You had seen your future years before. You know that Authority is in store for you. You had felt the rush of the void under your wings, saw the blaze of the Judgement as you and your companions flew on. The sky would open to you. You know this.
So you worked hard, clawing up the ranks of the Bazaar. You were regarded as her Fist. The Masters looked at you with something close to acceptance. Close, but still not enough.
You are still painfully human. The Masters know this. You know this. And they know you are willing to give up that humanity and more for your Destiny. It is no secret to you that time is running short for them and the Bazaar. The Masters are divided in their interests, but all want this to come to an end.
"The Bazaar will succeed," Wines says.
"London will stay," Fires demands.
"Are we through, then?" Veils grumbles.
You know each of them, know their mannerisms, voice and eyes. You are often allowed at their meetings, waiting for your orders. You could be called a Neddy Man but even the Masters have more respect for you than that. (And that alone is a lot. You could be proud of you didn't know you were destined for more.)
It's on one of your strangely calm days that you get a letter. The Seal of the Bazaar gleams on the envelope. Inside, an invitation. Directions to a room behind the door of Teeth. You reread it several times. And then you stand up to leave.
You've been behind a few doors of the Bazaar but never this one. The Teeth Door opens for you and you feel something like pride in your chest. The halls are dark as you mount the spiral staircase, steps made for creatures with claws and longer strides. The center is open, a gaping hole to the top of the spire. If you had wings you could fly up.
If only you had wings.
The thought leaves you feeling empty, emotional. You should have wings, you think, and your shoulder blades itch.
You count each door as you pass and you stop at the seventh. You are nervous and you can't place why. The letter hadn't told you to knock, so instead you brace your shoulder against the door and push. It opens easily, easier than you had anticipated, and you nearly stumble. The door slams behind you.
The room you find yourself in large, bulbous. Shadows cling to the walls like ink. Gas lamps light the center but cannot penetrate much farther, leaving a halo of gold in the middle of the room. Like a spotlight on a stage. Your invitation had said to wait. You step into the light, awkward and stiff.
This is a sanctum. Somewhere no human has ever been. There is an air of something divine or cardinal about this place. It feels holy in a way. Sacred.
And you feel so very out of place. So very on display.
Time passes, you can't say how long. It doesn't drag on, it simply unwinds. Your legs are tired but you can't bring yourself to break the tranquility of the sanctuary. There is something here for you, something important.
You should be here but not as you are. The hair on the back of your neck stands up and your skin is covered in goosebumps.
There's no noise but you feel the air change. You look up. All around you the shadows move, like twisting fingers reaching for the light you stand in. You are frozen. The shadows quiver, expand, and then condense into shapes.
There way the shadows move and dance with the lighting makes it hard to tell how many. Seven. No, Nine. A glimpse of what could be Eleven. Is that a twelfth? The Masters of the Bazaar, you realize. They are unrobbed, wings arching up like angels or perhaps gargoyles guarding a church. You can make out slight differences in their fur and the lights of their stars. One is more red than brown, another black as night. One has molted brown and white fur, this one has golden eyes.
But you cannot tell who is who.
And then you realize they are all wearing ritual masks. A bird, a snake, one looks like a moth and another a dragon. Gold and jewels decorate them all. And you still do not know which is which.
You are dizzy, afraid for the first time in what feels like ages. Something tells you to run but you can't move.
They surround you and finally one speaks. "We know what you want. We, too, have seen your destiny. But in order to ascend the Chain, one must take in as much Vital Essence as they can. You will either incorporate it, or it will incorporate you ."
You used to be able to tell their voices from one another, but their mask and the size of the room distorts everything. You don't know who is talking. Wines? Pages? Spices?
You realize their words shimmer in the air. The Correspondence of it dances around you like fireflies. Could Iron speak in the Correspondence and just not English? You are unsure. Still, the words are understood perfectly. At least, as perfectly as you are capable. The true meaning of them is lost on you.
It's a threat, you guess. Either your body accepts what they give you, or you lose yourself. Do you have a choice? Would you even reject this offering if you did?
Another speaks up, firmer, but still distorted enough you can't pinpoint who it is. "Strip."
You obey. Your fingers can't seem to move fast enough. Everything seems slow. You pull fabric and undo buttons and laces until the cold bites into your bare flesh.
"Now, on your knees, human."
The words are Law. They warm your skin and you barely notice the hard floor meeting your knees. You crumple, you bow. High-pitched noises fill the room like a chorus of excited bats. Growls, trills, and chirps. It smells like ozone but with a hint of something you can't place, something you want more of. Your eyes adjust to the darkness better, or perhaps the pulsing lights on the Masters grow brighter.
They are in an arc in front of you. Now you can see nine, but the shadows play at the edges of their forms as if there are more, could be more.
And every single one of them has a clawed hand on their cock. Some are more erect than others. Your eyes widen.
"Light more incense," one mumbles. Its ears are back almost shyly as it works its cock. A tremble in its wings. Its mask is a cat.
One of the largest ones growls, speaks a word that lights bowls of spices around you with fire. Its stars are pulsing erratically, hand squeezing its barbed cock. Its mask is of a dragon. It is almost intimidating to look into the dead eyes of a mask and the fake, cruel grin. Behind the eye slots, green eyes watch you closely.
The smell hits you all at once and it obviously hits them as well. You feel your body heat up, between your legs throbs. One Master, shorter, with the mask of a weasel, pumps its cock with renewed vigor.
It steps forward. "Open," it pants, voice higher than the others. The word burns and shimmers in the air around you. You don't hesitate to open your mouth, shifting on your knees in arousal. Claws grab the back of your head, thumbs hold your mouth open. Its cum is thick and sticky. Sweeter than it should be. You jerk back instinctively and it snarls in warning.
"Swallow." Another commands. You do, gulping it down as it holds you still. You have to swallow several more times before it is done. Its shoulder slump as it releases you and it steps back sluggishly.
You feel warmth pool in your stomach and it moves to your limbs. You feel bliss. Someone else steps forward. Its tall and slender, mask sweeping wings of a moth.
"Pardon us," it purrs softly, a hand cupping your chin and wiping away some of the cum dripping from your lips. Its breathing hitches and it brings its claw to its mouth to lick it off. A shudder of its wings. "Would you… assist us?"
Your eyes dart down to take in its cock. Deep red and throbbing. You nod, leaning forward to take it into your mouth. It smells, tastes, vaguely fruity. You're dizzy on it, sucking like it's a precious gift given to you. Like it's an offering. The others move closer and you are surprised you don't gag. It pants, claws petting at you.
"Hold your breath," it grinds out, holding you still. You feel it swell in your mouth and you swallow down all it gives you. It's almost alcoholic, it burns your throat nicely. Stars bloom behind your eyes, your shoulders ache.
Next to you, another is grunting, eyes behind its fox mask squeezed shut. It pumps its cock firmly, the head a bright red.
"Turn 'em here…" Its voice is deep and the one who just came pulls out and tenderly tilts your head to the other. You don't need to be told to open your mouth, eyes wide and desperate. It smells like smoke when it cums, thick cock dripping just above your lips. It's hot, almost burning and you drink it down quickly so that you don't burn your tongue.
"There ya go, little one, drink up." It groans. You feel full, cum mingling in your belly. You are bulging slightly from it all. You almost climax from the taste and feel but it stops too soon, wiping its hands off on your face.
But you want more. You need more. Your skin prickles, your head is foggy. They seem be growing more excited. You are more sensitive to individual smells, no more is it just ozone. Your senses are sharpening, the dark is melting away.
"More," you rasp, "Please." It comes out in a tone higher than you expected.
One in a rat mask shoves forward excitedly. Its cock hangs heavy, tip flared. "Do you think I can fit, my dear?" It coos and you lick your lips. "Such an eager thing." It lifts its cock to your mouth and you press your tongue to the slit, lapping up the precum. It smells flowery and the taste makes you shudder. You need more. You immediately try and fit it into your mouth and it gasps and sighs happily. "Easy, easy. Here, use your hands, dear." It guides you, showing you what it likes as it trembles above you. The praise is almost as good as its flavor.
When it cums, it's a flood in your mouth. You almost choke and it chuckles weakly as it catches its breath. "Should have warned you. Sorry, my dear."
You manage to not let more than a few drops spill. Your stomach is bloated after that but you don't get much of a break before someone else grabs your head. It is not gentle with you, claws tugging your mouth open. A low, barely audible grunt from behind its boar mask. It doesn't even let its cock touch your lips, instead letting itself cum in an arc and into your mouth. It tastes almost metallic but the thickness of it makes you dizzy.
"You really should cum more…" Someone says. The one using your mouth finishes without another noise and steps away. You can feel your hands and feet changing, growing into claws. It's an uncomfortable stretch all across your body. Skin too tight. You pant, shifting on your knees. You can see fur starting to spread across your body. A mess of fluids has pooled between your thighs, your own. You don't remember when you came.
The shy one in the cat mask approaches next and you reach out for it. You take it into your mouth without any need for instruction and as you work it babbles praise in multiple mixed languages. You understand it all even when you shouldn't. Another steps up right next to it and you take turns switching between the two. The newest one has a wolf mask and smells earthy. The two scents work well together and you find a rhythm switching between the two.
The first cums fast and when it does, you smell parchment and ink, but it's not unpleasant. It takes you a bit longer for the second to cum as your tongue plays with the piercings on its cock. But when it does, it gives a small keen of pleasure and its cum is milky.
You are dizzy, swaying on your knees as it pulls away. You don't know how long has passed but a few you had already drank from come back to use your mouth again. You lose yourself in being used, in feeling yourself become full. The change washes over you like a wave of comfort, warm and enjoyable. You become less and less human.
You almost have full wings when you feel something at your back. "Let's hurry this up, shall we?" A deep purr, teeth brushing your neck. Claws grab your hips and an instinct you didn't previously have controls you. You push back, feel its slick cock prodding your entrance. You see the mask of a dragon out of the corner of your eyes. It's the biggest one and its cock is just as large. You feel it drag its whole length against you, barbs catching.
It's big. It would have never fit before.
"Please," you whine. It laughs, pulling back and ramming itself inside in a harsh motion. It curses when its hilted inside of you and you can feel it pulse inside.
And then another tilts your head up with a delicate claw. Its cock is long and tapered. It almost matches its snake mask. It doesn't wait for you to take it into your mouth, instead, shoves inside itself. Behind you, the larger thrusts viscously. You moan around the cock in your mouth.
"Enjoying yourself, my sweet?" The one using your mouth purrs as it moves. You don't even have to do anything, it fucks your mouth. The one behind you snarls like an animal and the one in front tuts. "Ah, do take care not to knot the poor thing, my friend..."
"Shut up," the other growls, hips slapping against yours in ways that makes even your newly forming body bruise. You push back, claws digging into the stone floor. The other holds your head still as it thrusts into your throat. You can feel claws all over you, digging in and pulling, encouraging growth and holding you still. More hands then there are Masters. You squeeze your eyes shut, overstimulated. You're full and heavy and so very close.
The one mounting you stills, a low word in the Correspondence leaving its throat. It could be a name. Then a rush of cum as it fills you. It's hot and its cock throbs inside of you. The one in your mouth follows, knot forcing your jaw open as it cums down your throat. It tastes like home, smells like roses. It feels like it cums twice.
You can't help but lose yourself to it, body tensing as a shudder wracks your form. New-wet wings trembling. You cum hard, so hard your vision blurs.
You're exhausted, after, as the two pull out of you.
"Sleep, my dear," the one with the snake mask purrs. "You have one more. He'll meet you when you drift off."
A snarl from the other. "What are you talking about?"
A chuckle like glass clinking. It strokes your face as you start to fade into sleep. "Don't get jealous. I hear he visits you too."
You want to understand but your eyelids are too heavy.
You don't remember what happens in your dreams, but when you wake up you are in your bed. You are sore but when you look at yourself, you are no longer human. You smile, run your tongue over your new fangs.
A note at your door reads: A true name must be assigned. You have a room ready for you in Her Spires. Welcome home.