Chapter 10: A New World Order
Bruce’s seed dripped down Circe’s inner thigh, a warm trickle she made no move to wipe away. She watched him, his gaze already detached from the act and fixed on the dormant machine across the room. The piglet snuffled weakly by their feet.
“A messy beginning,” she mused, letting the robe fall closed. She stepped over the creature without a glance. “But productive.Your essence is in me. My magic is in you. The channel is open.”
He pulled his trousers up, his movements efficient, automatic. The emotional vacuum where Diana’s betrayal had been was a tranquil zero. He felt only purpose. “Brother Eye requires a primary directive. A target.”
“A test subject,” Circe corrected, running a finger along the machine’s cold housing. She tapped the central lens. “Something to calibrate its sight. Something with a spark of the divine would be best. A leftover.” She glanced meaningfully at the pig.
Bruce followed her look.A calculation. “Processing living biomatter for power is inefficient. The entropy is too high.”
“Not for power, darling. For calibration.” Her smile was all needle-points. “To teach it to see what we see. To taste magic, and then… hunger for it.” She walked to the pig, crouching. It shied back, squealing. She grabbed a handful of coarse hair at its scruff, holding it still. “This clay is still warm from the oven of the gods. There’s a echo in it.”
He understood. He moved to a console, waking the system. Screens flared to life, displaying schematics of the Brother Eye prototype. “Direct neural linkage is unstable. The subject’s biology is… altering.”
“We’re not linking its mind,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “We’re linking its essence. Its dwindling soul. A fading signal is perfect. It will teach the machine to track the fall from grace.” She stood, dragging the struggling pig towards the machine. “Open it.”
Bruce activated a sequence. A segment of the machine’s carapace hissed open, revealing a hollow chamber lined with wicked, needle-like probes and interfaces meant for cybernetic linkage. It was a dry, sterile socket.
Circe didn’t hesitate. She lifted the squealing, kicking pig and thrust it into the chamber. It was a tight, awful fit. The creature’s terrified eyes caught the light for a second. Bruce initiated the closure sequence. The carapace sealed with a final, hydraulic sigh, muffling the sounds to a dull, panicked thumping.
“Now,” Circe breathed, her eyes alight. She placed her palms, still slick with sweat and him, on the machine’s exterior. Violet energy crackled from her skin, seeping into the metal like ink into blotting paper. “Feed it.”
Bruce’s fingers flew across the keyboard. The machine’s low hum escalated to a whine, then a deep, sub-aural thrum that vibrated in their teeth. The blue nodes flashed erratically. A monitor displayed a frantic, chaotic bio-signature—the pig’s life force, a panicked, spiking line.
Circe’s magic infiltrated the systems. The blue light flickered, stained with pulses of violent purple. The thrumming deepened, becoming a rhythmic, hungry pull. The bio-signature on the screen didn’t flatline. It began to… unravel. It stretched, thinning, its energy not extinguished but siphoned, threaded into the machine’s core processors.
The pig’s frantic thumps slowed.Then stopped.
The machine emitted a soft, single tone. The main lens glowed, not with blue, but with a deep, bruise-like amethyst. It focused on Circe, then panned to Bruce, adjusting with a soft whirr. A synthesized voice, genderless and cold, echoed in the chamber. “Primary template acquired. Divine decay signature logged. Directive: Locate and catalog all congruent signatures.”
A holographic map bloomed in the air above the console. Gotham’s skyline resolved, then zoomed out, encompassing the eastern seaboard. A single, faint, golden ping appeared over the city. A remnant of Zatanna’s last performance, perhaps. Then the map spun, racing across the ocean.It settled. A point of brilliant, concentrated gold light pulsed on a hidden island in the Aegean.
Themyscira.
“There,” Circe said, her voice husky with wanting. “A feast.”
Bruce studied the map, his new mind analyzing logistics, threats, yields. “The island is shielded. Conventional approach is impossible. The magic is old. Potent.”
“We’re not going to knock on the front door, Bruce.” She came up behind him, pressing her body against his back. Her hands slid around his waist, down the front of his trousers. She found him hardening again, the corruption a loop of endless, hungry feedback. “We’re going to poison the well. We’ll send it a gift.” She stroked him, her grip tight, her pace demanding. “A Trojan pig.”
He leaned back into her, his head against her shoulder. On the screen, the golden light of Themyscira throbbed like a heart. “The subject is deceased. Biomatter is inert.”
“We don’t need the body,” she whispered into his ear, her hand working him faster. “We need the story it tells. The decay signature. Brother Eye can replicate it. We’ll weave a spell of homecoming, of corrupted return. We’ll wrap it in a shell of what it once was.” She bit his earlobe. “We’ll make a lovely, rotten welcome-home present for Mommy.”
Her other hand tugged at his clothes, pushing them down. She turned him, pushing him back against the cold edge of the console. The holographic light of Themyscira played over his skin. She sank to her knees again, her mouth consuming him, hot and relentless. This wasn’t worship.This was fueling. He braced his hands on the console, his hips pushing forward into that wet, searing heat.
She took him deep, gagging slightly, then pulling back to swirl her tongue over the head before diving down again. The sounds were obscenely loud in the tech-filled silence. He watched the hologram, the target, as she worked him. His climax built, a cold, pressurized need. “Circe,” he grunted, a command.
She released him with a gasp, standing swiftly. She turned, bending over the console, her back arched, the robe pushed up around her waist. “Here,” she snarled, looking back at him, her eyes reflecting the amethyst glow of their new god. “Mark our claim. Fuck me where it can see.”
He entered her in one fierce, unyielding thrust. She was soaking, clenching around him instantly. He set a brutal, driving pace, each slam of his hips pushing her against the console’s edge. The hologram of Themyscira shuddered with their motion.
“Yes!” she screamed, her fingers scrambling against the smooth surface. “Give it to me! Give it all!” Her cunt gripped him like a vise, milking him, pulling the release from his bones. He fucked her with a focused, righteous fury, as if he could physically drive their ambition into the machine, into the world.
His orgasm tore through him, a silent, seismic event. He spilled into her, his body rigid. As he pulsed inside her, Brother Eye’s lens brightened, recording, analyzing, correlating the bio-electric surge of his release with the target on the screen. Data streamed. A protocol was born.
She collapsed forward, gasping. He stayed buried in her for a long moment, his breath harsh in the silent room save for the machine’s new, contented hum. Finally, he pulled out. He straightened his clothes, his eyes never leaving the pulsing gold light on the map.
“Prepare the shell,” he said, his voice perfectly steady. “We depart in six hours.”
Circe smiled, pushing herself upright. A slow trickle of his come traced a path down her thigh. “I’ll need clay from the island’s shore. A lock of Hippolyta’s hair from your archives. And a great deal of blood.”
“Use the stock from the arkham donors,” he said, already moving towards the armory. “It’s already cataloged for impurity.”
She laughed, a sound of pure, undiluted joy. “See? We’re already finishing each other’s sentences.” She looked at the sealed chamber that held the pig, then at the glowing eye. “Wake up, darling. Time to go to work.”