The sound echoed in the cold stone space like frantic heartbeats. Aerax stood there, his breath still rapid, not just from physical exhaustion but from the chaotic emotions swirling in his chest. Before him, Minoros lay still, his wide bovine eyes open but no longer resisting. His massive, sturdy body now trembled faintly with the aftershocks of pleasure yet to fade. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and stone, mingling with an ancient, earthy musk that seemed to rise from the very walls. The torchlight flickered, casting shadows across the intricate vine-like engravings on the stone floor, their patterns curling as if alive, whispering secrets of forgotten ages.
Aerax said nothing. He stepped back, stretching to loosen the taut muscles after the recent surge of ecstasy. A gentle breeze blew from somewhere, stirring the torch fixed to the stone wall carved with winding patterns. The firelight danced, illuminating the stone floor where the engravings twisted, almost pulsing in rhythm with the chamber's heartbeat. The silence was heavy, broken only by the faint drip of water echoing from a distant corner, a reminder of the cavernous depths beneath this sacred hall.
Suddenly, the stone floor trembled.
The entire room shifted slightly, as if something colossal beneath was stirring. Aerax stepped back, his instincts on high alert, his newly heightened senses prickling with awareness. Minoros, though exhausted, propped himself up on his elbows, his bovine eyes scanning the chamber with a mix of awe and apprehension. Dust fell from the ceiling, sparkling in the torchlight like fleeting stars.
The stone tiles at the center of the hall began to sink, one by one, as if pulled by an invisible force. The surrounding tiles slid aside, forming a spiral pattern that mirrored the engravings on the floor. From the depths, a cylindrical stone pedestal slowly rose, its surface worn but polished, as if touched by countless hands over centuries. The grinding of stone was slow, heavy, but commanding, reverberating through the chamber like the growl of an ancient beast.
Atop the pedestal, a golden goblet gleamed in the flickering light. It was the size of two cupped hands, its body engraved with images of curling vines and clusters of grapes that seemed to swell with juice, so lifelike they might burst at a touch. Inside the goblet was a dark liquid—like wine, but thicker, almost viscous, and… alive. It shimmered with a reddish-purple hue, like blood, reflecting the firelight as if breathing. Tiny ripples moved across its surface, unprompted, as if stirred by an unseen force.
Aerax and Minoros were both drawn to the sacred object, their gazes locked on its hypnotic glow. The air grew denser, pressing against their skin, as if the chamber itself was watching.
"That's…" Minoros stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, "…the blood of the god Krasious."
Aerax didn't ask questions. A faint whisper seemed to coil in his mind, urging him forward, a voice not his own yet familiar, as if it had always been there. He stepped toward the pedestal, his footsteps echoing on the cold stone. The air grew heavy, as if time itself held its breath. When he reached out to touch the goblet, a chill ran down his spine, sharp and electric, yet exhilarating.
His hand met the gleaming gold. The goblet was cold but not rigid—it seemed to hum faintly, matching the rhythm of his heartbeat. The sensation was intimate, as if the goblet recognized him, as if it had been waiting. Aerax lifted it carefully, its weight surprisingly light for its size. The liquid inside surged toward the rim but didn't spill—it clung to the interior like fresh blood, defiant of gravity.
Without hesitation, he brought it to his lips and drank.
The first taste was rich and sharp, like aged wine, bursting with notes of dark fruit and iron. But as it slid down his throat, it ignited, a burning sensation spreading fire through his stomach and into his veins. Aerax closed his eyes, his body trembling as if lashed by an electric whip. His knees buckled briefly, but he steadied himself, gripping the goblet tighter. The heat was overwhelming, yet it wasn't pain—it was power, raw and untamed, coursing through every fiber of his being.
A wave of energy crashed over him without warning. His heart pounded, his body radiating heat, steaming in the cool air of the chamber. The wounds on his skin—cuts and bruises from Minoros's earlier blows—began to close, the torn flesh knitting together as if time were reversing. His skin darkened slightly, growing taut and smooth, as if reborn. He opened his eyes and looked at his hands—they were more sinewy, his muscles more defined, as if sculpted anew by a divine hand. His abdomen, once lean but battle-worn, now rippled with muscle, each ridge standing out like a living bronze carving.
Minoros stood, his bovine eyes wide, staring in awe. "You're… changing," he whispered, his voice tinged with reverence and fear.
But the most striking change wasn't in his limbs or torso. Between Aerax's legs, his equine shaft lengthened slightly, even in its resting state. The transformation wasn't painful but felt natural, as if infused with new life. That fleshly weapon, now more formidable, larger, carried a primal menace even without being erect. It was now the length of a forearm, its surface gleaming faintly in the torchlight, a testament to the god's power now flowing through him.
Aerax frowned, clenching his fists. The power was overwhelming, every cell in his body ablaze with energy. He felt invincible, yet the weight of it pressed against his mind, a reminder that such power came with a cost he had yet to understand.
"The blood of the god…" he whispered, his voice deeper, resonating in the chamber. "It doesn't just heal…"
Minoros gave a faint smile, bowing his head slightly. "It makes you something even the gods would fear."
Aerax glanced at the empty goblet, then up at the vaulted ceiling of the hall. The ancient mythical carvings—serpents, vines, and celestial beasts—now seemed to glow brighter, their edges shimmering as if awakened by the ritual. At the center, an image of a serpent drinking blood from a golden chalice, transforming into a dragon, shone vividly in the firelight, its scales almost pulsing with life.
"How many more trials lie ahead?" he asked, half to himself, his voice echoing faintly.
Minoros stepped beside him, his massive form still radiating warmth from their earlier encounter. "Perhaps… this goblet is only the beginning."
Aerax nodded, his mind racing with possibilities. He placed the goblet back on the pedestal, a final act of reverence. But as he stepped back, the pedestal began to sink back into the earth, the stone tiles sliding seamlessly over it, swallowing the goblet as if it had never existed. The chamber grew still once more, but the air remained charged, as if the walls themselves were watching, waiting.
Aerax had never felt so alive. His equine shaft stirred, long and gleaming, dripping with slick precum, a physical manifestation of the primal energy now coursing through him. He stepped closer to Minoros, placing a hand on the soft, pale curve of his hips, a sly smile spreading across his face. The contact sent a spark through both of them, a reminder of the bond forged in the heat of their earlier passion.
"What… are you going to do?" Minoros whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty.