Berserker god

CHAPTER TEN

Skallagrim

I’d forgotten what it was to sleep. I could not even remember the last time I’d done it. I had no idea how long I’d been in darkness, but in that darkness, I did not rest. At least, not like this. Not the way I rested wrapped around my little star. Clutching that small creature to my chest was a comfort that nearly defied words, and my worn-out body had immediately slipped into a deep, restorative slumber.

But perhaps the slumber was too deep. Because I did not feel or hear the little star disappear. I did not know if it had fled, or it was taken. I only knew, as I awoke, that something was very wrong. So wrong it seemed to screw my bones too tight against each other. A sense of terror gripped me. Terror that something had befallen the little star. That it was hurt somewhere, or dying, and that I wouldn’t get to it in time.

And then I would be lost in the darkness once again.

I rose with a swallowed roar, sending the side of the lean-to crashing outwards as my wings snapped open. I wanted to run, to fly, to find. To appease the deafening dread with pure might and anger and speed. But I forced myself not to jump into the air. I lifted my snout and breathed in deeply, though rather raggedly, catching the sweet scent of the little star on the air, alongside another new scent that reminded me vaguely of urine. Both fresh.

I followed the trail, sprinting through the grove until I reached its edge and stopped.

There was the little star. It stared back at me from a position on all fours, eyes huge. My own eye was likely just as wide as it settled on the exposed backside of the creature. No tail obscured the sight of its plump, luscious flesh, its backside and thighs a creamy white that made my jaw ache. And nestled between those thighs...

A glistening area of ruffled pink flesh with a slit at the centre, framed with soft golden hair.

A strange tightness entered the area of my throat. And my groin. The river in my head crashed against a rock made of bone and sent droplets of water flying, each one a single word.

Female. Cunt. Wet. Rut. She. Her.

Cocks.

That’s what I had. Cocks. Tucked away in my slit, I’d barely remembered them as I’d tried to reorient myself in a world and a body that made so little sense.

I remembered them now.

I tightened the muscles of my slit, ignoring the engorgement happening beneath with a hiss.

The little star, she, scrambled into a seated position, yanking up the clothing that had covered her legs and soft little cunt up until this point. We stared at each other, and I marvelled at the fact that even though I had not been touching her for some time, the darkness did not seem to be coming back for me as quickly as it had when she had first run from me in that rocky valley. It was as if being curled around her all night had filled me up in some way, like a rock being warmed by the sun so thoroughly it gave off heat even after nightfall.

I wondered how long I could go without touching her.

I was not willing to test it.

Even now my fingers were twitching to reach for her. My tail snapped back and forth as tension gathered in my spine. I crossed the distance between us in quick strides, bent, and clasped my hands around her shoulders, lifting her to her feet. I realized her feet were uncovered now, and I stared in fascination at the tiny, clawless toes while my hands stroked absentmindedly up and down her plush arms. The tiny, sensitive scales on my fingertips and palms prickled, registering just how deliciously soft she was.

My slit tightened against further swelling.

River help me.

I remembered rutting... someone. Many someones, I was fairly certain. I could recall no faces or names, but my body held the memory of the sensations from before the darkness. The hot, hard slide of my cocks against and inside flesh.

The more I remembered of myself before, the more complicated things became. It had been simpler mere moments ago, before I remembered concepts like female and the unmatched pleasure of spilling seed inside a wet, pulsing cha

But she was corporeal, alright. She was still sacred, still my salvation, still the star that had found me in the darkness the way no other light could.

But she also had a pretty, ripe cunt and that information was most assuredly not helpful. Because now, I had to balance even more against the knife’s edge of my sanity. Balance the need to touch her to ground myself with the need to pull away before arousal surged too strongly. My head ached. My whole cursed body ached, my groin most of all.

My touch on her arms had become a caress, and I wrenched my fingers away. Colour bloomed in her cheeks and across her chest. Mammary tissue. Teats. Breasts. I remembered that now, too, as my gaze snagged on the supple, heavy swells of her chest.

She could have had a mate somewhere.

She could have had children.

I wondered what sort of male I’d been before. If I’d always been the selfish sort. Because I felt only the smallest twinge of regret at that thought before it was smothered under a jealousy that claimed her as mine above all others. Her mate could come for her and I would slit his belly before he even got close.

I must have indeed been a selfish sort of male, I decided. Because this kind of desire, this possessiveness, this need to keep her no matter whom it hurt, no matter whom I’d have to kill, did not feel u

I kept my eye on my little star and then walked past her to the water’s edge. The sun warmed my scales in a way that felt like home. Without thinking or even realizing I could do it, I lifted my hand and a sheet of water rose with it. I inhaled deeply, stretching into this familiar and near-forgotten power. I did not think I’d done anything but smash things with my tail and my face and my fists in the darkness. I held the sheet of water suspended like a wall of crystal, watching fish swimming through the wall.

Within moments, I’d used my power to draw several fat fish from the suspended water and into my claws. I snapped their necks for a quick death, tossed them on a flat rock near my feet, then released my hold on the water. I did it slowly, carefully, so that the water was re-absorbed into the river with nary a ripple.

I quickly turned to make sure my little star had not gone anywhere. But she seemed frozen in place. One small hand was clapped over her mouth, her eyes gigantic, her pale eyebrows nearly at her hairline. I did not think she looked scared, exactly...

It bothered me immensely that I could not read her expression easily, nor could I ask her with words what she was feeling. It seemed wrong. Like I should have been able to comprehend her instinctively somehow, though I did not speak her language. My ears burned slightly, and I rubbed absentmindedly at my right one, as if by simply rubbing it I’d be able to make my own ear translate whatever words she used. Why did it feel like it had once been that way before? Like it had once been that easy?

Nothing’s easy now.

At the very least, I could slice some blasted fish. I crouched, cleaning and cutting the first fish on the rock, preparing raw slices in a way that felt like muscle memory. I could already taste the white flesh even though I could not actively remember eating it before.

“Come. Eat,” I grunted up at the little star. Now that I was growing more and more lucid, it felt a bit odd to keep referring to her as that. I wondered what her people called themselves. I wondered if she had a name, but found I had no way to ask.

When she didn’t move, I tossed a strip of the raw fish into my maw and swallowed, indicating that it was meant to be food. It tasted exactly the way I’d expected it to, which was both comforting and destabilizing. I jerked my snout towards the other pieces from the first fish as I began to clean and cut the other two.

Slowly, as if against her own will, she edged closer, peering at the sliced fish and watching the quick movements of my claws.

She said something. It sounded like a question. My inability to parse the words made my jaw tick.

“Eat,” I said again. I was finished slicing everything now, and I remained crouched and watching her.

She spoke again, and it sounded like the same question as before. But this time, she added hand gestures. She mimed rubbing two objects together, then threw her hands upward like two flying birds. I cocked my head, frowning and not having the faintest clue what she was trying to convey. She blew out a breath between tight lips then tried another gesture. She poked at the air then yanked her hand back, as if burned.

“You want fire?”

She pursed her lips and stared at my mouth as I formed the words. I grunted. We wouldn’t get anywhere trying to describe what fire was to each other. Better to show her and confirm that was what she’d asked for.

I strode back to the grove, peeling away several more sections of bark. The bark was very flexible and naturally followed the curve of the shape of the tree trunk, allowing me to slice and then roll the sections into small tubes of wood. I arranged them in a pyramid on a flat rock near the fish. Something at the back of my skull told me I had no ability to summon or control fire the way I could control water. There was someone out there who could do it, I was sure, but if they had a name I did not know it. Instead, I focused on the tubes of wood, holding my outstretched claws above them and using a small amount of power to make them vibrate against each other. Soon, a wisp of smoke floated upwards, curling into the bright sky. Small flames appeared and then grew larger as the tubes of bark caught.

I added more wood and bark, and soon the fire was crackling and strong.

“There. Is that what you wanted?”

She gri

She hurried to the river and rinsed her hands thoroughly in the water before returning and grabbing some of the raw fish and placing it on the flat rock directly beside the base of the fire. Within moments the thin strips began to sizzle.

So, she prefers her fish cooked. I can do that.