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CROWMON GIGGLED QUIETLY when he witnessed Raum’s plight. A rather naughty and wretchedly ugly hell spawn had been stalking the Demon Guild Master for the past few months. The deity didn’t know why the black and gray demon was so hell bent on spoiling Raum’s mysterious plans, but it offered him a lot of entertainment.
His spy flew away from the alley in the Shifter District before Raum could vaporize it. Crowmon opened his eyes, then rolled them when he saw his congregation were still in the middle of their latest orgy. Frankly, the scene was getting old. Everywhere he looked, his worshippers were fornicating with abandon.
Vella and Brycen were going at it like randy dogs on the stage right in front of him. Crowmon was highly tempted to shove the pair off the platform with his feet, but resisted the urge. Ten more beings had been slaughtered in his name and he’d ingested their souls. The sacrifices were also beginning to become tiresome, but his High Priestess and High Priest insisted they were necessary for his strength to grow.
Crowmon hid his smirk behind his hand as he pretended to yawn. Ever since he’d altered the bond between Vella, Brycen and himself, he’d become a lot stronger. He was receiving almost the full benefit of the souls now. Vella hadn’t noticed the change in their power structure yet, but it was getting harder for him to feign weakness.
He closed his eyes again and looked through the eyes of his undead minions. His crows patrolled everywhere, except the Night Cursed District. Nothing interesting ever happened there anymore, so there was no point in keeping it under surveillance.
One of his pets spied a rat in the Vampire District. Out of sheer boredom, Crowmon took control of the bird. He tucked its wings in and sent it into a dive. The rodent didn’t sense death coming for it as it scurried down an alley. Talons speared into the animal and it let out a squeal of pain and terror. The carrion god tore at the rat with his beak and gulped down the hot flesh. The rodent had no chance to defend itself against the much stronger opponent.
Crowmon’s servants didn’t need to feed, but he forced the crow to gorge itself until the rat expired. He withdrew his consciousness from it and the zombie bird promptly threw up everything it had consumed. When the zombie’s stomach was empty, he sent his senses back into it. On a whim, he made the crow place its foot on the rat, then sent death magic through his minion into the corpse.
The body twitched, then came to a semblance of unlife. He sent more death magic into it and the flesh that had been stripped from it returned to its body. Like the crow, the rat’s eyes were now pale green. The carrion deity now had a new type of minion at his beck and call. He was learning more about his growing abilities with each new night.
Quiet chuckles escaped from Crowmon as he opened his eyes. Feeling an unfamiliar tightness in his pants, he looked down and was amazed to see he had an erection. It began to wither almost immediately now that he was back in his own body again. “I believe I’ve just found a new hobby,” he murmured to himself. His words were drowned out by Vella’s scream of pleasure. Her head and arms transformed into her crow form as the elf continued to pound himself into her from behind.
Flat, murderous, pale green eyes watched Brycen. The elf ignored the god-king he was supposed to be worshipping as if he didn’t even exist. Crowmon felt pain in his hand and looked down to see he was clenching his fist so hard that his fingernails had sliced into his palm. The tiny wounds healed when he unclenched his hand. He wiped the blood on his trousers as the elf let out a hoarse shout when he climaxed.
Vella turned her birdlike head to the god and he smiled at her benignly. He was glad she couldn’t sense his true emotions, because his heart was full of black hatred for the traitorous whore he’d once loved.
Crowmon turned his attention to the black, dead trees that surrounded his shrine. Every scrap of life had leeched out of the soil and nothing could grow here now. His parishioners couldn’t remain in the glade for long. Vella’s and Brycen’s sermons only lasted for a couple of hours before they had to return to their dwelling places. The plants and grass near the houses were beginning to sicken as his power spread. The deity wondered how long it would be before his entire territory was as putrid as his shrine.
Vella transformed back to her human form. She donned her robe and Brycen dressed himself as well. Light snow was falling, but winter would be over soon. It hadn’t been quite as harsh as they’d all feared. The inhabitants of Nox had been given a reprieve from this year’s Energy Tax, courtesy of his machinations. That would all change once he gained the strength and power that his High Priestess had promised him. Once he was a true god of death, all would bow down to him.
“My king?” Brycen said with a hint of impatience, snapping Crowmon out of his fantasy.
“What?” the deity asked in annoyance.
“I asked if you were ready to return to the house,” the elf said in a snarky tone. “Do you require assistance to get there?”
“I think I can handle the walk, lad,” Crowmon replied. The bodies had been carried away and his worshippers were leaving. The elf offered the shifter-witch his arm and they strode away, leaving their god-king alone on his throne. Vella didn’t even turn to look at him as they sauntered away. He felt as if he’d been forgotten completely. Maybe he didn’t even exist anymore and this was all just a strange dream.
Crowmon teetered on the edge of madness and mentally reached out for his minions. His birds came at his call and flocked back to his shrine. Surrounded by his crows, he stroked the head of a minion that perched on his shoulder and felt his mind stabilize again. “Whew, I almost lost it for a minute there,” he said, then chuckled. The birds cawed in response, sounding like they were laughing along with him. They were better servants than his supposedly loyal congregation were.
A scowl replaced his grin as he stared towards the buildings on the far side of the dead trees. A witch had stopped at the edge of the dead zone to keep watch over him. Her eyesight wouldn’t be good enough to make out his pets. None of his followers actually cared about him. They’d only joined his religion in order to use him to better themselves. They all had a roof over their heads and food on the table due to his magic. Without him, they’d all probably have died during the war he’d engineered last Halloween.
“I’d be better off without them,” he whispered as one of his spies groomed his hair for him. He had no fear that the crows would turn on him. They existed due to his new death magic. If he withdrew it from their bodies, they would fall to the ground and rot away to nothing within seconds. He’d tried it a few nights ago and that had been the result. To his amazement, he’d been able to resurrect the crow and restore it to its former undead glory, just like he had with the rat he’d claimed as his own. He truly was becoming a god of death.
A bitter sigh escaped him as he tucked his cloak of crow feathers around himself. “No one respects me,” he muttered sullenly. Soon, he would be strong enough to put his woman and her lover back in their places. Until then, he would have to continue to play the fool. He would have the respect that was due to him once he showed his worshippers his true potential. His pets cawed in laughter when he began to giggle once more.
