God of the Game

I climbed into Trekz’z third tit, the same way Jai-I demonstrated the last time round at the Hound. The mammary is cramped, and I felt like an astro-chimp. Windows lined fat walls, and the view of space is majestic with trillions of twinkling suns. Through the intercom, Trekz’z voice says to buckle up and prepare for a hyper-jump. We’re going to the other side of this universe. In the astral leap, I caught glimpse of Planet Muthafukker, a movie trailer inviting me to subscribe to its two-dimensional hedonistic psychosis. I think I will visit someday, a premonition of a finale flashing in my mind. Weird things happen often during intergalactic travels, some re-alteration of time and space is unavoidable.

Touchdown. “Where exactly am I?” I enquired.

“Spatially, you’re in the last planet in the final solar system of this universe before entering our neighbour’s, Leper and the Gunk’s, mansion,” Trekz announces, “but dimensional wise, you’re in Jai-I’s mind. Careful, Nimrod’s troops are barging in, and you may find yourself ported off to the boy-king’s domain.”

“Is it?” I said, “I thought I’m riding in your breast all this while.”

“You are. My boob and his brain are the same thing.”

“Enough said.” I winked.

I feel like I’m in a B-movie. This world doesn’t seem at all real; even the rocks appear to be made of papier-mâché. They aren’t, but are of some milky and mushy substance. How the liquid holds in the shape of stones is so bizarre. And did I mention the colours? It’s like living in a pack of M&Ms.

It’s a hilly landscape of jarring hues, perfect camouflage for anyone dressed as a clown. Trekz tracked before me, shape-shifted as a talking Labrador.

“So, how yer been?” The yakking dog asked.

“Good,” I replied, “been discovering loads about myself. But not all I like...”

Then I added, “How is it that Jai-I is in JC’s hospital?”

“I sought his dad’s advice, and the father said it’d be good to bring the son in for observation.”

“Jahr and JC are pretty close, huh?” I stated.

“They have some business deals in negotiation.”

“Yah, Vesper mentioned...”

“Oh, Vesper; how is he?” Trekz enquired.

“He’s got some mild reservations,” I mentioned, recalling Vesper’s view on Kreator and Nephlim alliances.

“I mean, how is he in general?”

“Oh...I see...” I paused, “he’s good. He helped me lots in my self-discovery.”

“And what about you?” the furry canine wanted to know, “What are your thoughts on the Kreator and Nephlim alliances?”

“It can’t be that bad. That’s what I think. We shouldn’t get petty. Sure, it may impact mortals, but cross-dimensional beings like us that can access infinite heavens, it doesn’t affect us much.

“Political allegiance of the gods should do well for those poor somatic souls,” I concluded. Then I stabbed in my inevitable pessimism, “Of course no one’s really sure what the real agenda is. Vesper thinks they are control freaks.”

“Jai-I would opine similarly,” Trekz commented, “that’s one of his problems with his dad. You know how much of an antichrist he is. On Earth, god, then to his mortal mind, seemed liberated. Now that Jai-I is close to becoming a superstar deity himself, he feels Jahr is restrictive, repressive and overtly regimented. Perhaps that explains Nimrod. Jahr’s discipline at work.”

“Kreators are often subtle,” I shrugged, “They make their ideas sound like it’s your own.”

“They have to; it’s an anarchic system everyone does what they think is right in their own eyes. God’s an anarchist, remember?”

“Yah, everything’s down to the shadows. We’re all programmed to do the will of the ones who are the strongest.”

“Right,” Trekz ended, “Kreators and Nephlim, they could just be puppets too.”

“By the way, why are you dressed as a dog?”

“Jai-I’s resolved to guerrilla warfare, ambushing Nimrod’s soldiers here and there in the hippocampus. I think Nimrodititis has eaten quite a bit of his brain. Being a rebel is possibly the only way Jai-I can stay sane.”

Then Trekz just had to add this: “Nimrodititis is making my breast itch.”

Coming from a Retriever breed, it does not sound at all appealing.

“Having the olfactory senses of a mutt is the easiest to track him down with. Don’t worry, I’ll change to something more attractive once we find Jai-I.” Trekz looked back at me and panted, as if retorting to my silent judgement.

In the Caves of Absalom he plots his bitter revenge; armed with cannonballs and the witches’ brew. Jai-I is a cauldron of madness. Anger has consumed him, and he’s planning a final assault that will either overthrow Nimrod or exile an adopted son of Jahr to another plane. One where he starts again, perchance even begin life as a mortal baby once more. Both Trekz and I are sure he does not want that condemning outcome.

But at least Jai-I manages a smile as we enter his lair. The Caves of Absalom is one place beyond Nimrod’s hand of conquest. It is the deepest and darkest regions of Jai-I’s divine mind. It is terribly illusive and surreptitious, for even Jai-I could not detect it initially.

Son of Jahr mentioned Nimrod’s advances had forced him to be a vagrant in his own land. Contemplating the prospect of resigning from this life by the edge of Leper and the Gunk’s magic blade - which Vesper had presented as an amulet; which Vesper had won from me in a fair fight - he suddenly saw in that short sword a reflection of his innermost soul; and a hooded Oracle spoke to him, refreshing him, and sustaining him with raisin cakes. The avatar of that enigmatic knife disappeared, but left behind a map of Jai-I’s entire consciousness, and with it as a guide, he found the Caves of Absalom.

This is his major advantage, for Jai-I believes, with both map and magical dagger, and the tactical supremacy of clandestine in the Caves, he can uproot the vermin Nimrod and send him back packing in a wormhole to wherever it was he came from, which, according to my deduction, pulsated from the very place by which Leper and the Gunk’s cosmic sway too arrived. There must be some high power at work in another sphere parallel and in proximity to this one.

We must also thank Vesper, for that sagely one has surely researched in his studies, possessing the foresight concerning the potency of this ornamented weapon, and visiting Jai-I in this torrential time of his need, and ultimately, gifting the one precious article that could free the son of Jahr and set him in the image of his father.

Jai-I hugged me a brotherly welcome, and loaded me up with arms. On seeing Trekz, he softened. The Shape Shifter was now a gorgeous man fresh from a therapeutic facial and body scrub, a relaxation treatment and beautification procedure. Jai-I was the contrast; stubbly, sweaty, shiny and pumping with male musk, blackened by the sun and dirtied by mud, a warrior, a man of machetes and spilled blood. They kissed, they embraced; they are going to his cavern, and they want me to come along.

Inside, Trekz undresses Jai-I’s muscular frame. Tosses the soiled apparels into a fireplace dug from rock, and passionately licks him all over. There is little water in the hideout, so it’s mainly for drinking...and not cleaning up before sex. Trekz will have to do with the stink, but he is not bothered. He bathes Jai-I with his saliva, moisturizing him with a long and scented tongue. Jai-I’s skin is waxy at the touch of his lover’s wet organ, covered by a yellowish substance similar to lard hardening over the pores of his skin. Trekz says it is a rejuvenation process, one that starts from Jai-I’s exterior, and slowly, absorbing into the soul. After he is done, this heir of Jahr’s empire will be combat worthy. This practice is an ancient ritual passed down generation after generation, ancestors to descendents; Trekz’z asexual clan, always before battle, cleanses the warriors, protects them with charms, and proclaims the spirits’ blessings upon the violent endeavours.

The Shape Shifter seductively peels and unravels the wax Jai-I is cocooned in, and a warm amber glow seeps through the spots where the wraps fall onto the granite ground. Inside, emerging forth, a new Jai-I is born, girded as an archangel in battle array.

One could feel, as if a physical presence, the trepidation lifted, and Jahr’s glory descending into the humid air of the underground den, transforming the cold, rough walls into a vision of an army roaring at Jai-I’s command.

Then the apparitions cooled and dissolved, leaving the three of us alone again. But a victorious vibe is now in place. Jai-I smooches Trekz hard on the lips, tearing the suave suit off the Shape Shifter, revealing a lean and sinewy frame; both of them now naked, facing each other, hard-ons kissing at the tips.

Ecstasy in eyes, staring yearningly into the soul, they’re frotting each other off, four testicles cushioning by the skin of their sacs, as if bean bags pressed; cumming together, the white milky semen of Jai-I’s mixing to the black pearl caviar from Trekz’z genitals, turning the fused substance grey in tone.

They’re drinking it back - the Japs call this gokkun - fingering the blended cloudy coloured seeds and feeding each other off. Trekz tells Jai-I this will make him strong. Invincible. He needs all the power he can suck up to face Nimrod and horde.

He also needs help, assistance, friends who will fight with him side-by-side. I volunteered; so did Trekz, but Jai-I orders the Shape Shifter to stay behind. He rejects the young god’s authority, and the couple is embroiled in a domestic dispute, which escalates into an altercation, then a vicious fight. Boulders are chucked at each other, by hand and by brainpower, and I am running for cover.

Finally, Jai-I’s supersonic scream stings clarion above the cacophony, exerting his influence. He enlightens. He cannot bear if he were to lose his love in the battlefield. Trekz is touched. Eyes puffy, they cry, they hug, and Trekz burns an enchanted tattoo on Jai-I’s palm with razor-sharp flaming fingernails, a seal that they belong to each other forever. It’s the shape of an olden rune, somewhat similar to the Chinese character for ‘person.’ It is an omen, and it will protect its bearer in war.

Simply, Jai-I rescued Trekz from a bottle, from an evil genie; he is an androgynous temple nymph of the shadows of the flames of seduction; and in response, she is now forever indebted to Jahr’s son, forever shaped to Jai-I’s absurd and obtrusive cosplaying fancies. They are bonded, for Trekz’z sexless true-form necessitates a master’s sexploitation, thus allowing Jai-I the imaginative fun, so natural of his prodigious flare, to experiment with genitals, and genera, beyond the limitations and borders set by the gods of Creation.

Wherever Jai-I goes, Trekz follows; but if the Shape Shifter dies, Jai-I will lose part of his soul. And being familiar with Jai-I, I know he is one horrendous fucker when he is miserable.