs around the equivalent of
once every eighty to a hundred Earth years.  The part of their genetic code
doesn't "kick in" outside of that period; effectively, they're sterile.

        So, a symbiote would need one or more other partners who were also in
"spawning season", to pool the genetic code.  On their home-world, this is quite
possible.  Nearly anywhere else, however, and it's unlikely.  Thankfully, again,
they're capable of reproducing asexually.  The genetic "drift" isn't as much
between spawn and parent than would be if more than one parent were involved,
but it IS there.  Inherent in the process, there's a natural "chaos", genes
shifting around just a little.  As such, the process isn't truly cloning, like
with asexually-reproducing Earth species.

        Which brings us to my wonderfully vile Vidisia Orculia.  While symbiotes
reproduce about once a human century, they sexually mature quite quickly; her
symbiote was about to spawn.  Of course, we used this to bring the glory of the
Roman gods to the people.  The people were taught that the symbiotes were the
essences of Roman gods, entering and bonding--"blessing"--a human with its
presence, ascending them to godhood.

        I waited for the applause to die down, and when it did, I said, "Now,
we would like to bring Lucian up to stand with us."  I held out my hand, bidding
the man who come.  Lucian was one of my most favored subjects.  He was a
historian, poet, and quite a skilled player of the kithara, which was a member
of the lyre family of instruments.  For the last few months, we'd urged him to
perform more, lessening his duties--and his talks!  Oh, he could make you
believe the sky was paisley and fish spit marshmallow seeds.  He was a deep
thinker and, more importantly, a wonderful listener.  Debating, with him, never,
ever devolved into arguments.

        Of course, many men deserved recognition, and a handful certainly
deserved high honor, but we could only pick one, so we picked the one man who
was, genuinely, everyone's friend.

        Lucian stepped up next to me and self-consciously smoothed out his toga
(he was one of the majority who had taken to clothing inspired by Rome), his
dark complexion contrasting favorably with the bright colors.  I wrapped an arm
around his shoulders and kissed his cheek in welcome and honor.

        "Lucian--you are a gift to the empire.  Your skill with words and song
alike are immeasurable, and invaluable.  Your girls are paragons that every
collared girl should aspire to."  The compliments, sincere and truthful as they
were, made him rather uncomfortable, though that smile, I was sure, couldn't
have been wiped off for anything.

        "If you will give your empire one of your precious girls, you will be
responsible for clothing a new god in a mortal host."  He knew that for the
immense honor it was, and met my eyes, still smiling.  As he looked back out to
the crowd, he let out a breath, then motioned to one of his girls.  She beamed a
grin and nearly flew to the platform.

        The girl, a young teen, had the well-toned body of nearly every girl in
my growing empire.  Being kept nearly perpetually nude and not kept from the
exercise of work as well as whatever their Master saw fit, on top of healthy
diets meant that few women (or men, for that matter) were anything but in good
physical condition.

        She stood next to Lucian, smiling brightly, eyes sparkling.  I gently
drew him with me a few steps back, so Vidisia Orculia could step forward and
lightly cup the girl's face in both hands.

        She glanced to Lucian.  "By your leave," she said quietly, and Lucian
nodded without hesitation.  He knew, of course, it would be the last order he
gave this young woman.

        Vidisia Orculia kissed the girl, who returned it with no more hesitation
than her soon-to-be former Master gave just a moment before.  My Queen's toga
surged upward, crimson tendrils wrapping around her thighs, waist, and arms.
Her thighs were spread, enough to let another tendril slip between them and into
the glistening pussy.  I imagined that I could almost see it as it slipped up,
deeper into the girl, to deposit the spawn.  Once released from its parent, it
would "sink" into her, eventually finding her mind, where the bonding would
start.

        The girl stiffened, and my Queen leaned back, licking her lips with the
tip of her tongue.  Suddenly the girl went slack, falling into my Queen's arms.
she picked the girl up, cradling her and leaving the platform to take her to my
palace.

        Keeping Lucian at my side, I stepped up once more, saying, "Your gift
is pleasing to your gods, Lucian.  Know that you have earned a higher place with
Coelus this day."  The god who WAS heaven.  Unlike so many modern, insipidly
foolish "religions", our Coelus was not separate from the afterlife of eternal
glory.  What could be better than to have your soul actually dwell WITHIN a god?

        "Tonight, my dear Lucian, there will be dancers FOR you, instead of
being led BY you.  Tonight, you will have your every whim met."  It was shaping
up to be a wonderful Ludi Floriales.

        My announcements at their end, I departed the platform, happily
succumbing to the embraces and kisses given to my cheeks.  We watched
performances as girls started setting up for the evening feast.  Though still
most of the day away, it would take that time to prepare adequately.

        I was pulled away from the festivities by Vidisia Orculia, quietly but
insistently telling me I was needed at my palace.  Naturally, my curiosity was
quite piqued.

        We hastened to the palace, making our way through to the room built
just so symbiote spawn could bond with its new host in peace.  It was a large,
oblong room, a nest of sorts in the center.  Normally, the person was laid in
that nest, a fire nearby tended to constantly by palace girls.  What I saw,
however, defied anything even my symbiote expected.

        In the nest was--an egg.  That was the only thing I could think it to
be.  A violet so dark is was nearly black, fairly larger than the girl had been.
It pulsated, almost imperceptibly.  I glanced at my Queen, who could only shrug.
Mentally questioning my symbiote got a more verbose, but no more helpful,
response.

        ~This is in no way like anything I have experience with, or anything in
racial memory.  This--is COMPLETELY outside scope of anything I am familiar
with.~

        ~So, what, we should crack it open?  Let it sit?  What?~

        ~I--I do not know, Marius.~

        Sighing quietly, I stepped up to the thing and gently placed a hand on
it.  My symbiote recoiled from the aberrant sensations it felt.  My glove was
nearly "yanked" into my skin--which was actually painful.  Normally, the
symbiote sort of "oozed" out or in, so that it was, at worst, mildly
uncomfortable.  Effectively, the pores were "eased" open.  Here, however--the
symbiote was so affected it didn't even think about that.  It just recoiled in
shock, much like an unsuspecting human would jump backward if flames suddenly
shot up right in front of them.

        ~What in the name of Pluto was THAT about?!~

        ~There--there was a level of bonding only rarely known to my people.
Even Vidisia Orculia does not match it.  She--she is being REMADE, Marius.  I
dared not even attempt to discover what the outcome would be.  I--I--I suspected
it was unknown even to spawn and human.~

        I gasped aloud, unable to even comprehend such a thing.  Physical
alterations were more than simply not unknown, they were common, EXPECTED, when
bonded with a symbiote--but those augmentations were always known, always with
definable, measurable boundaries.  This went even beyond a symbiote altering its
host in a fit of pique--the symbiote still had the obvious innate understanding
of what was going on.  To NOT have that understanding--inconceivable.

        Only at my Queen's urging did I remember to fill her in, so I did just
that--and she shared my disbelief.  We stared back at the egg--for, indeed, that
truly and nearly literally was what it was--in wonder.

        We all, obviously, wanted to stand there until the thing hatched, but we
couldn't.  As Emperor and Queen of an empire--and gods, to boot--there were
numerous duties we simply HAD to attend to.

        "Have a physician here monitoring the--egg--at all times," I told my
Queen.  It is NEVER to be left alone, and there will be absolutely NO discussion
of it outside this room--it's on a need-to-know basis only."  She nodded to
that, spinning on her heel to leave the room.

        I stroked my braided beard as I pondered.  We would have to tell the
people SOMEthing, as they would doubtless wonder why their new god-cum-mortal
wasn't returning soon.  Normally, a symbiote spawn bonding with a human host
would, at most, take a few hours.  This--who knew when it would hatch?

        The question is just WHAT to tell them.  I was sure, however, that by
the evening's feast, I would have something to say.  I just, as yet, couldn't
figure out what that would be.

        In a short span of time, Vidisia Orculia arrived with a physician and
a few of the man's slaves.  They had, I was confident, already been informed as
to the necessity for secrecy.  The only ones in the empire who had a truer idea
as to the nature of the symbiotes were the physicians for medical reasons,
though even then they were taught that the symbiotes were deities.

        The physician set up at once, a girl setting up a laptop to take
dictated notes, as the man set about taking readings through his various medical
paraphernalia.  I nodded to my Queen, then took my leave.

        Affecting my warmest demeanor, I rejoined the festivities.

        There was singing, dancing, music, Venus-inspired displays, and so on.
When the official feast was about to commence, my Queen joined me, and I gave
the expected opening speech.  It was the usual fare, and thanks to Vidisia
Orculia, we had a ready excuse for their newest god-in-the-flesh's lack of
attendance.  We told them she was communing with the gods and gaining insight
into her role on this plane, which appeased them.  She was the first they had
experienced, after all, since my Queen and myself were already bonded before we
even started forming my empire.

        After the speech and the prayer to the gods, Lucian was toasted, and
every man present plied him with their girls.  He was utterly surrounded in warm
and inviting flesh for the rest of the night.  A normally-humble man, he tried
to ignore all this attention--but when you have enough willing, pleasing girls
to make seeing much of anything difficult, it becomes nearly impossible to not
revel in the honor and glory.

        My Queen and I had our best girls to attend us--the Favored Cunt,
Ophelia, Chanda, and Karmabai.  My Swede was only not counted amongst them
because she had long since been put into an administrative role, a position best
suited to her.  She had always been a marvel at such tasks, so it was natural to
provide her with such a role in the empire.

        My Queen and I weren't the first to leave for the night, though we
weren't the last, either.  It was well into the early hours of the morning when
we stumbled into my palace and collapsed onto our bed, snuggling between the
pile of girl-flesh comfortably.

        The next three days were a blur of reveling and carrying on.  Praises to
the gods given, food enjoyed to rather gluttonous levels, girls enjoyed even
more.  By the end of the last day of the festival, my Queen and I could barely
stumble through the palace and literally fall into bed.  The only reason we
managed that much was from the symbiotes' augmentations.

        That very night, I couldn't have been asleep longer than an hour or two
when I was awoken by one of the physician's girls.  The egg was hatching!
Blurry-eyed I awoke Vidisia Orculia and we hurried through the palace.

        The egg was cracking, small rips having appeared in the leathery shell
and oozing viscous, magenta fluid.  My symbiote was even more at a loss--this
didn't even make sense to it.  This must have been why the ancient symbiotes had
ruled that there be no more than one generation born on Earth, though that had
never before really been an issue.  My Queen's symbiote was the first actually
born here, and the symbiotes had--VERY infrequently, obviously--been coming to
Earth for millennia.

        The egg quivered--then suddenly burst apart, rent from within.  As the
"hatchling" stood I--was forced to grin.  Widely.  Oh, but this was more than I
ever imagined.  Plans started to form themselves in my head, and I stepped
forward, extending my hands in greeting.


                        *              *              *


        Some months later, I was sitting in the visitor center in Central
Park, New York City.  It had once been the world-renowned restaurant Tavern on
the Green, and as I sat in the courtyard sipping my tea and eating my gourmet
ice cream, I once more was disappointed that I had never had the chance to visit
when it was still the Tavern.  Not to disparage the visitor center, of course,
but--it just wasn't the same.  No visitor's center, by their very nature, can
truly become such a landmark the Tavern was.  Ah, well.

        I was dressed in my black suit, an outfit I hadn't worn in, well--I only
remembered when I last wore it because of the symbiote, if that tells you
anything.  I was in the city on business, having a small list of things to tend
to.  Today was, I hoped, the day for one of those things to be dealt with.  I
was actually waiting on a certain obdurate, obnoxious, and obsessively
obstinate oaf (just the thought of him brought out my alliterative tendencies).

        I had just finished my ice cream and was about to finish my tea when I
saw a sadly-familiar streak of fire across the sky.  Getting to my feet, I
gulped the remainder of the tea, then tossed the cup into the nearby trash bin.

        Slipping my hands into my pockets, I strode out of the courtyard,
eventually leaving the center as a whole to head into the open field to the
west-southwest of the center.

        Amun-her-Shepshef soared down to hover a few yards above the ground.
The backwash from the flames pouring out of his wings was enough to make me take
three steps back.  Being the bastard he was, I was quite sure it was
intentional.

        "Once more, you defile this city," he growled, crossing his arms over
his broad chest.  "I left you alone in Mongolia ONLY because you were so far
removed from others.  Yet here you are, attempting to spread your plague."

        "Slander and calumny," I retorted, adopting an obviously-false hurt
tone.  I had quite enjoyed the years spent away from this blather, but now I had
to endure it once again.  "And please, come down from there.  You're roasting
the poor grass."

        With a snort of derision, he snuffed out his flames and landed on the
ground with--admittedly--a grace I envied.

        Making a show of dusting off my lapels, I said, "I was hoping to meet
with you on more friendly terms."

        "Why would I offer such 'friendliness' to a small-minded man with
delusions of grandeur?" he replied with a smirk I wanted to just rip right off
his face.

        He thought I was a lunatic.  The realization that he was, technically,
correct did naught to improve our relations.

        "Insanity" is defined as "unsoundness of mind"; put another way,
"abnormal".  And what is "abnormal"?  "Deviation from the normal", and "normal"
is nothing more than the majority.  Though the vast majority of the planet I
would dub "insane", by the technical definitions of the terms, *I* was the
insane one.

        That notion was what kept me from trying to wipe that look off of Amun's
face, for all the good it would do me.  The bastard was more closer to literal
immortality than I, and packed quite a few wallops that hurt me and my symbiote
much more than I ever wanted to admit.

        "Listen," I said, keeping my voice even and calm (though it wasn't easy
around that guy), "we can stand here all day and trade barbed quips, or you can
actually let me speak.  I'm here in a friendly, nonabrasive fashion, continuing
such even though you've seen fit to goad me from the get-go."

        He grunted softly, but--to his credit--surprisingly stayed quiet.

        "Thank you.  Now, then--as you might have been aware, my empire is ready
to grow, welcome the world into it.  I want to do it as painlessly as possible,
keep as many lives from being wasted as I can--but just how well I can is up to
you.  We can, as I hope, arrange something amicable, or we can resume our
previous petty squabbling."

        "I--am tempted to sit back and do nothing, knowing your cult will fall
in its time," he said, making my inwardly sigh.  You can lead a whore to
culture...

        "Are you so sure of that?"  I really didn't want to get into this
conversation, knowing damned well where it would go, but I didn't have much of a
choice.

        "All nations, all empires fall."

        "Because they were all inherently flawed.  They all didn't--perhaps even
couldn't--do what I can do."

        "Your parasite's tricks mean nothing."

        "Do you KNOW how many people I have in my empire?  Nearly a thousand.
Nearly a THOUSAND men, women, and children, all of whom--literally, all--are
there by CHOICE."

        That earned me a snort of disgust.  "You fool me not, parasite.  I am
well aware of those you have enthralled."

        "Oh, please.  Do you know how many I have, as you put it, 'enthralled'?
None.  Not a one.  I don't HAVE to."

        A wicked smile pulled his lips.  "I know you now to be a liar AND a
fool.  I can sense your evil inside them even from across the planet, from you
two here to the thirty-three in Mongolia, to the twelve in Washington, D.C,
to..."  His voice trailed off, as he knew he didn't have to go down the entire
list--and it was through supreme willpower that I didn't shout with joy.

        Ah-ha!  More information.  Without showing the interest and humor I
felt, I said, "What you sense is a small portion of my own symbiote, acting
solely as health support--aiding the internal organs, for example, or
strengthening the immune system, that sort of thing.  I can offer evidence,
too."

        Nearby, on Sixty-Fifth, a minivan pulled to a stop, edging over as far
as it could--though it still blocked traffic.  On the other hand, my winged
companion was already drawing attention, so it's not like a traffic jam was
anyone's biggest concern.

        Out of the van stepped Lucian, accompanied by one of his pets.  Nearly
a year ago, there was an accident.  I'll not bore you with all of the sordid
details, but suffice to say his pet pushed him out of the way, putting herself
in danger and lost her lungs in the process.  We, of course, HAD to reward such
behavior, so a symbiote-bit was implanted to act as her lungs.  She functioned
ALMOST as well as before, but the way her Master looked at her, you'd think she
was doing one-handed cartwheels with every step.

        "She," I said to Amun and motioning to the pet, "has--as I'm sure you
can 'sense'--a bit of my symbiote inside of her, acting as her lungs.  See for
yourself."

        Lucian patiently walked to us with his pet, who held onto his arm in
what was meant to look like mere affection, but to those of us who knew, was
obviously more to keep her balance.

        Amun studied her as they approached, and when he strode to her she
looked up at him fearlessly.  I silently applauded the coaching Lucian had to
have done.  I only told him what would happen, and left how to handle her up to
him, as a matter of respect since she was, after all, HIS pet.

        He stared at her chest for a few minutes, then placed his palm between
her breasts, closing his eyes.  After only a beat, he withdrew his hand and
turned to look at me again.  "How do I know this is true for the others?"

        "You don't, obviously," I said, then let out a soft breath and took a
single step toward him, palms facing him in a placatory gesture.  "Look, Amun--I
know the reputation the symbiotes have with you, and--I admit, it's rather
earned."  Here I looked to the ground, the epitome of shame.  After another
breath I looked back up at him, peering at him through my brows.

        "Look, I--I don't know what else I can do to earn your trust.  Fine,
yes, on the face of it, my attempting to spread my empire across the world does
seem like I'm--like I'm trying to be the next Hitler or something.  I know that.
I do.  But I can only promise you that all I'm trying to do is HELP humanity."

        I half-turned to gesture at the gathering throng.  "Look at them, Amun.
LOOK at them."  I looked back to him.  "Look at the world!  People--people hate
each other, argue with each other, KILL each other--over what?  Over pettiness.
Over squabbles.  Look at my growing empire--we don't have that.  Theft?  I can
honestly say that it has never happened.  If you don't believe me, ask any of
my followers.  ANY of them.  Murder?  Never happened, either.  Nor rape, arson,
war--it's not a utopia, but it's the closest thing this planet has seen quite
possibly EVER."

        I paused, searching his eyes--and all I really got was steely disbelief.
Sighing, I unbuttoned my shirt and slipped it open.  At first, all that could be
seen was my bare chest--then the skin twisted and slid away, to reveal a large,
incredibly ugly, scar.

        "See this?  YOU did this to me.  Something--I don't know, something
about you made this impossible to fully heal by my symbiote."

        That finally drew his attention, and he boldly stepped close enough to
run his fingers over the scar.  "This--is real," he murmured, looking back up
into my eyes.

        "Yes, it is.  You--you changed me, Amun.  Just as you left your mark on
my body, you left your mark on my mind--on my SOUL.  Even my symbiote was
affected.  We--we're not the monster we were when we attacked you those years
ago on that airstrip.  I--I KNOW that--that those are just words, but--I'm
asking for your patience, to let me PROVE it to you.  You've helped this world,
and have done so quite well, if the last few thousand years are any indication--
let me prove that I can, in a small, small way, help it, too.  It may take a
while, and I don't--I don't expect that we'll ever be FRIENDS or anything.
But--maybe I can show you that you helped ME, just like you've helped your
world."

        When I finally went silent, he just stared at me, refolding his arms
over his chest.  There was a more ponderous look to his eye, now, so I kept
quiet.  His eyes briefly flicked back to my chest, then back up to my own eyes.

        Finally, he sighed softly, and--with obvious reluctance--extended his
right hand to me.  Smiling, I grasped it firmly.  His voice was softer, but
still firm.  "Do NOT make me regret this."

        "I won't," I replied with as much sincerity as I could put into it, then
he stepped a few paces back.  Flames blazed from his wings, and he lifted into
the air.

        My smile became a rather predatory grin as I watched his trail of flame
dissipate.  "PERFECT," I whispered as my shirt re-buttoned itself.  After
clapping Lucian on the shoulder soundly, I jogged to the van.  Sliding open the
side door I peered inside, grinning with malevolent joy.

        "He never knew you were here..." I whispered with glee to the sole
occupant, my immense pleasure quite obvious.  The occupant just smiled back at
me, taking my hand as I extended it.  This was the most useful information I had
gained in a very long time--and I knew JUST how to use it.



                              END OF CHAPTER SEVEN




