Still wet, San made her way back to Ustal. With one hand gliding up his chest, she tilted her head and met his gaze. Her other hand found its place between his legs, cradling his erection in her small palm and giving it a deliberate, firm squeeze. "Can you promise me?" she asked, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips, as if she intended to kneel down right then and there and pleasure him with her mouth.
His member jerked so forcefully in her grasp that she had to stifle a giggle. "Oh, absolutely," he responded, his voice dropping to a deep, solemn tone, as if he were making a solemn commitment. "You can rely on that, my girl."
The warm heat between San's legs came with a tingling promise of desire, a reminder that her cunt needed what Ustal could provide. San gave a shivering little sigh that was, in fact, heartfelt as she released his thickening flesh. "I'm looking forward to it, Papa Bear." She smiled and stepped back. "I'll finish the ritual now. Send your warriors down for the meat once I'm done, please." No reason not to be polite, after all.
Ustal gave another growl that sounded a touch frustrated, but he nodded, turned and began to climb again. San's standing instructions were that no one was to bother her while she enchanted the hearts that would give the warriors their unholy strength, and Ustal was up and out of her work space in moments.
San spoke a series of sounds that, to untrained ears, would be a painful mouthful of gibberish. "Kis iben, Nerilein Kyub Sritan!" Her vision turned green and she felt a violent trembling in her limbs, so strong that she almost fell over; she grabbed the stone edge where the dead body lay and shuddered, opening her mouth as something invisible invaded her body: every hole, every orifice she had swelled and stretched for a moment as the power of kar filled her. She imagined how she must look like, bent bent over and fucked like a doll by some unseen figure that could—and sometimes did—lift her right off the ground from the force of it.
It was the most intense, violating, and yet strangely pleasurable sensation San had ever experienced in her entire life, and each time it happened, it felt undeniably good. Ustal may have been a skilled lover, but he paled in comparison to the overwhelming power of the undying god. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she tightly shut her eyes, struggling to maintain her composure as her god initiated their union.
Kar represented the magic of the depths, an ancient and immortal power that had been contained beneath the earth for countless millennia. Any witch, if she desired, could tap into this profound magic, but most were too feeble-willed or short-sighted to surrender themselves to its embrace. Being a witch woman was supposed to signify independence, the ability to control one's own destiny, or so San's mentors had taught her. However, she had taken that notion of independence to new heights, granting herself access to a power far greater than they could ever fathom.
San harbored ambitions, dreams that reached far beyond the ordinary. Binding her fate to a higher power, regardless of its form or the strength it possessed, was a risk she was willing to take. The cost of invoking that power was steep, but she would pay it willingly, even if she had to repeat the process a thousand times over.
When San reached her climax, it was an intense and swift release, teetering on the precipice between agony and ecstasy. She arched her head backward and let out a piercing scream, relishing the echo that reverberated within the confines of her secluded lair. Not only did her screams serve to further intimidate the bear-men who already feared her and her formidable powers, but it also provided a deterrent against prying eyes. Besides, it simply felt cathartic to unleash such vocal expression when she reached the pinnacle of pleasure—it was reason enough in itself.
As the waves of pleasure and pain subsided, the wild power of kar pulsed like a second heartbeat within her chest. San trembled, her eyes fluttering open to perceive the world through a hazy green hue, a testament to the magic coursing through her being. Rising to her feet once more, she felt invigorated and renewed, brimming with strength. San effortlessly hoisted the butchered corpse above her head, its weight no more burdensome than that of a lifeless child. With a swift motion, she flung it onto the growing pile of bodies, waiting to be collected by the bear-men who had drawn the short straws and been assigned as her guards.
With that task accomplished, she carefully plucked the hearts from the bowl and arranged them in a neat line, four in total. Each heart was roughly similar in size, the spoils she had received being three men and one woman. Although the absence of wolf-blooded hearts didn't affect the effectiveness of the spell, San couldn't help but lament their absence. The dismemberment of a Kelash would have brought her great satisfaction, but she rarely inquired about the origin of the sacrifices required by Ustal—whether they were transients, travelers, or spoils of war from witch women or human villages. Such details held no significance in her perspective.
Uttering additional incantations—"Kverme amazdurl cugu"—San waved her hands over the hearts, first in one direction and then the other, sealing the potent magic within the chosen vessels. Any body part would suffice—a hand, a foot, or even the brain. However, considering Ustal led an army of men, confining the power within the hearts felt poetically appropriate in her eyes.
The gloomy chunks of flesh emitted a faint green glow, mirroring the luminescent light permeating San's den. It was the same spectral hue that accompanied the physical manifestation of kar. As the light spread across the detached muscle, it robbed them of their natural color, rendering them a desaturated and repulsive shade akin to charred meat. Lingering traces of blood sizzled and hissed, consumed by oily smoke until they vanished.
Once the incantation reached its conclusion, four ebony hearts remained, their appearance as dark and malevolent as if San had excavated them from the depths of the world itself. She felt contentment wash over her, silently offering a prayer of gratitude to the deeper powers before releasing their magic. A sigh of relief escaped her lips, the internal pressure and sense of fullness dissipating.
The four hearts synchronized their beats in eerie harmony, their pulsations creating a faint whistle as air rushed in and out. San could sense their writhing nature as she gingerly picked them up, throbbing with the power of her god, and carefully returned them to the grimy bowl. She took extra care to keep them separate from the basin of water she used to cleanse herself once the ritual was complete—washing the hearts would have tainted the enchantment, necessitating a fresh start.
With her task now finished, San grasped the vine-ropes and commenced her ascent, climbing her way out of the small sanctuary. She yearned for a more thorough bath before making her way back to Ustal's den, suspecting that he was already awaiting her arrival. If she desired any semblance of rest tonight, attending to his needs sooner rather than later was imperative.