Chapter 116: Interlude: Epilogue

"End Scene."

The King in Yellow Hastur shouted, stopping the filming of the scene, revealing it was all an act as husband and wife were shooting an adult movie. While Mirko and Nyarlathotep are separated, a Yith entity brings a towel and covers Mirkos naked body.

"What went wrong, brother? I’m pretty sure my wife and I were on point."

Nyarlathotep says, conjuring Mirko a glass of scotch.

"It wasn’t that you weren’t both on point, brother. It’s just that the elders want you both to be rougher with your scenes, not your usual lovey-dovey stuff."

Hastur responded, trembling.

"God damn it Hastur! I’m the Elder God of fucking plays and theatre! I create pieces of art... And those old cronies want me to make hardcore porn."

Mirko took a step back, the towel clutched tightly around her body, her eyes flashing with anger and defiance. She looked at the King in Yellow, the shock of his interruption slowly giving way to a sense of relief.

"Rougher scenes, you say?"

Her voice was low and dangerous.

"I agreed to do the play my husband made since he let me hit him so many times. And you want me to act like nothing more than a fucktoy for the elders entertainment?"

The King in Yellow ignored her and looked at Nyarlathotep, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, yes, in essence. The elders crave the depraved and the extreme. It’s what gives them sustenance in their eternal slumber."

Mirko felt a cold fury building inside her.

Nyarlathotep conjured another glass of scotch and gave it to his wife, and saw her downing it in one gulp before setting it aside.

"I’m not a whore for the elder’s amusement, and if you fucking ignore me again I’ll go into my stage 4 and beat the shit out of you."

She spat out, her body still trembling from the recent onslaught of sensations.

Nyarlathotep stepped closer to her, his hand reaching out to stroke her arm in a soothing gesture.

"Now, now, there’s no need to be so dramatic, my dear. It’s all just a performance for them. Besides, will do it like usual; I’m not dirtying my script. Also, I know that your horny in wanting another child."

Hastur nodded in agreement, not wanting to push his brother.

Mirko’s anger grew with each word, the disrespect and manipulation burning like acid. She knew she had to play along with her husband’s family, but the thought of being used by these entities, of bringing her offspring into their world, was too much to bear.

"Fine."

She said through clenched teeth.

"But know this, if you ever cross the line with me, if you ever harm what’s truly important to me, I will fucking destroy everything you hold dear, ya hear me."

The King in Yellow chuckled.

"Such spirit. It’s why my brother chose you and made you perfect for the part. Now, let’s get back to it. And remember, the elders are watching."

The scene resumed, the camera rolling again as Nyarlathotep stepped closer, his eyes burning with a hunger that was all too real. He grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her in for a bruising kiss that left her gasping. Mirko felt the power of his essence surrounding her, filling her with a mix of fear and excitement that she desperately tried to suppress.

"This is why I made those deathmatch games with the younglings, that you oppose against so much about. They’re so we the older ones don’t have to do crap like this, to entertain the elders."

He whispered against her ear.

"Dear, you know what they want."

"So, let’s just give it to them."

Mirko took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she knew she had to do. She leaned into the kiss, her body responding despite her mind screaming in protest. The scene grew more intense, their bodies moving together in a dance of lust and dominance, the air thick with the scent of desire and the unspoken threat of the elders’ wrath.

Hastur, the director, watched them closely, his eyes gleaming with a malicious joy as he shouted instructions, pushing them to their limits. Mirko felt the sting of her husband’s whip across her skin, the pain sending a shiver through her that only served to heighten her arousal.

"Again!"

He shouted, and she moaned, arching back into Nyarlathotep’s embrace, her breasts pressing against his chest as he nipped at her neck.

The scene reached its climax, the two of them falling to the floor in a tangle of limbs and passion. The camera captured every moment, every gasp, every tremor of pleasure. When it was over, Mirko lay there, panting and spent, feeling more used and degraded than ever before.

"Cut!"

The room came alive with the sound of applause from the off-screen crew. Mirko slowly got to her feet, wrapping the towel tighter around her body, her eyes never leaving Nyarlathotep’s.

"Remember my dear, this isn’t real."

She murmured to herself.

"It’s just a performance."

But deep down, she knew that the line between reality and the role she played as her past self was growing dangerously thin. And she also knew that she’s been, for a couple of millennia a creature whose true nature was as dark as the void itself.

"Void Trigger!"

As Mirko transformed, her body was now covered in white fur, her nose turned rabbit-like, her eyes turned red with black sclera, her ears grew larger, her hair and tail grew considerably, and they both emitted Electromagnetic sparks. The fur around her neckline turned much thicker, vaguely resembling a lion’s mane, and she grew long and sharp claws. Upon seeing her form, anyone would consider it "beautiful" or "mesmerizing."

She caught Hastur off-guard by her sudden transformation to her first stage form; his eyes were wide with shock and terror that he stumbled backward. He had underestimated his sister-in-law’s resolve and the depth of her prowess.

His own base form, once imposing and threatening, now seemed almost pathetic in the face of Mirko’s monstrous strength that only his older brother could contain. And so she beat the living crap out of him.

Mirko’s movements were swift and precise, fueled by the pent-up rage that had been building within her since he changed the script.

She struck with the force of a tornado, her fists slicing through the air and leaving trails of crimson electric sparks in their wake. Hastur’s once-confident swagger was replaced by a desperate scramble to evade the deadly blows that rained upon him.

The battle was swift and brutal. Mirko’s true strength and speed overwhelmed Hastur, who was no match for the beast she had become. Each blow she landed sent him reeling, and with every drop of blood that spilled from his wounds, his will to fight diminished.

In a final, frenzied display of power, Mirko grabbed Hastur by the throat, lifting him off the ground. His eyes bulged as he struggled for air, his hands clawing at her unyielding grip. She held him there, watching the light of arrogance and malice fade from his gaze, replaced by the cold embrace of fear.

"This is for fucking with me and ruining my husband’s work."

She snarled, her voice a guttural growl that seemed to resonate with the very walls of the chamber.

"And if I discover the script wasn’t really changed by the elders, since they pretty much get their rocks off watching the kid death matches; my husband’s version of the Hunger Games. Then you don’t have to worry about me, because the only thing that man loves more than me are his scripts."

With one last vicious squeeze, she crushed his throat, tossing him aside like a ragdoll sending him flying into a nearby pillar. He crumpled to the ground, his body broken and bruised. The pillar cracked from the impact, and dust rained down from the ceiling, casting an eerie red light over the scene of carnage.

Mirko stood over her defeated foe, her furry chest heaving with the exertion of battle. And with that, she turned away, leaving him in a puddle of his own blood, a broken and defeated shell of his former self.

As she stalked away from the battleground, her transformation began to recede, her body returning to its base form. Yet the rage remained, a searing ember in the depths of her soul.

The echoes of her roars lingered in the air, a testament to the wrath she had unleashed and the price Hastur had paid for annoying her. It was a warning to all who would dare cross her: Mirko was not one to be fucked with.