Chapter 7: Throne of Blood and Pleasure
The Grand Throne Room held its breath. The violet pulse from the crystal chamber had seeped into the very stone, a fungal glow in the cracks between the obsidian slabs. The air was thick, sluggish, tasting of lightning and something coppery-sweet.Evil-Lyn didn’t sit on the throne. She perched on its arm, one booted foot resting on the seat, her staff cradled loosely like a scepter. He-Man stood to her left, a statue of muscle and simmering violet runes, his eyes fixed on the great arched entrance.They didn’t have to wait long.
The double doors, twenty feet tall and etched with wards of protection, exploded inward. Not with magic, but with brute, petulant force.Shards of enchanted oak rained across the floor. Skeletor stood in the billowing dust, Havoc Staff in hand, his skull-face a permanent rictus of outrage.
“Evil-Lyn!” he bellowed, the voice echoing in the cavernous room.“You treacherous hag!I felt the tremor in the very Pit! You think you can steal my triumph?”
He strode in, his cape swirling.He didn’t even glance at He-Man. His gaze was locked on the woman on the throne.“This castle is mine by right! That power is mine to wield! You are a tool, a useful little scalpel, and you dare think you can hold the hammer?”
Evil-Lyn sighed, a sound of profound boredom. “You’re late.And you’re tracking in debris. It’s very rude.”
Skeletor stopped at the foot of the dais, pointing a bony finger. “I’ll show you rude, you conniving witch! I’ll peel the flesh from your bones and use your skull as a goblet! Now, get off my throne!”
He raised the Havoc Staff, the ram’s skull crackling with malevolent energy. A bolt of pure chaos, the color of a bruise, lanced toward her.Evil-Lyn didn’t move.
He-Man did.A blur of motion, he stepped in front of the blast. It struck his chest with a sound like a gong. The violet runes across his torso flared, absorbing the energy, drinking it.He shuddered, but didn’t take a step back. The light died against his skin, leaving only a faint, smoking tendril.Skeletor finally looked at him. The empty sockets of his skull seemed to widen.“What… What is this? What have you done to the oaf?”
“I didn’t do anything,” Evil-Lyn said sweetly.“He came to me.He saw the future. It’s me.” She slid down from the throne’s arm, her boots hitting the dais with a soft tap. “And you, my lord, are the past. A loud, clumsy, tedious past.”
With a snarl, Skeletor charged the dais, staff held high for a physical blow. He-Man moved to intercept, but Evil-Lyn held up a hand.“No, my love. This one’s mine.”
She didn’t chant.She didn’t even gesture with her staff. She simply looked at him as he mounted the first step and said, “Kneel.”
The word wasn’t a command.It was a law. The stolen power of Grayskull, filtered through her will and focused into a single syllable, hit Skeletor like a mountain. There was a sickening crack, not from the floor, but from the air around him. His knees buckled, smashing into the edge of the step. He cried out, a raw, metallic sound of pain and shock, as an invisible weight pressed down on him, forcing his spine to bend, his skull-head to bow forward until his horned forehead pressed against the cold obsidian.
He groaned, his fingers scrabbling against the step. The Havoc Staff clattered away, its power dimmed.Evil-Lyn descended the dais slowly, each click of her heels a punctuation mark. She stopped before him, looking down at the groaning, prone form of her former master. She tilted her head.“You’re right about one thing.This is a throne. And thrones need to be claimed. Not by the loudest voice, but by the strongest will.”
She turned and walked back up to the seat itself.She didn’t sit delicately. She threw one leg over the solid gold arm, then the other, so she was straddling the throne itself, facing out toward the room, toward Skeletor’s broken form.Her leathers creaked. The position was aggressively open, dominative.
“He-Man,” she said, her voice echoing softly.He was already moving, drawn to her as if by a taut wire. He ascended the dais, his bulk blocking Skeletor’s view for a moment before he stood beside the throne. The violet light played over the hard planes of his abdomen, the colossal width of his shoulders. His breathing was already deeper, his cock, thick and heavy, was fully erect, curving up against his stomach, glistening at the tip.
“See?” Evil-Lyn said to Skeletor, her voice conversational.“This is what loyalty looks like.It’s not fear. It’s devotion.” She reached out, her fingers not gentle, wrapping around He-Man’s shaft. He shuddered, a low groan escaping him. She stroked him once, twice, her grip firm.“It’s eager.”
She guided him toward her. He moved like a man in a dream, his hands finding the throne on either side of her hips for balance. She hooked her fingers into the waist of her own leathers, pulling the material aside just enough. She was already wet, the proof slick and gleaming in the eerie light.
Without ceremony, she arched her hips and took him inside her.There was no slow, gentle entry. She speared herself onto him, letting out a sharp, guttural “Fuck!” as he filled her completely. He-Man’s head snapped back, his eyes clenched shut, his mouth open in a silent roar. For a second, he was motionless, impaled on the shock of it, the hot, tight clutch of her around him.Then the rhythm began.It was not lovemaking.It was a claiming. He pulled back almost entirely, then drove back in, his hips pistoning with a warrior’s power. Each thrust rocked the massive throne, a deep, resonant thud that vibrated through the stone dais.Evil-Lyn threw her head back, her black and silver hair flying. She matched his rhythm, meeting each slam with a roll of her own hips.“Yes! Right there, you fucking brute!” she screamed, the words ricocheting off the walls. “That’s it!That’s your queen! Fuck your queen on her fucking throne!”
Her language was filthy, a stream of obscenities and commands that spurred him on.“Harder! Don’t you dare hold back!Give it to me!All of it!I own it! I own you! I own this castle and every goddamn stone in it!”
He-Man was lost in it. The last vestiges of doubt, of guilt, were pounded out of him with each deep, penetrating stroke. His world narrowed to the heat of her, the slap of their flesh, the intoxicating scent of her sweat and power and sex. He fucked her with a single-minded intensity, his massive body coiled and driving, sweat sheening over the violet runes that now seemed to burn with a pleasured fire.
Skeletor watched, a prisoner under the weight of her magic. He could barely lift his skull, but his eye sockets were fixed on the scene, on the powerful ass of his former enemy driving into his former lieutenant. He emitted a low, continuous whimper, a sound of utter defeat and horrified fascination.
Evil-Lyn’s screams climbed, coiling tighter and tighter.“You feel that?You feel where you are? This is Grayskull!And you’re fucking me in its heart!Now make me come! Make your queen come, you magnificent animal!”
Her nails dug into the muscles of his forearms. Her back arched sharply, her body tightening around him like a vice. With a final, shattering cry that seemed to draw the very light in the room into her, she came. Her cunt clenched around him in rhythmic, milking pulses, and the sensation tipped He-Man over the edge.
With a roar that shook dust from the ceiling, he buried himself to the hilt and erupted. His release was violent, a hot, flooding pulse that seemed to go on and on, pumping into her as he shuddered uncontrollably, his great strength held up only by the throne he clutched.
The silence that followed was profound, broken only by their ragged gasps and Skeletor’s weak moaning.
Slowly, He-Man opened his eyes. He looked down at Evil-Lyn, her face flushed, her lips parted, a sheen of triumph and pleasure in her multicolored eyes. He leaned down, his body still joined with hers, and kissed her. It was deep, hungry, but soft now.A kiss of pure, terrifying devotion.When he pulled back, she smiled. She cupped his cheek, her thumb stroking the line of his jaw. “Perfect,” she whispered, only for him.Then she looked past him, down at Skeletor. Her voice regained its edge, clear and cold in the aftermath.“You see, Keldor? That’s how it’s done.You’re welcome to stay and watch me rule. From the floor.”
She shifted beneath He-Man, a final, intimate squeeze making him groan softly, still inside her. “But for now, get out. My champion and I have… consolidation to discuss.”
With a flick of her wrist, the crushing weight on Skeletor vanished. He collapsed, a pile of bones and rage, before scrambling backward, not even looking for his staff. He cast one last, seething look at the pair on the throne—the sorceress and her colossal, corrupted consort, joined in the most profane victory—and fled into the bruised, waiting night.