#shogan

Shogan woke up with the woman from last night comfortably pressed against their bare chest. If it were not from the soft movement of her chest, they would have mistaken her for a corpse again. Even now, buried beneath blankets and cradled in their arms, Rayla's pale skin was still cold to the touch., and the sharp corners of her hips dug into them where the pair touched, like death itself trying to sink its talons in deep.

Shogan shook the line of thought from their head while they slipped out of bed, smoothing the covers back over her sleeping form. There would be time for more fun later. 

Still, they pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, lips just barely brushing against the dark hair that sprawled around her head. Like this, the sharp edges to her face, while not gone, had almost smoothed out to something peaceful. With each breath, Rayla proved herself alive, something living, breathing and strong, even beneath the web of scars stitched into her flesh by mere human hands. How odd was it that they had been sculpted by the hands of a God, but it had only taken one pitiful, arrogant mortal to fashion the body they had enjoyed so thoroughly?

"Sleep well, darling," They whispered, wisps of her dark hair tumbling between their fingers. In this light, a scant few gray strands stood up against the near black background, not quite silver, but not quite rich enough to blend in. They could not help but trail their thumb along the gnarled scar that seemed to follow the misshapen curve of Rayla’s nose. No clean strike had made that mark, and yet, she was here, alive, all the same.

 Shogan leaned in close, lips hovering over the pointed shell of her ear. "I hope you dream of his slaughter." In the moment, it scarcely mattered that Jvar had only acted on Mor’s prompt.

When their darling did not stir, Shogan stepped across the wreckage they had left behind. Their translucent robe laid wrinkled on the floor, alongside that porcelain wrap Mor had suggested as a gift. Of course, the dagger sat between the pair, its sharpened point buried within the silk.

Shogan slipped on a pair of pants, not bothering to tie them closed at the waist before leaving. Strangely enough, there had been no thought to open the door, or even to walk towards it, but they found themself in the hall all the same. That was enough for the ancient rhythm of a walk to take over, and deliver the lieutenant at the feet of their master. 

"I have been expecting you," came ringing out from Mor's hallowed lips, the words dripping with power and beauty and something else entirely. A shiver ghosted down Shogan’s spine, and they dropped to one knee on instinct, their bones sinking like weights as they had countless times before. Their kneecap seemed to fit into a divot worn in the floor, right at home under Mor’s watchful gaze.

Mor commanded them to rise, and so they did, still staring up at where she sat on the throne. "I did not know I was summoned, my queen." Their eyes settled somewhere around Mor's nose and lips, not quite daring to meet her gaze. Now, she had chosen a rose hued face, small white flowers sprouting forth from divine skin to grace her cheeks. 

"You weren't," she decided, dismissing the small, pale daemon who stood at her side with a wave of her hand. The poor creature scuttled out the back, wobbling in his shoes. If daemons had been made to pity, Shogan would have pitted him, but instead they stood silent. Were it not that specific creature eternally waiting on their God, it would merely be another, and when his novelty inevitably wore out, and he was tossed at Shogan’s feet as a reward for their faithful service, his replacement would spring forth from nothing before the last could peel himself off of the ground. That was the way of it. 

Shogan did not answer her, eyes roving over the dias as they waited for their next order.

Mor stood up from the throne with unmatched poise, and came down to stand at their level. As always, the gauzy wisps of something in between fabric and skin gathered at her legs obscured their view of her feet. Her soles may not have actually touched the ground beneath them, but she seemed to stalk all the same. 

Of course, even standing on the same ground, Mor grew so that the points of her crown were taller than Shogan’s head. Regardless, they bowed their head on her approach.

“I understand you took to Jvar’s girl,” She began with a tone that was neither statement nor question, but rather something from the delicious gray in between. Mor reached out and gripped Shogan by the chin, raising their jaw so that they would be forced to look her in the eye. Her irises were an infinite expanse of milky white, swirling around in a rhythm older than time. In the human world, stars had risen and died in what amounted to a drop in her neverending sea of life. 

It was impossible to laugh so close to her visage, so even Shogan found dark blush crowding their flesh cheek. “I…” The words refused to come at their command, lost within the expanse of all that had happened. “She is…”

Without warning, Mor slapped them across the face. Hard. The blow sent Shogan's head spinning, pain blossoming up from their cheek. They let their head hang, not daring to collect themself.  

"Have her, don't have her," Mor laughed Shogan's jaw once again in the palm of her hand. Her fingers were cold and thin, but even Hel's strongest could not push away their grip. "Fuck her, don't fuck her, keep her tied up in your room, chop her up and eat a few of the pieces for all it matters." Mor laughed, the sound an airy cackle reverberating up through their bones. Shogan followed her, either in on the joke or on the butt of it. "Although I wouldn't doubt that you have already been inside her one way or another by now."

“I have," Shogan answered, risking a small smile. Their insatiable hunger for pleasure had been no problem when she’d seen fit to toss them her scraps. Just because they didn’t partake in the scared and unwilling didn’t mean the offer had gone unappreciated. “She was… something else.”

 “Oh, Shogan,” Mor clicked her tongue at them, smoothing back their hair as she shook her head. How the crown atop it did not fall, they did not know. “It must be exhausting, all of this wanting what you cannot have.”

They blinked, brows furrowing. “I thought you said I could-”