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12:48 CEST", "thumbnail_url_huge": "https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/huge/5567/5567428_dentodent_myholysuffering.jpg", "thumbnail_url_large": "https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/large/5567/5567428_dentodent_myholysuffering.jpg", "thumbnail_url_medium": "https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/medium/5567/5567428_dentodent_myholysuffering.jpg", "thumb_huge_x": "300", "thumb_huge_y": "300", "thumb_large_x": "200", "thumb_large_y": "200", "thumb_medium_x": "120", "thumb_medium_y": "120" } ], "pools": [], "description": "Personally I figure Narinder is Like That when he has family that hot/fucked up, Shamura in particular", "description_bbcode_parsed": "Personally I figure Narinder is Like That when he has family that hot/fucked up, Shamura in particular", "writing": "Business between Bishops, though expected, came rare. Even as the world of the faith whittled away, the four remaining had their realms and believers to hoard. This made the present convergence of three all the more surprising. Surprising for Shamura, as they only expected one god in Anura. Surprising for Heket and Leshy, the rising materialization made the two look as though Shamura caught them in the middle of a vague conspiring.\n\nThe toad's imposing presence commanded her verdant little brother to abstain from speaking while her own slit voice box gurgled and growled, ``What do we owe this visitation, oh sibling?''\n\nShamura, a lobotomized face so serene one forgot they stood as a god of war. A smile full of fangs they addressed both, ``To come and go among our kind is our domain is it not? As you two show, why not three? Or four?''\n\n``That still doesn't explain why you just showed up,'' Leshy crudely remarked.\n\nThe chaos god's attitude did nothing to ripple the waters of Shamura's peaceful expression as their gaze drifted elsewhere, ``Simple...as I visited the other domains of the bishops, something festered and grew: I noticed one of our kind had gone. Look as I might, he was nowhere to be seen.''\n\n``Kallamar?'' the famine god rejoined the name with a mocking scoff, ``Shocking given how he does not cry for all our names.''\n\nTheir multiple arachnid eyes shut, head swaying in the negative, ``No...I meant Narinder.''\n\nA debilitating silence gripped at both chaos and famine god. Both switched a concerned look with each other. Only Leshy went for the blunt response, ``Why would he be here?'' He tugged at the bandage around his face, ``That traitor is why we're like this!''\n\nHeket's usually resilient grimace turned into an uncomfortable frown, ``Sibling...we...bound him, don't you remember?''\n\nThe war god's smile stayed, not as a reflection but as a face of a spider who's emotions and their head struggled with each other. Their head wound seeped over their face, blood coming down in small rivulets. Their smile started to clear away like clouds from the sun. The memory of that moment came back, a harsh scar that they temporarily forgot in some bliss, ``Ah yes...of course he is...what better way than to remind you? To strengthen your resolve?''\n\n``Are you sure that's what it was?'' asked Leshy.\n\nHeket gripped their leafy head. The spider simply bowed, smiling as the ground opened up and they let themselves get swallowed back to Silk Cradle.\n\nThreads, textures of barren patchwork designs that started and never ended, tied the columns and archways beneath the bruise-lighted miasma of their domain. With those rotted stone textures there lied a suggestion of a loftier aim, proud monumental ambitions from the lands of the old faith. But now everything in Silk Cradle laid in designs that went nowhere, moldering in spirals of self-reflective meditations of unending intricacies. Form without forethought.\n\nIn one ruined grotto overwrought with spider silk gathered a scant few cultists in ritual mediation. In Shamura's faith, mediation meant praying with a weapon drawn out. \n\nHow blessed for them when the ground opened up and the towering fanged visage rose from the gaping darkness in the crumbling stone floor. \n\nCommotion stirred among the cultists, excited whispers that their god appeared. A tall cultist in a bird mask with a hefty cleaver prostrated themselves before their god of war and knowledge, ``Oh great lord...we beseech to bless us with your presence and we knew! We knew! We knew you would appear!''\n\n``Hmm?'' they must be especially distracted today, ``Yes, of course...a prayer does not go unheeded before me. But faith is not proved by prayer alone.''\n\n``Ask it, wise Shamura,'' a small hooded cultist interceded, ``And it shall be yours!''\n\nShamura meditated. They forgot. They forgot where they had put Narinder, because deep down they had wanted to forget. How simpler to live in the past with a gash in the head. But even so, the truth creeps as a deeper sickness. ``If that is so...first, music.''\n\nThe cultists - some robed and some spiders - scurried with little hesitation. A spider dropped hardy lines of web while another spider mirrored that action with spools of web of different tension and weight. One spider cultists plucked their own webs, the plucks creating a medium-pitched tune, somber in its rhythm. Another set of webs joined in, giving a bass and volume to the song. The tall cultist in red gestured, ``Like this?''\n\n``Yes...'' the tune massaged their mind, kneading deep into their heart, ``Continue, my faithful ones...''\n\nA small cultist took up the other strings, accompanying the main chords with a higher-pitched tinkling. These strings added texture to the song, an ominous undertone to the song.\n\n``How do you like the song, oh wise Shamura?'' asked the tall cultist.\n\nNearly perfect, Shamura could nearly scratch that itch in their head, ``One last thing...follower...take your sword...'' they pointed to a swordsman cultist, ``And cut off their head.''\n\nA shock to no one but the one marked for death, the tall red-robed cultist bowed. ``It shall be done.''\n\nThe somber delicate tune continued uninterrupted as the taller cultist hunted down the smaller swordsman. They fought back with a pathetic clank against the red-robe's massive cleaver. The taller cultist merely gripped the hood of the struggling swordsman and lofted the blade. As their legs kicked in the air, the tall bird masked cultist sliced through cloth and flesh and muscle. Red sprayed in a juicy eruption as the music continued. The body dropped headless on the ground, more sticky life fluid giving the dusty cobblestone a new lively sheen. A gift for their god, the bird mask presented the dripping head.\n\n``Wonderful,'' exulted Shamura. The music, the display, it tickled a soft spot in their memory. Wonderful because the sheen of the fresh blood shimmered so well they could see their own face in it like a mirror. A mirror...they had one, once.\n\nShamura remembered when they played music, in a place now abandoned to Silk Cradle and time. A circular room with pillars standing guard at the circumference. In the center laid a rug of the finest spider silk of his sigils. To the opposite end laid a massive circular mirror, refined with crystals from their brother Kallamar's domain. Here they would play an oud of plucked spider strings. Their multiple limbs gave the Shamura the freedom to play multiple chords, experiment with time signatures not possible to simple two-limbed creatures.\n\nHere they sat, swiftly plucking multiple strings at once and creating layered harmonies from just one oud. Before them lounged the god of death, Narinder. All three eyes fixed on their sibling's playing with quiet rapt attention. Back then Narinder seemed so eager for time with their wise sibling. Of all of the Bishops, Narinder stole the most time with the god of knowledge. And Shamura would admit of all the gods, Narinder's they found the most enriching. \n\nThe spider's fretting and plucking played ceaselessly without tire. In their musical sessions Shamura could play for a day maximum, focus telescoped so perfectly on their skill. Their arachnid limbs strummed the oud with a final flourish, setting the instrument aside. Narinder's attention never left them, his expression so awed that even as they ended their performance the feline only spoke several moments past silence. The death god rose, ``You make me envious, Shamura.''\n\nThe spider's chuckle left quietly like an exhale, ``How so, my brother?''\n\nRising from their seat, they touched the oud. Shamura would let few touch such an instrument - save Narinder. The feline remarked, ``If I had as many arms as you, I could do much more...''\n\nThe spider rose to meet their brother, ``You're gifted in much more.''\n\n``You mock me,'' Narinder said half-seriously.\n\nAn arachnid limb brushed past their veil, stroking through their fur. They looked into the feline's third eye, ``I see your reach stretches far. Death takes what it can. All that it brings, belongs to death's domain. Is that not a gift?''\n\nNarinder laughed, his burning sunset eyes sinking from Shamura's midnight eyes, ``To take is easy. You create, bend things new. I want that...'' The hidden message laid there: I want more.\n\n``You say I am wise?'' they moved behind their brother, the spider catching them in an embrace.\n\nThe cordiality of the motion, it made his tail dance with the hairs standing on end, ``I just said so.''\n\n``Then take my word when I see your potential taking root even now...'' their feelers tickled his neckline, an affectionate movement with less chaste fangs, ``Or do you call me a liar, Narinder?''\n\nThe feline felt too proud to make noise or buckle but his tail gave all the tells, shaking while his neck lit up with a threading feeling that lit up in his stomach, ``I'm calling you neither...''\n\n``Your potential seeps through like blood through a knife...'' the spider inhaled every other word, taking in their brother's scent.\n\nThe feline's teeth gleamed sharp, ``What does this have to do with the present, Shamura? You continue to tease with riddles.''\n\nTheir robe opened. Narinder would be a liar if he refused the truth of what he liked. Most mortal bodies were soft and weak. His sibling's body felt smooth like stone fresh from the stone it was sculpted, an arthopod carapace made for resilience all the more beautiful from their shapely thorax to their jutting abdomen. The spider's fangs gripped Narinder more urgently, moving subtext to bold text, ``Take me, brother. It is death's right to take what it wants.''\n\nThe death god scoffed, his arms gripped around Shamura tight to bury his yearning, ``You think you know my task better than me? What I want better than me?''\n\n``Knowledge is my ken,'' the spider returned, lapping gently at his shoulder line.\n\nThat wasn't good enough for Narinder. He wanted. He wanted more, he wanted it all. He wanted it his way. The feline pushed them back, the force knocking them to their back, ``Then you will have to show me or take it from me, sibling.''\n\nA challenge. Shamura read into Narinder's tempestuous moods well. They returned, their bishop robes fully divested to the floor. They gripped the feline fully in their grasp, four of their limbs easily immobilizing him, ``Take it, you ask? You're so close to knowing what you could be...'' even as Narinder grit his teeth and squirmed they pulled back his robes, ``You learn better from experience, brother.''\n\nDeath was a unique beauty in Shamura's eyes. Skeletal arms and legs with a flayed torso. How his musculature shined with the eternally dripping freshness, accenting his strength from his pectorals to his abs. Their fangs buried in Narinder's neck, they explored the backside of their brother with their reproductive arms the pedipalps. They reveled in the tightness of their backside, the firmness of their glutes, even how their unusually furry tail bristled in their touch. They displayed their brother to the mirror--Narinder a naked flayed god, his musculature heaving as his balls and cock shook from exposure and trepidation.\n\nTheir brother's expression grew feisty, twisting in their arms. ``Did you have enough for every eye, sibling?''\n\nWith no response Shamura's pedipalps thumbed open Narinder's asscheeks as easy as Shamura would thumb and crack open a book. Between the bookends laid their brother's twitching and hungry sunspot, the well of fucking. One of the spider's reproductive leg took no hesitation in slipping right in, diving into their brother as hungrily as a mammalian cock. \n\nNarinder hissed, rolling his hips as his spiked penis twitched and shot a jet of clear fluid to the floor. He growled, ``That's not enough! You're weak!''\n\nTheir brother managed to find ways to inspire them, didn't they? The spider doubled down with both pedipalps, stretching out their brother's most private hole. Shamura kept one eye in the mirror, watching their brother's stomach grow with their rapid limb-thrusting. Narinder shook, his eyes wrenching shut as his cock cried with each thrust.\n\nShamura found no satisfaction with Narinder's reaction. With a spare limb they gripped Narinder by the scalp, ``Watch. Watch yourself, brother. This is the depths you wish for, don't you?''\n\nThe feline growled, staring with pleasure-watered eyes into the mirror as their brother stood behind them and made them an idol, a totem to their lusts. Both looked at their reflections as the urgency of their baby bumping got carnally brutish, building in intensity. Narinder's eyes started rolling in the back of his head, fantasizing that he could have this kind of power over all mortals. Let them be controlled in life and death, enslaved by their loins and enslaved in the afterlife. His eyes went all the way white as his scrotum heaved, pulling up to his groin and spewing an offering of his potency.\n\nShamura inhaled the scent of their brother's semen. Life is the inverse of life, they reasoned. If only they could impregnate their death god, they thought while their eyes drifted to their pedipalps thrusting and tugging at Narinder's hole. Give Narinder true insight of states unnatural as their incestuous womb, they thought heatedly as their reproductive limbs slammed into his hole with abandon. The scenario of brother pregnancy did enough to tip the scales and flood from the tips of the limbs. Their pedipalps throbbed with each spurt until it spewed overflowing form Narinder's stretched hole. \n\nPulling free, Shamura put their brother in a circle, displaying his freshly wrecked cum-dripping anus. The spider demanded, ``Look. Death and life, mingling as one. Take this lesson to heart, bro--''\n\nAn unknown wave must have washed over Narinder. When they touched the spider's face, the feline's own expression softened. With both of his skeletal hands he pulled Shamura close, his muzzle and their fangs intermingling in a slow kiss. Between tasting both of their tongues, Shamura whispered softly, ``What have I done...?''\n\nNarinder growled, more amorous than angry. He bit at Shamura's mouth, a strange playful gesture, ``Don't be sorry.''\n\nDrip. Drip. Drip. Shamura's head wound seeped and dripped into the pool of blood in the present, his smile clouded with hazy reminiscing.\n\nThe music had long ended, from the shiftless quiet of the followers. The tall bird-mask cultist hovered quietly before asking, ``My beloved god...did...did you like the song?''\n\nThey dabbed at their forehead, wiping the blood that smeared their face. Pleasantly they dipped, ``It was nice.''\n\nSwiftly the spider god dove in, impaling the tall cultist with their fangs. The cultist's cleaver dropped as they flailed and screamed while Shamrua vigorously gulped down their life juices, leaving nothing but withered skin once the corpse dropped from their mouth. As efficiently they turned on the survivors, spewing volleys of poison that ate and dissolved the unfortunate ones into liquefied organ soup. The rest Shamura either crushed with their sheer weight until they turned into a fine paste or he tore and devoured as a convenient snack.\n\nOnly they remained in these ruins, alone with gutted, melted, and decapitated bodies. Shamura's smile faded.\n\n``Lamb...'' they sighed to themselves, ``How could they know him as I did?''\n\n", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "Business between Bishops, though expected, came rare. Even as the world of the faith whittled away, the four remaining had their realms and believers to hoard. This made the present convergence of three all the more surprising. Surprising for Shamura, as they only expected one god in Anura. Surprising for Heket and Leshy, the rising materialization made the two look as though Shamura caught them in the middle of a vague conspiring.

The toad's imposing presence commanded her verdant little brother to abstain from speaking while her own slit voice box gurgled and growled, ``What do we owe this visitation, oh sibling?''

Shamura, a lobotomized face so serene one forgot they stood as a god of war. A smile full of fangs they addressed both, ``To come and go among our kind is our domain is it not? As you two show, why not three? Or four?''

``That still doesn't explain why you just showed up,'' Leshy crudely remarked.

The chaos god's attitude did nothing to ripple the waters of Shamura's peaceful expression as their gaze drifted elsewhere, ``Simple...as I visited the other domains of the bishops, something festered and grew: I noticed one of our kind had gone. Look as I might, he was nowhere to be seen.''

``Kallamar?'' the famine god rejoined the name with a mocking scoff, ``Shocking given how he does not cry for all our names.''

Their multiple arachnid eyes shut, head swaying in the negative, ``No...I meant Narinder.''

A debilitating silence gripped at both chaos and famine god. Both switched a concerned look with each other. Only Leshy went for the blunt response, ``Why would he be here?'' He tugged at the bandage around his face, ``That traitor is why we're like this!''

Heket's usually resilient grimace turned into an uncomfortable frown, ``Sibling...we...bound him, don't you remember?''

The war god's smile stayed, not as a reflection but as a face of a spider who's emotions and their head struggled with each other. Their head wound seeped over their face, blood coming down in small rivulets. Their smile started to clear away like clouds from the sun. The memory of that moment came back, a harsh scar that they temporarily forgot in some bliss, ``Ah yes...of course he is...what better way than to remind you? To strengthen your resolve?''

``Are you sure that's what it was?'' asked Leshy.

Heket gripped their leafy head. The spider simply bowed, smiling as the ground opened up and they let themselves get swallowed back to Silk Cradle.

Threads, textures of barren patchwork designs that started and never ended, tied the columns and archways beneath the bruise-lighted miasma of their domain. With those rotted stone textures there lied a suggestion of a loftier aim, proud monumental ambitions from the lands of the old faith. But now everything in Silk Cradle laid in designs that went nowhere, moldering in spirals of self-reflective meditations of unending intricacies. Form without forethought.

In one ruined grotto overwrought with spider silk gathered a scant few cultists in ritual mediation. In Shamura's faith, mediation meant praying with a weapon drawn out.

How blessed for them when the ground opened up and the towering fanged visage rose from the gaping darkness in the crumbling stone floor.

Commotion stirred among the cultists, excited whispers that their god appeared. A tall cultist in a bird mask with a hefty cleaver prostrated themselves before their god of war and knowledge, ``Oh great lord...we beseech to bless us with your presence and we knew! We knew! We knew you would appear!''

``Hmm?'' they must be especially distracted today, ``Yes, of course...a prayer does not go unheeded before me. But faith is not proved by prayer alone.''

``Ask it, wise Shamura,'' a small hooded cultist interceded, ``And it shall be yours!''

Shamura meditated. They forgot. They forgot where they had put Narinder, because deep down they had wanted to forget. How simpler to live in the past with a gash in the head. But even so, the truth creeps as a deeper sickness. ``If that is so...first, music.''

The cultists - some robed and some spiders - scurried with little hesitation. A spider dropped hardy lines of web while another spider mirrored that action with spools of web of different tension and weight.  One spider cultists plucked their own webs, the plucks creating a medium-pitched tune, somber in its rhythm. Another set of webs joined in, giving a bass and volume to the song. The tall cultist in red gestured, ``Like this?''

``Yes...'' the tune massaged their mind, kneading deep into their heart, ``Continue, my faithful ones...''

A small cultist took up the other strings, accompanying the main chords with a higher-pitched tinkling. These strings added texture to the song, an ominous undertone to the song.

``How do you like the song, oh wise Shamura?'' asked the tall cultist.

Nearly perfect, Shamura could nearly scratch that itch in their head, ``One last thing...follower...take your sword...'' they pointed to a swordsman cultist, ``And cut off their head.''

A shock to no one but the one marked for death, the tall red-robed cultist bowed. ``It shall be done.''

The somber delicate tune continued uninterrupted as the taller cultist hunted down the smaller swordsman. They fought back with a pathetic clank against the red-robe's massive cleaver. The taller cultist merely gripped the hood of the struggling swordsman and lofted the blade. As their legs kicked in the air, the tall bird masked cultist sliced through cloth and flesh and muscle. Red sprayed in a juicy eruption as the music continued. The body dropped headless on the ground, more sticky life fluid giving the dusty cobblestone a new lively sheen. A gift for their god, the bird mask presented the dripping head.

``Wonderful,'' exulted Shamura. The music, the display, it tickled a soft spot in their memory. Wonderful because the sheen of the fresh blood shimmered so well they could see their own face in it like a mirror. A mirror...they had one, once.

Shamura remembered when they played music, in a place now abandoned to Silk Cradle and time. A circular room with pillars standing guard at the circumference. In the center laid a rug of the finest spider silk of his sigils. To the opposite end laid a massive circular mirror, refined with crystals from their brother Kallamar's domain. Here they would play an oud of plucked spider strings. Their multiple limbs gave the Shamura the freedom to play multiple chords, experiment with time signatures not possible to simple two-limbed creatures.

Here they sat, swiftly plucking multiple strings at once and creating layered harmonies from just one oud. Before them lounged the god of death, Narinder. All three eyes fixed on their sibling's playing with quiet rapt attention. Back then Narinder seemed so eager for time with their wise sibling. Of all of the Bishops, Narinder stole the most time with the god of knowledge. And Shamura would admit of all the gods, Narinder's they found the most enriching.

The spider's fretting and plucking played ceaselessly without tire. In their musical sessions Shamura could play for a day maximum, focus telescoped so perfectly on their skill. Their arachnid limbs strummed the oud with a final flourish, setting the instrument aside. Narinder's attention never left them, his expression so awed that even as they ended their performance the feline only spoke several moments past silence. The death god rose, ``You make me envious, Shamura.''

The spider's chuckle left quietly like an exhale, ``How so, my brother?''

Rising from their seat, they touched the oud. Shamura would let few touch such an instrument - save Narinder. The feline remarked, ``If I had as many arms as you, I could do much more...''

The spider rose to meet their brother, ``You're gifted in much more.''

``You mock me,'' Narinder said half-seriously.

An arachnid limb brushed past their veil, stroking through their fur. They looked into the feline's third eye, ``I see your reach stretches far. Death takes what it can. All that it brings, belongs to death's domain. Is that not a gift?''

Narinder laughed, his burning sunset eyes sinking from Shamura's midnight eyes, ``To take is easy. You create, bend things new. I want that...'' The hidden message laid there: I want more.

``You say I am wise?'' they moved behind their brother, the spider catching them in an embrace.

The cordiality of the motion, it made his tail dance with the hairs standing on end, ``I just said so.''

``Then take my word when I see your potential taking root even now...'' their feelers tickled his neckline, an affectionate movement with less chaste fangs, ``Or do you call me a liar, Narinder?''

The feline felt too proud to make noise or buckle but his tail gave all the tells, shaking while his neck lit up with a threading feeling that lit up in his stomach, ``I'm calling you neither...''

``Your potential seeps through like blood through a knife...'' the spider inhaled every other word, taking in their brother's scent.

The feline's teeth gleamed sharp, ``What does this have to do with the present, Shamura? You continue to tease with riddles.''

Their robe opened. Narinder would be a liar if he refused the truth of what he liked. Most mortal bodies were soft and weak. His sibling's body felt smooth like stone fresh from the stone it was sculpted, an arthopod carapace made for resilience all the more beautiful from their shapely thorax to their jutting abdomen. The spider's fangs gripped Narinder more urgently, moving subtext to bold text, ``Take me, brother. It is death's right to take what it wants.''

The death god scoffed, his arms gripped around Shamura tight to bury his yearning, ``You think you know my task better than me? What I want better than me?''

``Knowledge is my ken,'' the spider returned, lapping gently at his shoulder line.

That wasn't good enough for Narinder. He wanted. He wanted more, he wanted it all. He wanted it his way. The feline pushed them back, the force knocking them to their back, ``Then you will have to show me or take it from me, sibling.''

A challenge. Shamura read into Narinder's tempestuous moods well. They returned, their bishop robes fully divested to the floor. They gripped the feline fully in their grasp, four of their limbs easily immobilizing him, ``Take it, you ask? You're so close to knowing what you could be...'' even as Narinder grit his teeth and squirmed they pulled back his robes, ``You learn better from experience, brother.''

Death was a unique beauty in Shamura's eyes. Skeletal arms and legs with a flayed torso. How his musculature shined with the eternally dripping freshness, accenting his strength from his pectorals to his abs. Their fangs buried in Narinder's neck, they explored the backside of their brother with their reproductive arms the pedipalps. They reveled in the tightness of their backside, the firmness of their glutes, even how their unusually furry tail bristled in their touch. They displayed their brother to the mirror--Narinder a naked flayed god, his musculature heaving as his balls and cock shook from exposure and trepidation.

Their brother's expression grew feisty, twisting in their arms. ``Did you have enough for every eye, sibling?''

With no response Shamura's pedipalps thumbed open Narinder's asscheeks as easy as Shamura would thumb and crack open a book. Between the bookends laid their brother's twitching and hungry sunspot, the well of fucking. One of the spider's reproductive leg took no hesitation in slipping right in, diving into their brother as hungrily as a mammalian cock.

Narinder hissed, rolling his hips as his spiked penis twitched and shot a jet of clear fluid to the floor. He growled, ``That's not enough! You're weak!''

Their brother managed to find ways to inspire them, didn't they? The spider doubled down with both pedipalps, stretching out their brother's most private hole. Shamura kept one eye in the mirror, watching their brother's stomach grow with their rapid limb-thrusting. Narinder shook, his eyes wrenching shut as his cock cried with each thrust.

Shamura found no satisfaction with Narinder's reaction. With a spare limb they gripped Narinder by the scalp, ``Watch. Watch yourself, brother. This is the depths you wish for, don't you?''

The feline growled, staring with pleasure-watered eyes into the mirror as their brother stood behind them and made them an idol, a totem to their lusts. Both looked at their reflections as the urgency of their baby bumping got carnally brutish, building in intensity. Narinder's eyes started rolling in the back of his head, fantasizing that he could have this kind of power over all mortals. Let them be controlled in life and death, enslaved by their loins and enslaved in the afterlife. His eyes went all the way white as his scrotum heaved, pulling up to his groin and spewing an offering of his potency.

Shamura inhaled the scent of their brother's semen. Life is the inverse of life, they reasoned. If only they could impregnate their death god, they thought while their eyes drifted to their pedipalps thrusting and tugging at Narinder's hole. Give Narinder true insight of states unnatural as their incestuous womb,  they thought heatedly as their reproductive limbs slammed into his hole with abandon. The scenario of brother pregnancy did enough to tip the scales and flood from the tips of the limbs. Their pedipalps throbbed with each spurt until it spewed overflowing form Narinder's stretched hole.

Pulling free, Shamura put their brother in a circle, displaying his freshly wrecked cum-dripping anus. The spider demanded, ``Look. Death and life, mingling as one. Take this lesson to heart, bro--''

An unknown wave must have washed over Narinder. When they touched the spider's face, the feline's own expression softened. With both of his skeletal hands he pulled Shamura close, his muzzle and their fangs intermingling in a slow kiss. Between tasting both of their tongues, Shamura whispered softly, ``What have I done...?''

Narinder growled, more amorous than angry. He bit at Shamura's mouth, a strange playful gesture, ``Don't be sorry.''

Drip. Drip. Drip. Shamura's head wound seeped and dripped into the pool of blood in the present, his smile clouded with hazy reminiscing.

The music had long ended, from the shiftless quiet of the followers. The tall bird-mask cultist hovered quietly before asking, ``My beloved god...did...did you like the song?''

They dabbed at their forehead, wiping the blood that smeared their face. Pleasantly they dipped, ``It was nice.''

Swiftly the spider god dove in, impaling the tall cultist with their fangs. The cultist's cleaver dropped as they flailed and screamed while Shamrua vigorously gulped down their life juices, leaving nothing but withered skin once the corpse dropped from their mouth. As efficiently they turned on the survivors, spewing volleys of poison that ate and dissolved the unfortunate ones into liquefied organ soup. The rest Shamura either crushed with their sheer weight until they turned into a fine paste or he tore and devoured as a convenient snack.

Only they remained in these ruins, alone with gutted, melted, and decapitated bodies. Shamura's smile faded.

``Lamb...'' they sighed to themselves, ``How could they know him as I did?''

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