Chapter 2

Markos filled his days with trade and strategy. The caravans thrived under his careful watch. Yet, in the chaos of city life, he often sought refuge in his cave.

This cave was his sanctuary. It had not changed since childhood. Each time he entered, the coolness welcomed him like an old friend. The darkness wrapped around him, offering comfort. Here, thoughts could flow freely, like winds across the desert.

His wealth gave him the chance to enjoy this solitude. He had enough coins to hire guards and oversee his caravans from afar. Financial security allowed him to focus on what truly mattered—his destiny.

But fate had other plans.

As Markos walked toward his cave that night, shadows thickened. The air crackled with tension. His instincts screamed. Danger was near.

Suddenly, about ten members of the Rukh clan appeared. They emerged from the darkness like phantoms. Their scorpion tattoos sparkled in the moonlight. They had waited for this moment. Jealousy had twisted into rage. They wanted to reclaim what they believed was theirs: the leadership of the caravans.

The leader, a bulky man named Vesr, stepped forward. His eyes burned with hatred. “You’ve forgotten your place, Markos,” he spat. “You don’t deserve the wealth and status.”

Markos’s heart raced. His hand moved to his dagger. Memories flooded back. The scorn he faced since childhood stoked his anger. Yet, he knew that anger could lead to his downfall.

He took a deep breath. He stood tall. “I’ve earned my place,” he declared. “And I won’t let you take it.”

The clan circled him. Their eyes shone with malice. These were men shaped by the unforgiving desert. They knew no mercy.

A fight broke out. It was brutal and fast. The desert night echoed with the clang of steel and grunts of effort. Blood soaked the sand as they clashed.

Markos relied on his youth and agility. But the numbers were against him. One by one, Rukh clan members fell. Their lifeblood seeped into the desert. Markos engaged in combat with the intensity of a trapped animal. Each blow he landed brought two in return. His breath became ragged. Vision blurred.

Then, like a mirage, Aien appeared. Aien tried to defend Markos. With Aien’s assistance, the situation began to change. As the last clan member fell, gasping for breath, Aien stood by Markos’s side. He searched Markos’s eyes, looking for any sign of injury.

“Thank you,” Markos said, his voice heavy with feeling. “You’ve saved me.”

Aien nodded. “We must leave now,” he urged. “They won’t stop.”

Markos felt the truth in Aien’s words. The air around them buzzed with tension. However, there was a suspicion that the Rukh clan members might be planning a second attack that night.

“Go to Hycis,” he said, his voice steady. “Make sure she is safe. I’ll find shelter in the cave.”

They parted ways. Aien took off for the city, kicking up sand behind him.

Markos stood still. His heart felt heavy. He turned and raced through the night toward the cave. The moon created strange shadows on the dunes. The wind whispered secrets about the storm coming.

When he finally reached the cave, Markos collapsed. He leaned against the cool stone, trying to catch his breath. His heart raced. Memories of his past flooded his mind.

This cave was his sanctuary. It had always been there for him. Through the darkest moments, it stood strong. It was more than a place; it was his fortress.

The cave walls echoed. His breaths were ragged. Markos’s hand found the dagger at his side. It felt comforting.

Then, something caught his eye. A blue glow shimmered in the darkness. Curiosity pulled him closer.

He approached it. Nestled in a crevice was a flower. Its petals were a deep, unearthly blue. They sparkled with a light of their own. Markos had never seen anything like it.

Memories of the desert flower from the prophecy filled his mind. Without thinking, he reached out and plucked it from the rock.

The moment his fingers brushed the petals, warmth surged through him. He brought the flower to his nose. Its aroma was sweet and exotic. It smelled like rain, promising to quench parched earth.

Suddenly, hunger seized him. He took a bite. At first, the taste was bitter. But then, it transformed. A wave of overwhelming sweetness coated his tongue.

A peculiar warmth spread from his throat down to his stomach. It was unlike anything he had ever felt.

The cave walls pulsed. They shifted, almost breathing. Shadows morphed, growing hands that seemed to reach for him.

The air felt heavy. It wrapped around him like silk. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching.

Outside, the sand danced. It swirled in vibrant patterns, a living tapestry. Colors exploded in the desert night, creating a wild show.

Visions flooded his mind. Hallucinatory images twisted and turned. The desert was no longer just a landscape; it was a world of its own.

The world around him shifted. Everything looked strange yet sharper. The flower wasn’t just a drug. It was a doorway to something much bigger. In this moment, he felt tied to the core of existence.

He finally grasped the prophecy. It was his destiny to unite the lands. His mind swirled—colors and feelings danced wildly. But within the storm, a strong sense of purpose emerged.

Visions started to form. He saw himself, not just as a man. He was something greater. He was a force, a god. His role? His role is to restore balance and lead the lands.

The vision sharpened. He stood before a golden altar. People knelt in reverence. He glanced at the dagger in his hand. This weapon had brought him here. It was once a tool for survival, a mark of his strength. Now, it felt different. It was more than a dagger. It was a scepter, a sign of his power.

The metal warmed, pulsing with energy. It was both frightening and thrilling. He pictured himself in the city square. The crowd swelled, chanting his name. “Markos, Markos, Markos.” It echoed like a prayer.

He climbed the steps to the podium. Power surged through him. He lifted his voice to the heavens. It roared like thunder, shaking the ground beneath.

“My citizens,” he declared. His voice carried on the desert winds. “The time for division is over. Believe in me. Your One True God.”

The crowd’s chants grew louder.

Markos blinked awake. His eyes adjusted to the dark cave. The vibrant colors of his earlier vision faded away. In his palm, a blue flower dimmed.

His heart raced. Fear mixed with excitement. The taste of the flower still lingered, a reminder of the power he had felt. He stood up and moved toward the wall where the flower had bloomed. His gaze swept over the crevices. Hope filled him.

Then he saw it. It was a hidden chamber, protected from the harshness of the desert. It was a garden of blue flowers. The breathtaking beauty left him speechless. Their petals swayed softly, glowing against the stone walls.

He reached out. One more flower wouldn’t hurt. But greed whispered in his mind. It urged him to take them all.

With shaking hands, he picked a few blossoms. He stuffed them into a pouch. Leaving them behind felt wrong. The power was too tempting. If anyone else found this place, they could use it against him.

So, he took action. Markos sealed the chamber with a heavy rock, hiding the garden from prying eyes.

When he returned to Hycis, she was pacing. Her eyes scanned him, filled with concern. She exclaimed, “You’re hurt!” Her voice was thick with worry.

Markos smiled gently, though his eyes were still hazy. “I’m well, my love.” He stepped closer, a sense of urgency in his tone. “I’ve had a revelation. A taste of something greater.”

Her gaze locked onto his face, questions swirling in her eyes. “What are you talking about?” she asked, reaching out to touch the bandage on his bicep. He took her hand, grounding them both.

“I’ve become more than a man,” he said softly. “I’ve become a god.”

Hycis stared, shock and uncertainty crossing her features. “A god?” she echoed, her voice shaky.

“Yes,” he affirmed, his voice deep and steady. “My own clan attacked me yesterday. I went for refuge in my own dark cave. In that dark cave, I discovered my true purpose.”

Hycis searched his eyes; the flame of the candle reflected in her own. “What do you mean, Markos?” she whispered, her hand trembling in his.

“I mean,” he continued, confidence growing in his voice, “you have ambitions, Hycis. But my goals are far greater. I want to be the god born of the desert.”

Her eyes widened. “But that’s ... that’s not possible,” she protested, disbelief clear in her tone.

Markos tightened his grip on Hycis’s hand. “All my life, I lost. These tribes and their gods never cared for me. But that dark cave? It showed me comfort. It showed me the truth. We will rule together, Hycis. You will be my queen, my equal. We will shape this world.”

Hycis stepped back. His words hung heavy in the air. The room was silent, save for the crackling candle flame. “But how will we go against all the tribes and clans?” she asked quietly.

He took her hands in his. “I will make it happen. With you by my side, we will conquer these lands. We will bring peace through fear and power. They will worship us. Our names will echo through history.”

Her heart raced. The idea thrilled and terrified her. Doubt flickered in her mind, but his conviction was strong. She searched his eyes for uncertainty. There was none.

“But what if we fail?” she whispered.

Markos’s gaze was steady. “We won’t. I’ve seen it. I will remove anyone who stands in our way. Loyalty is key. If you’re not with us, you’re against us. We’ll build our empire together, my love. Nothing will stop us.”

He pulled her closer. “Will you stand with me, Hycis? Will you be the queen of my new world?”

She found herself breathless. The pull of power was overwhelming. “Yes, Markos. I will be by your side. Together, we will conquer and rule.”

Their kiss sealed the promise. It was a vow of passion and dominance. The air crackled with the intensity of their desire.

Hycis’s teeth brushed against Markos’s lower lip. There was a mix of tenderness and a hint of aggression in her touch. Her hands, once gentle, became assertive. They roamed over his chest, her nails tracing light paths on his skin.

“Are you wicked, Markos?” She whispered, her voice low and enticing. It felt like a pulse in the air, making the room feel charged.

With unexpected strength, she pushed him onto the couch. A playful smirk danced on her lips.

“Very wicked,” he gasped, his gaze deepening with desire.

Hycis laughed. It was captivating, sending shivers through him. Every nerve in his body reacted.

“Good,” she purred. “I like it when you’re wicked.”

Her fingers moved quickly down his body. Each thread of his shirt popped open with her touch. She revealed the strong curves of his chest. His skin showed the marks of his struggles—sweat and dust from his fights.

Her gaze was hungry, soaking in every detail. Markos’s heart raced. He felt Hycis’s hands on him, sparking something deep inside. He lifted his hand to touch her face. His grip was steady but soft. He drew her closer. Their lips met in a heated kiss.

Her tongue brushed against his, bold and urgent. The taste of her saliva was sweet, a reminder of their connection. It felt like their souls were dancing together.

“Get naked,” he commanded. He growled with his voice rough with need.

Hycis’s eyes flashed with excitement. She obeyed. She moved slowly, with a deliberate striptease. Each piece of clothing fell away. Her skin revealed its softness.

Her breasts bounced free. They were a sight to behold, large and firm. Her nipples were hard. Markos’s gaze lingered on the two pebbles of desire. Markos’s eyes fixated on them. His hunger was palpable.

He moved closer. Hycis’s chest rose and fell.

She was Markos’s goddess. Her breasts beckoned like ripe fruits, demanding a taste. He leaned over, his mouth watering. His breath was hot on her skin.

He took one firm nipple into his mouth. He began by gently sucking it. Then harder. His teeth grazed the sensitive areola.

She moaned a sweet symphony of pleasure. It was a sound that could make the gods themselves jealous.

Hycis’s demands grew louder. “Harder,” she begged. Her voice resonated through Markos’s bones.

He knew exactly what she wanted. Her moans grew more insistent. Her body pleaded for dominance.

Markos growled and bit down on her nipple. His teeth sank into her flesh. She released a sharp cry. Her nails dug into his shoulders. Instead of pain, it brought a rush of pleasure for both.

Hycis’s pussy grew wetter with each bite and suck. Markos felt her juices against his shaft. Her juices rolled down her thigh. She pulled him close. “Take me,” she whispered.

But Markos had other plans. He leaned back. He could see the desire in her eyes—the need. He savored it. “Not yet,” he said, his voice low and commanding.

Her eyes widened with surprise. Her breath hitched. He watched her pulse race in her neck. “Get on your knees,” he commanded.

Hycis’s eyes never left his. She dropped to her knees. The fabric of her discarded dress pooled around her. Her submission was a powerful aphrodisiac. Markos’s cock grew even harder.

“Suck it,” he repeated. His command sent a tremor through her body. She leaned in, her mouth watering. Her eyes closed in anticipation.

Her soft, warm lips wrapped around his cock. Her mouth was warm. Markos’s breath hitched as she took him deep. He felt her tongue swirl around him.

Hycis’s cheeks hollowed with each suck. Her eyes remained locked with his. Each moan she got from him was a victory. Each thrust of his hips was a declaration of dominance.

Markos’s hand found its way into her hair. He guided her.

Her teeth grazed his cock, adding a hint of pain to the mix. It was a reminder of the battlefield, a thrill that never left him.

Hycis’s eyes rolled a few tears. She didn’t pull away. She took him deeper. Her throat muscles worked to accommodate his size.

Markos watched his wife. Her eyes rolled back with each gag.

“Good girl,” he murmured. He tightened his grip on her hair, setting a brutal pace. Her moans grew louder, mixing with the sounds of her struggle. It was intoxicating. He’d never felt this way before.

He pulled out. His cock glistened with her saliva. Hycis gasped for air; her eyes shed black tears and rolled to her cheeks. She looked at him not out of fear but out of lust.

Markos pushed her back onto the bed. This was a luxury in the region that only a select few could afford.

He felt surprising strength. His muscles flexed. She spread her legs like the petals of a flower. She exposed her vagina. She was ready and begging.

“Please, fuck me, Markos,” she begged.

He positioned himself at her entrance. His cock, hard and demanding, hovered over her wetness. He watched her face, savoring her anticipation. With one swift movement, he plunged inside.

She screamed, “Oh, Markos, oh yes, harder!”

He pumped into her with a ferocity of brutal force. Her gasps and moans punctuated each thrust, a sweet melody that urged him deeper.

Her body was a tight, wet vise around him. He wanted to savor this moment, to burn it into his memory.

He watched her face contort with ecstasy; her eyes were rolling back in pleasure.

“Harder,” she demanded, her voice a scream. “Fuck me harder.”

Markos couldn’t ignore his busty wife’s call. He obliged. He drove into her with renewed vigor. Slapping sounds of flesh filled the room.

Markos’s hand reached back. He slapped her ass. The force left a red handprint on her ass.

Hycis arched her back. “Yes, dear,” she gasped, her voice ragged with passion. “You are my king. My god.”

Her words sent a thrill through him. He felt invincible. She screamed his name as she came around him. Her walls clamped down around his cock.