Life and Death

The following material is all original. All characters were created by me, for the purpose of this story. I would like to say though, that inspiration for this series came from Mortal Kombat.

The following material is all original. All characters were created by me, for the purpose of this story. I would like to say though, that inspiration for this series came from Mortal Kombat.

**The Trials of Life and Death**
*Act 1*
*Scene 1: You're Not Ready*

= = = = = = = = = =

"I am Travek, God of Justice. Born on the day of Monday, it is my duty as a God to keep the rules of humanity and deity alike in effect. Wielding the spirit of the dragon, the sword, and the power of fire, I swear my allegiance to you."

"I am Fiona, Goddess of Life. Born on the day of Tuesday, it is my duty as a Goddess to keep the human race alive, controlling things like love and affection. With the spirit of the dove, the staff, and the power of water, I swear my allegiance to you."

"I am Kuahl, God of Balance. Born on the day of Wednesday, it is my duty as a God to keep the forces of good and evil, light and dark, truth and lie, in a perfect equilibrium. With the spirit of the serpent, the scales, and the power of time, I swear my allegiance to you."

"I am Lessat, God of Nature. Born on the day of Thursday, it is my duty to keep the world itself alive. With the spirit of the elemental, the crossbow, and the power of nature itself, I swear my allegiance to you."

I am Erenaad, God of Death. Born on the day of Friday, it is my duty to end the lives of those who have reached their end, ensuring that new generations can enter the world. With the spirit of the raven, the scythe, and the power of darkness, I swear my allegiance to you."

I am Valeria, Goddess of War. Born on the day of Saturday, it is my duty to keep the spirit of competition and battle alive, ensuring that the world isn't just a place of mundane pleasures. With the spirit of the bull, the axe, and the power of earth, I swear my allegiance to you."

"Good, good my children. I am glad to see you all so well... I am Kor'Demmoth, God of All. Born on the say of Sunday, it is my job to monitor the doings of not only the humans, but of the six lesser gods. With the spirit of the demon, the spear, and the powers of all lesser gods, I accept your allegiance. Together, we shall work
to maintain the world known as Earth. Each of us shall construct a shrine, in which the humans will worship us and our divine powers.

Travek, your shrine will be built in the mountains of Granava, near the great volcano.
Fiona, your shrine will be built overlooking the Grand Sea.
Kuahl, your shrine will be built as a gateway, connecting the mortal world to the immortal world.
Lessat, your shrine will be built in the Starlight Woods.
Erenaad, your shrine will be built in the wastelands of Ven.
And you Valeria... Your shrine will be a grand arena, in which every decade, a competition will be held, allowing us to see whose land deserves my graciousness."

= = = = = = = = = =

The fiftieth tournament... Many centuries later.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen! Welcome once again to The Trials!" The announcer shouted from the center of the sandy arena pit. The pit itself was a large circle which rested ten feet below the audience, whose seats surrounded the pit like a coliseum. The announcer, a gruff looking man, stood atop a seven foot wooden tower, a piece of artificial terrain added to some matches for a more interesting bout.

"At long last, we draw to the end of this decade's tournament. We have seen wonderful competition this time around, haven't we?!" He shouted, getting a massive response from the crowd of nearly five thousand, bloodthirsty fans. "We've seen former champion Johannis lose his epic rematch with the shadow-weaver Tybalt!" The announcer yelled, the cheers of the crowd deafening him.

"And now, we have our two finalists!" He raised his arms high in the air, two of the four metal gates raising up. "First, we have a newcomer to The Trials, and on her very first visit here, she placed in the finals!" He said, the crowd recognizing the astounding feat, and showing it through their cheers. "Let us welcome... Miss Mercy Westbrook!"

The fans stood up with fists pumping in the air, their shrieks filling the arena. A slender figure entered the sandy pit. She was only nineteen, but a girl of impressive fighting skills. She wore a pair of loose black training pants, a white tank top, and had her long black hair tied back in a ponytail. Her hands were covered with fingerless gloves, her feet brandishing steel toed boots, and tied to her waist was a wicked looking curved knife. Her face showed pure determination as she reached the center of the arena, but she returned the love the crowd gave her by waving back at them.

"Now, let us give a warm welcome to our second finalist, the mysterious, Wildcat!" The crowd, still standing, shouted even louder than before, the sexy vixen known only as Wildcat getting a better reception than her foe. Then, she slowly walked into the sandy pit, her hips sensually swaying with each step. Her hair was long and blonde, full of volume. Her outfit was skin tight, covered with the fur pattern of a tiger. Her special gloves had metal claws coming from each finger, making her primary weapon easy to use. Large breasts and a false fabric tail completed the ensemble, making her the one that most men wanted to see win.

"Alright girls, you both know the rules! The two of you fight until one cannot go on. The winner is left to decide whether the loser lives or dies! You know the drill!" The announcer said to the crowd, his voice projecting remarkably well.

"Mercy, are you ready?" He asked the nineteen year old. She only gave a slight nod, her mind focused on the coming battle. The announcer turned to Wildcat. "Wildcat, are you ready?" He asked.

"I'm always ready." She said with a smooth, seductive voice. The announcer grinned and stepped away from the two women, who were already staring each other down. Mercy's eyes were full of focus and even anger as she stared into the bright blue eyes of her catlike foe. Wildcat on the other hand acted completely natural, a small smirk spread across her face as she looked up and down the body of her foe. Her eyes followed the contours of her body; up her strong legs, tight stomach, perk breasts, finally resting on her eyes.

"Mhmmm... Not bad." She remarked, a purring tone in her voice. Mercy stood strong, resisting what she took as mind games. "You know, even if you lose, I think I may just have a job for you." She said with a small giggle and a lick of her lips. Mercy's eyes squinted as she reared back and assumed a fighting position. Wildcat gave a small laugh as she raised her claws and readied herself.

"Alright ladies! Three! Two! One! FIGHT!" The announcer yelled, officially beginning the match. The two women both took a few steps back and began to slowly circle each other, their eye contact never breaking. After a moment, Mercy made the first move, darting forward with impressive speed. The younger competitor launched a flipping roundhouse, the heel of her foot headed straight for Wildcat's jaw. Her foe was too quick though, and for the next few minutes of the match, the defensive Wildcat took her time in dodging everything Mercy threw at her. Wildcat's strategy was working effectively. As time went on, Mercy began to wear out and get slower. Wildcat made her move, finally going on the offensive.

The femme fatale brought down all hell upon Mercy, her swift kicks and occasional scrape with the steel claws beating Mercy into submission. During a brief moment between assaults, Mercy quickly withdrew her knife, only to have it kicked from her hand a second later. The knife fell with a mute thud on the sand, leaving it's would-be wielder in a world of trouble.

Wildcat was having a ball with beating Mercy like a dog, but she had enough. With one final, well placed roundhouse kick to the face, Mercy flipped in the air and landed on her face, a thin stream of blood flowing from the corner of her mouth. The crowd went wild, knowing that Wildcat had won, and more importantly, become the new champion. But now the decision remained. The crowd silenced as the fate of Mercy was
about to be decided by the one who beat her. Wildcat knelt beside her beaten opponent and slowly moved one of her sharp claws across her cheek, not hard enough to draw blood. With a smile on her face, she leaned forward and licked up the line of blood that came from Mercy's mouth, making sure she got every bit.

"Mercy." She said in a casual tone, the only people able to hear being herself, Mercy, and the announcer. The announcer hurriedly ran to the top of the wooden tower and yelled to the crowd in celebration.

"She has granted mercy!" He yelled, the crowd agreeing with the decision and cheering as loud as they possibly could. Wildcat stayed knelt beside Mercy, looking at the barely conscious face of the one she just defeated. Slowly turning her body over, Wildcat began to inspect the damage she dealt. A scratch mark went from her left shoulder to just above her cleavage, and two single talon marks on her right cheek. They would heal well and most likely not scar, or at least that's what Wildcat hoped. Destroying beauty wasn't in the interest of the vixen. In fact, she frowned upon it.

As she stood to leave, the announcer ran to her, grabbed her right wrist, and raised it in the air, proclaiming her the new champion.

"And now, to present her championship medal, our very own, Sargon!" He yelled, the audience giving it up for their collective favorite, the seven time winner of the tournament. The man entered the sandy pit though one of the originally unopened gates, a large velvet box in his hand. He wore a leather and steel harness across his chest, keeping two large steel shoulder plates on him, as well as a large belt, on which he had his seven metals attached as trophies. His boots and gauntlets both had a strip of small spikes going in a vertical line along the face. He wore no helmet, letting his long brown hair sway as he strode towards Wildcat. The man looked as if he were in his early thirties, but everyone knew he wasn't human, and his age had recently reached the three digit point.

Sargon stood in front of Wildcat and opened the box, revealing a golden medal, about three inches in diameter. Carved on it was the letter "T", meaning Trials. The victorious blonde grabbed the medallion from the box, but kept her eyes on the man who presented it to him. She eyed him just as she eyed Mercy before the fight. Her gaze rose to his, and she suddenly realized he noticed the looks she gave him. With a seductive smile, she put the necklace around her neck and let the medallion drop down to her breasts, but kept her eyes on his.

"Congratulations on winning the championship this decade Miss Wildcat." Sargon said, sticking to his reasoning for being there, despite the looks she was giving him.

"Please, my name is Cathrine. But you can call me anything you want." She said charmingly.

= = = = = = = = = =
Eight years later...

"Come on Teresa, you can do it." The aged sorcerer said, encouraging the young girl in front of him. Teresa was a girl just into her twenties, with long blonde hair that went a bit past her shoulders. She wore long blue robes, trimmed in white. Beads of sweat rolled down her face, her current task taking immense amounts of concentration and energy. Her slender hands were extended outwards, unseen powers emitting from them. In front of her, floating five feet off the ground, was an enormous boulder. It shook in mid air, Teresa's powers barely holding it's immense weight up. In back of her stood her mentor, the master magician, Montalvo.

Montalvo was a man nearly in his seventies, his hair short and gray, though normally concealed under the hood of his dark blue robe. His face was scarcely wrinkled, his hands hardly pruned. For a man his age, he looked amazingly young.

Teresa's eyes were closed, her teeth clenched, her knees buckling. For the past minute, she had been pouring her magic forth, struggling to pass her master's test. For most it was a simple assignment: "Use levitation to keep a boulder at least six feet in the air for no less than three minutes. With the development of magical skills and the strengthening of the spirit, the boulder would seem lighter and lighter. For a master like Montalvo, one boulder could be lifted with a single finger. With all of his power, he could clear free a path blocked by an avalanche. Such is why it pained him to see his latest apprentice unable to hold a single boulder.

Finally, the girl's strength gave out, and the boulder dropped to the ground with a hard thud. Immediatly, Teresa fell to her knees, placing her palms on the ground to support her weight. Sweat poured off her face, soon to be joined by tears of failure. She soon felt the reassuring hand of Montalvo on her shoulder, and she sat up, not wanting her make herself look any weaker to her mentor.

"I'm... sorry..." She sobbed, rubbing her eyes with her fist. "I failed again..."

"It's alright." Montalvo said, hoping to lessen the girl's sadness. Deep down though, Montalvo was very disappointed with her performance. Ever since he took her as an apprentice eight years ago, she's had nothing but a bumpy road of learning.

Her third year featured the learning of the basic fireball. She accidentally fired it towards a stable, catching all the hay on fire, and destroying the structure, killing many royal steeds. Her fifth year, Montalvo's personal favorite, was basic teleportation. When the poor girl tried to move from in front of Montalvo to behind him, she wound up in a nearby tree, unable to get down on her own. And now, year eight, her inability to levitate a rock after eight years of work.

"I'm a fuck up..." She said aloud, still wiping tears from her eyes.

"Maybe." Montalvo joked, squeezing Teresa's shoulder a bit and giving a small laugh. Teresa laughed through the crying, her usual self slowly returning. Montalvo grabbed the girl's upper arm and helped her to stand, the girl still quivering. "Oh come now child, it isn't that large of a failure. You held it for a minute twenty-two." He said with a smile.

"Which is only half of what you expect..." She said, pointing out his criteria.

"Worry not about that child. You will improve. The only concern I have is that you won't be ready for this decade's tournament." He admitted, a sad fact he had to accept in the past years. Upon hearing that, Teresa's eyes grew large and she grabbed onto his robes, shaking them lightly.

"I can't compete?! Why?!" She demanded, forgetting whom she was speaking to. The robed elder grabbed her hands, removed them from his robes, and grabbed onto her shoulders.

"You aren't ready." He said simply.

"I will be!" She insisted, clenching her fists.

"I'm sorry Teresa, but at this point, competing has no point. Two types of people fight there. Hand to hand fighters and sorcerers. You would enter as a sorcerer, but your skills are just not good enough. Imagine if you will...-" He began, knowing this scenario would end her eagerness to fight. "-that you enter the sandy pit and hear the encouraging cheers of the crowd, only to come face to face with Johannis." He said, the young blonde's eyes suddenly filled with fear.

She had heard stories of the creature known as Johannis. He was a mighty centaur warrior, standing nearly seven feet tall. Built like a giant, fearless, strong; a creature made to kill. Many stories are told of his epic battles with Tybalt, a shadow weaving sorcerer who was once trained by Montalvo before visiting the shrine of Erenaad, God of Death, and becoming his champion.

Their battles are said to be epic, the classic battle of brains versus brawn. As their first battle went, Tybalt underestimated the pure strength of Johannis, and was caught in the chest by a mighty mule kick, sending him crashing through a wooden tower and into the stone wall. Somehow, he survived, and Johannis granted mercy.

Eight years ago, at the last tournament, they had a rematch, in which Tybalt won, knowing now how to defeat the centaur. By breaking one of the centaur's legs and using a long, log-like piece of wooden debris, he beat Johannis into the ground, knocking the great warrior unconscious. Hoping for a third and final match someday, Tybalt granted mercy.

Montalvo noticed the look in Teresa's eyes when he mentioned the thought of facing Johannis, and he knew she instantly agreed about her lack of entering the tournament.

"Just train with me another decade and enter next year. By then, you will have the skills to face even Johannis." He said with a smile, being given one back by his apprentice. "Come now child. Let us have supper." He said, beginning his walk back to the shrine of Fiona.

= = = = = = = = = =
Again, her fist slammed hard into the sand bag, sending the heavy training device swinging back and forth, only to be met by another of her hard jabs. For the past five hours straight, the woman known as Mercy trained, her mind completely focused. Her face and clothes were all drenched with sweat, but she cared not. She threw left/right combinations at the sandbag, imagining the face of that bitch Wildcat on it. Despite the fact she had been training for so long, her punches didn't lose any strength. In fact, they seemed to be stronger.

The black haired beauty finally took a rest from the training and sat down on a bench provided by those who ran the training facility. She was alone in an exorcise room, filled with weights, sandbags, and the such. She told the man who ran it that if anyone else was in there, they wouldn't walk out alive. Rage was the woman's weapon, and any nearby when she vented that rage, would come to know why she made it to the finals of The Trials eight years ago. Now, she trained to compete again, and to beat the woman who humiliated her, Cathrine. Now, aged twenty-seven, with her twenty-eighth just a week away, she was stronger mentally and physically. Inside, she knew she was too young to compete last year, and that's why she lost. At the time of their fight, she was nineteen and Cathrine was twenty-two. Sure, she was beaten by three years, but that was all going to change in this next tournament. With all the focus she has been putting into training, Mercy would be unstoppable.

Suddenly, a knock came on the door. Mercy slowly turned her head, not wanting to interact with anyone, but she answered anyway.

"What is it?" She asked with an annoyed tone. After a moment of silence on the other person's part, he responded, his voice almost trembling.

"I've brought you some tea and a towel." He said, remembering what Mercy said about her rage. Luckily, she was taking a break, and she told him to enter. The elderly man entered, his back slightly hunched, his head balding, and his steps small. In his hands was a tray holding a steaming tea pot and a small cup. Slung over his left shoulder was a white towel, something she forgot to get going into training. She forced a smile as he set down the tea and gave her the towel.

"Thank you." She said honestly, feeling stupid in the first place about forgetting a towel. She wiped it across her face, feeling relieved. The old man poured her a cup of tea, which her eyes widened upon seeing. She picked up the wonderful smelling tea, sipped it, and smiled. "Very good." She said, believing it to be the best tea she'd had.

"It's my wife's recipe." He said with a near toothless grin. He stood holding his hip, his knees shaking a bit as he rose. "I'm too old to still be working." He joked, beginning his walk out. "If you want, down the hall, second door on the left, is the path to the bath house." He said, knowing that after training, most liked a hot bath. "Just give me a holler and I'll get you a towel for one."

"I think I'll take one now. And this towel is fine." She assured, slinging it over her shoulder and grabbing the tea tray. "Please tell your wife that her tea is amazing." She insisted, handing the tea tray to the owner. He nodded in thanks and walked out.

Mercy followed his directions and went out the second door on the left. She was now outside, the cool night air refreshing her already. All around, there were decorative plants, mostly ferns. She stood on a cobblestone path to a small building that had masses of steam coming from it's two openings, which she assumed were male and female. She walked down the path, her boots clacking against the stones due to the steel toes. She found her assumption to be correct, two small signs on the wall saying "Gentlemen" and "Ladies." She went the path of "Ladies" and found herself in the small dressing room, wherein you would put all your clothes in a small cubby hole so they wouldn't be drenched by the cloud of steam.

She disrobed, relieved to take off the sweat covered clothes. She pulled off her black tank top while taking off her boots with her feet. She stuffed the shirt in the hole and moved the boots and soon socks to the "Shoe Drop-Off" as the nearby sign called it. Already there, she saw a pair of light training shoes. Realizing another person was already there, she wondered why she didn't see them training before bathing. Passing off the thought, she removed the rest of her clothes; pants, bra, panties, and put them all in the cubby. She picked up her towel and walked into the next room, the origin of the steam.

She found herself in a quaint little room with a massive bath in the middle. As she expected, a woman was already in it. She was in about her mid-twenties, long red hair, and large green eyes. Mercy set her towel beside the woman's and stepped into the bath, the hot water feeling amazingly refreshing. She got in all the way and sat on the small, submerged ledge, leaving her head and shoulders above the water.

"Looks like you've been at it a while." The red head said, commenting on the appearance of Mercy, worn-out as all hell. Mercy laughed a bit and looked over the woman, noticing she didn't look worn out at all.

"Looks like you haven't been at it." She countered, giving a joking laugh afterwards, which was returned by the woman.

"Yeah. I couldn't go in. Apparently, somebody bought out the entire gym tonight." She said, emphasizing "somebody" with a raised eyebrow. Mercy laughed in a bit of embarrassment.

"Sorry." She said sheepishly. "When I get started, I have the nasty habit to kicking the ass of whatever's nearby." She said, her new friend nodding in understanding.

"No problem girl. Name's Erika." She said, extending her hand to Mercy, who took it in hers.

"Mercy." She said with a smile.

"Well Mercy, tell me. Why are you in the gym for such a long time?" She asked, looking over Mercy's body. "You look to be in perfect shape." Her eyes locked on Mercy's perfect stomach. "The Trials?" She asked.

"Yeah. I competed last decade and lost in the finals." She explained.

"I couldn't watch last decade. I was only fourteen and my parents thought it would be too violent for me." She said with a smirk. "Bunch of bull to me. I heard there were only two deaths last decade."

"Yeah. Granting mercy is becoming a lot more popular. The killers are looked at like barbarians now. Hell, even Johannis grants mercy now." She said, getting a perplexed look from Erika. "Oh, sorry. Johannis is a former champion. Centaur." She explained, Erika nodding in understanding. "What about you? You have any interest in entering?" Mercy asked, getting a laugh from the red head.

"I can't fight... at all. I'm a writer." She said. "I just come here to stay in shape."

"What do you write?" Mercy wondered, beginning to get interested in learning about her new friend.

"Well, I haven't actually written anything yet... I'm starting. But I want to record people's travels, like my favorite author, Randell Ingerfeld." She began. "He followed this sorcerer on his travels all over the land, writing about all the amazing things he did. That's what I want to do." She said, a dreaming smile on her lips.

"Interesting." She said, never thinking of using writing in such a way.

"Hey... I've got an idea." Erika said in a low voice, Mercy giving a questioning look. "How about I come with you! I can write about your training and experiences in The Trials! That would make for a great story!" She shouted with excitement. Mercy however, just laughed.

"A book about me? Sorry, but I'm afraid that would bore your readers." She said, not thinking of her life as overly interesting.

"Oh come on! It would be fun! Plus, it would be nice to have some company." She spoke, trying to sway Mercy's decision. "Come on. It'll be so much fun." Mercy sighed and ran the idea through her head. She weighed all the pros and cons. Pros: Company, people seeing what the tournament is like from the inside, company, making her happy, company... company... Okay, she faced the sad fact. She was lonely. She never really had any friends, mostly because of her seldom controlled rage. She kept herself alone out of fear of hurting someone she cared about. But this person, Erika, knew about her problem, and still suggested the idea.

"Sigh... Look Erika... I don't know... When I get into a fight or even something like training, I can't control myself... I hurt innocent people... That's why I always travel alone..." She said in a low voice, feeling bad for herself. Erika though, waded through the water and sat next to her, putting a hand on her thigh.

"Everyone needs a friend Mercy. I could be one." She said. "So what do you say?" She asked with a smile, thinking she got through this time. Mercy raised her head and looked into Erika's eyes, a smile slowly forming.

"Alright..."

= = = = = = = = = =
Sargon sat in his lavish throne, a goblet of wine in his hand, from which he drank deep. His throne room was in the shrine of Valeria, the arena which he ruled over, at least in the mortal sense, for in the end, it all belonged to Valeria. His chamber was adorned with riches of all sorts, the collective winnings of his seven victories. Everything from chests of gold, unique and imported rugs, weaponry, and rare jewels were found in his room. But his rarest jewel was the one that sat on her knees at Sargon's feet.

Whilst drinking what seemed to be a limitless supply of wine, Cathrine, the champion of The Trials, known to fans as Wildcat, serviced the former champion, relieving him of what he calls "accumulated stress." The blonde vixen's one piece outfit was pulled down, the top half of it gathering at her waist, allowing her large breasts to bob up and down with the rest of her body. With her right hand firmly grasping the hilt of his length, and her left hand gently fondling his sack, she had what most would call "perfect form."

Sargon smiled as he relaxed in his throne, his mind free of all troubles. Then again, what troubles could you possibly have? Ruling over a sacred tournament, riches beyond your wildest dreams, and an extremely beautiful woman fulfilling your every sexual desire; It hardly seems like work ruling over The Trials.

Taking a break from full service, Wildcat removed Sargon from her mouth and worked him with her hand whilst speaking to him.

"So my love, how much longer is it until the next tournament?" She asked, her hand moving up and down his shaft with a firm grip.

"One year, three months, eleven days." He replied, his mind keeping an exact record of the tournament schedule. "Why do you ask now?" He wonders. In her eight years as his servant, she's never once asked about the tournament, unless of course it involved her training.

"Well, I knew it was getting closer, and I was only curious." She said, beginning to lick the bulge of his shaft. Sargon, feeling the end nearing, grabbed Cathrine's head and forced his entire length down her throat, which she surprisingly didn't gag on whatsoever. Releasing everything inside her mouth, his body raised up slightly, experiencing the thrill of the orgasm. Cathrine graciously accepted his gift, swallowing every bit of his seed as
it shot into her mouth. She took a moment to suck out any semen that may have been left, then removed it from her mouth, a wide grin forming on her face.

"Thank you my dear. But remember one thing." He said, a tone of warning in his voice. She gave him a perplexed look and a tilt of her head. "Curiosity killed the cat." He said with a devious smile. She smiled cockily and stood up, pulling up her one piece, covering her upper body, giving her the true Wildcat appearance again.

"Thank you my dear." She said sincerely. "It was my delight to please you." She said, sitting on his lap, her lips pressing against his with passion. Her tongue moved all around the inside of his mouth, tasting the wine he had been greedily guzzling. When she pulled away, she liked her lips, and to her delight, he motioned his goblet to her. She grabbed it and took a long sip from it, savoring the exotic wine he purchased with his riches.

"Is it truly your delight to please me?" Sargon asked skeptically, setting the empty goblet on the small table beside his throne. She knew he was kidding, perhaps trying to get another go out of her, which she would be happy to supply him with. She moved her head closer and gave him another deep kiss, this time her left hand traveled to his still free manhood, which was already almost fully erect again. Her delicate, but battle hardened hand gripped him again, and gave him the feeling he had felt only a moment before.

"It is my love." She said, her lustful eyes staring deep into his. With a smile, he grabbed her gently by the throat with his left hand and lifted her into the air, still keeping himself seated. Cathrine kept somewhat still, knowing he wouldn't harm her. At least, she hoped not. With his right hand, he grabbed a handful of her one piece tiger pattern outfit and tore it all away, leaving the beauty naked in his grasp. He moved his free hand to
under her left arm, and did the same on the other side. Cathrine placed her left hand on his shoulder and helped to lower herself onto his pulsating manhood, using her right hand as the guide, leading it straight into her. She opened her mouth and released a sound of ecstasy as she felt him fill her insides like none other could. Sargon moved his hands to her hips, and forced her down further, making her body take in all of his massive length. Once she had accepted all of it, she began to move on her own, placing her feet on the throne seat in a squatting position. With his hands on her hips and her hands on his shoulders for balance, she did all the work.

Despite the fact that she had been pleasing him for eight years, her first time doing so being immediately after she won the tournament, she never got tired of making love to him. After years of fucking the same person, most people would get tired of it. Cathrine however, never lost interest in him.

Removing his right hand from her hip, Sargon grasped one of her large mounds and began kneading it, pulling it in different directions and occasionally pinching her erect nipple, tugging on the tender mountaintop. She whimpered in a combination of ecstasy and pain as he did so, her breasts especially sensitive to a man's touch. She continued her motions, grinding up and down on his cock, her juices seeping out and becoming trapped in Sargon's mass of hairs. Cathrine's hairs on the other hand were well groomed, as they should be. She kept them as a nice patch, just the way Sargon liked them to be.

Feeling that he was close to cumming, Sargon lifted her off his body and set her on her knees in front of him.

"Finish me up with your tits." He said in an almost demanding voice, a wide smile forming on his lips. Knowing it would be a bad idea to disobey, Cathrine inched closer to him, grabbed the sides of her breasts, and wrapped them around Sargon's throbbing cock. She began moving them up and down, pressing them together as they went. Sargon smiled in satisfaction, the feeling of Cathrine's soft tits around his dick unbearable. With no premonition, streams of white liquid began to surge forth from the tip of his dick, which Cathrine allowed to cover her face. After taking half of the load on her face, she took the rest into her mouth, greedily chugging
his seed. "Good girl." Sargon said, his hand running through her hair. She took him out of her mouth and slowly dragged two fingers across her cheek, wiping up some of his semen, and licking it all off.

"So, should we begin the tournament preparations?" She asked, still cleaning off her face in the same manner. At this, Sargon laughed.

"You've still got a mess on your face, and you wish to start gathering fighters?" He laughed. She smiled and licked the last bits of Sargon's gift off her fingers. "Plus, you seem to be without clothes at the moment." He said, his gaze shifting to the torn pile once called her outfit.

"It matters not. I'll have a new one before the tournament." She said, knowing that Sargon would supply her soon enough. "Maybe even sooner." She said, hoping Sargon already had an extra he didn't tell her about.

"Maybe. For the time being, you can go without clothes." He said with a wicked smile. She gave a sly smirk and turned to walk out of the throne room.

"I'm going to take a bath." She said, opening the giant doors and leaving the throne room. Sargon remained seated, sheathing his javelin and zipping up his pants. He placed an elbow on the arm rest of his throne and rested his head on his hand. Thoughts of the tournament went through his head, thinking of what Valeria had told him about Chosen Ones. That each decade, each God would pick a warrior from their area and be represented by that warrior. Those Chosen Ones would compete alongside the freelance warriors who join of their own will. If a Chosen One were victorious, that God would gain the favor of Kor'Demmoth.

Sargon wondered whom the Chosen Ones would be for the Gods, despite he knew who Valeria would choose. Not a decade went by that she wouldn't choose her usual champion... Johannis.

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"So my children, the time of choosing draws near." Kor’Demmoth said, his massive form seated in a throne of black stone. His body was covered in black armor, all trim a shining silver. Clutched in his hand was a massive spear, an extremely aged relic, but due to it's Godly empowerment, indestructible. His shining white eyes stared out from the opening in his helmet, surveying the six Gods that stood before him. Each was in a ceremonial robe, each a different color. Travek of Fire, red. Fiona of Water, Blue. Kuahl of Time, Gray. Lessat of Nature, green. Erenaad of Death, black. Finally, Valeria of War, Brown. Kor’Demmoth armor had a white body sash across it, completing the colors.

"Whom have you all selected?" Kor’Demmoth thundering voice called out. Travek stepped forward first, bowing at the feet of his father and removing his sword to display affection.

"I have chosen Salamek, a lavamancer from my region." He spoke with respect, his eyes never looking up into his father's. He stood, and walked back to the line of Gods, soon to be replaced by Erenaad. He bowed as well, holding out his scythe as Travek did his sword.

"I have chosen, once again, my champion, Tybalt, the shadow weaver." He said, before joining the others. Next was Lessat, showing his crossbow.

"I have chosen Luna, a druidess from the woods in which my shrine is located." He said, switching out for Kuahl, who extended his scales.

"I have chosen Yadamon, a shape shifter." He said, being switched out for Valeria.

"I have chosen, as always, my champion, Johannis." She said, showing her massive axe. When she left to the line, the only one who had not chosen, Fiona, had not stepped forward. At this, Kor’Demmoth leaned forward.

"My daughter Fiona... Have you not chosen?" He asked with a patient aura. Fiona kept her head down, her hands clutching her staff. Slowly, she stepped forward, knelt, and extended her staff.

"I have yet to choose Father. I am currently keeping my eyes on a certain sorceress. Her mentor may not let her compete, but if she is allowed to, I choose her." She said in a low voice, feeling shamed.

"You are a Goddess sister. Your will overrules that of a mortal." Valeria said, soon to be silenced by Travek.

"Such a thing is against the rules I maintain. Gods cannot directly interfere in such a matter. It is up to the master to decide who competes, and us to choose from those who can compete." He said, stressing the word "can." Valeria looked down.

"Forgive me. I forgot of that rule Father." She said, Kor’Demmoth dismissing it. He turned his attention back to Fiona, his chin resting on his gauntlet.

"Take your time Fiona. You have one year to make your decision. That's plenty of time. Until then, watch your sorceress closely. If she is allowed to compete within a year, choose her and tell me." He said, his kind tone getting a smile from his daughter. "Now, return to your shrines and see to your champions." He said, all six of them nodding in response. In flashes of colored light, the six were gone, leaving Kor’Demmoth alone.

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END