Mage: The Dirty Version – Eumenides Tradition Prologue
Kira’s rough kiss had put a ragged mark on the inside left of Markus’ mouth last night, but he regained some sickening symmetry when Jude’s fist snapped out a tooth on the right, ripping its root straight through the gum. Jude picked it out of his glove; Markus spat out a thin line of bloody drool. Red pain.
Markus twitched and shifted so Jude’s partner (T-something or other – some fake-ass Midwest gangster handle) tightened his full nelson up, but that was a misunderstanding. It wasn’t the hit. Markus just hated it when his cock scratched right up against the denim like that. He grunted and wiggled his hips.
“Say again?” Jude smiled and bunched a fist again; the stomach punch hit like a mallet on a taut drum. The force bounced down to Markus’ perineum and up sweetly to his crown, bursting into the outline of a flower on his skull. “Where’s my product?”
The hot flower in his mind bloomed and Kira was with him, crowned as well, tipping a skull of wine down his throat while she straddled him.
“Well I tried your shit, J,” said Markus, giggling in the rush, “But it was so pure. My heart stopped. That’s what happened to those kids, right? You barely cut it. Heh. I flushed the rest.”
“A very, very wrong answer. I’m gonna feed your fuckin’ heart to my dogs.” Out came the cleaver. “You’re one ignorant bitch, son, ‘cause yours won’t be the first one they ate.”
“Not big,” said Markus, then he barked out laughter. He was drowning in the wine now and her tusks cut his cheek.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Jude slapped the flat of the cleaver against his palm.
“You play big, think the people you fuck up carry an indelible mark, like you own them, right? But they’ll get better. You’re little.”
“So? You’re dead.”
“Yes? Yes.” Markus didn’t struggle with the man holding him but dislocated both shoulders around the other way. He popped the wet bone knives and entered the Goddess in his memory and death, death death stained the sweet air of one long, orgasmic exhalation.
