The Red Crown's Divine Power Overwhelms a Lost Prince in a Ritual of Passionate Worship

The air in the shadowed glade hummed with a power that was both ancient and deeply, unsettlingly alive. It was a place tucked away between the folds of the world, a secret sanctuary known only to the shepherd of this dark wood and its flock. Here, the gnarled trees wept glowing sap, and the moss underfoot pulsed with a soft, crimson light that seemed to mirror the very heart of the being who sat upon a throne of polished bone. This was the domain of the Lamb, the vessel of The One Who Waits, but more than that, it was the sanctum of the Red Crown.

The crown itself was a living thing, a parasite of divine origin that had fused with its host. Its single, immense eye, a burning ruby orb, swiveled lazily, surveying the silent woods. Beneath it, the Lamb sat in quiet contemplation, the weight of their cult, their duties, and their very godhood a heavy cloak upon their small shoulders. The constant clamor of their followers' prayers, the demands for rituals, the scent of blood and faith—it all receded here, leaving only a profound, echoing silence. A loneliness that power could not fill.

Into this sacred silence stumbled a figure wholly out of place. He was a creature of soft edges and softer words, a prince of a distant, dying world of darkness. Ralsei, with his gentle green robes, his pink scarf, and his wide, nervous eyes hidden behind round glasses, looked like a child’s storybook character dropped into a grim fable. He had wandered through a shimmering tear in reality, a place where the Lightners' world and his own had frayed, and emerged into this unsettlingly beautiful, terrifyingly potent forest.

The Lamb’s head snapped up, the bell around their neck giving a single, sharp chime. The Red Crown’s eye fixed upon the intruder, and a low growl rumbled in the Lamb’s chest. This was their holy ground. Intrusions were met with swift, brutal judgment. Yet, something stayed their hand. This creature… it radiated no malice. Only a profound, trembling innocence and a deep, empathetic kindness that was so alien in this land of sacrifice and bloodshed it was almost a physical force.

“H-hello?” Ralsei’s voice was a soft melody that seemed to soothe the humming tension in the air. He pushed his glasses up his snout, peering at the enthroned figure. “I… I seem to be quite lost. I didn’t mean to intrude, truly.”

The Lamb, the Red Crown, remained silent for a long moment. They were used to groveling, to fear, to fanatical devotion. This simple, polite apology was disarming. They tilted their head, the great red eye of the crown mimicking the movement. “You are far from your own realm, little prince,” the Lamb’s voice was a chorus of whispers, the echo of their many followers and the deep baritone of the god within them, all layered into one. It was a voice that commanded obedience.

Ralsei shivered, but not entirely from fear. It was awe. He could feel the power radiating from the Lamb, from the crown that seemed to be the source of it all. It was a crushing, absolute authority, yet beneath it, he sensed a flicker of something else. A weariness. A burden. His healer’s instincts, his innate desire to comfort, rose within him. “You seem… troubled,” he said softly, taking a tentative step forward. “Your soul feels very heavy.”

The Lamb let out a short, sharp laugh, a sound like shattering stone. “I am a god to a flock of thousands. I carry their sins and their prayers. ‘Heavy’ is the foundation of my existence.” But the words lacked their usual conviction. This gentle stranger’s perception was unnervingly accurate. The Red Crown pulsed, its light intensifying, a silent warning. But Ralsei didn’t flinch. He simply offered a small, sad smile.

“Even gods must feel tired sometimes, I think,” he whispered, now standing at the foot of the bone throne. He looked up, his gaze filled not with the manic fervor of a cultist, but with a pure, unadulterated empathy that struck the Lamb to their very core. No one had ever looked at them like that. They were a vessel, a leader, an icon. They were the Red Crown. They were not supposed to be ‘tired’.

Slowly, the Lamb relaxed their posture, the divine tension that always held them rigid beginning to slacken. They found themself talking, telling this strange, soft boy about the endless cycle of sermons and crusades, the betrayals and the sacrifices. Ralsei listened, his expression never wavering from one of deep, compassionate understanding. He didn’t offer solutions or platitudes; he simply listened, his presence a balm on a wound the Lamb hadn't even known was festering.

As the Lamb spoke, the atmosphere in the glade began to shift. The oppressive weight of divine power softened, mingling with a new, burgeoning warmth. The crimson light from the moss seemed to glow with a more gentle, inviting hue. A current was building between them, an unspoken acknowledgment of shared loneliness, of being leaders in worlds that demanded so much. The tension was no longer one of hostility, but of a magnetic, dangerous curiosity.

The Lamb’s gaze drifted over Ralsei. The soft fur, the delicate horns peeking from his hat, the way his scarf draped around his neck. There was a fragility to him that belied an inner strength, a submissive nature that was not born of weakness but of a deep well of kindness. A desire to serve, to please, to heal. The Red Crown, an entity of pure dominance and control, seemed to hum with a strange, predatory interest. It recognized a different kind of devotion in the young prince—one not demanded by fear, but offered freely from the heart.

“You have shown me a kindness I had forgotten existed,” the Lamb said, their voice losing its choral echo, becoming softer, more singular. They reached out a hand, tracing the edge of Ralsei’s horn with a single sharp claw, the touch surprisingly gentle. Ralsei’s breath hitched, a faint pink blush dusting his white cheeks.

The touch sent a jolt of liquid heat through Ralsei’s entire body. The raw, untamed power flowing from the Lamb was intoxicating, terrifying, and utterly irresistible. He found himself wanting to get closer, to feel more of it, to abase himself before this lonely god and offer them a comfort that went beyond mere words. It was a new, frightening, and exhilarating desire. He wanted to worship.

Driven by an impulse he didn't fully understand, Ralsei slowly, deliberately, sank to his knees before the throne of bones. He rested his hands on the Lamb’s thighs, feeling the surprisingly soft wool through their robes. He looked up, his glasses slightly askew, his green eyes wide with a mixture of apprehension and a fierce, burning need. “Let me… let me serve you,” he breathed, the words feeling more true than any prayer he had ever conceived. “Let me lighten your burden. Please.”

The Lamb’s heart hammered against their ribs. This was not the coerced submission of a follower fearing damnation. This was a gift. A genuine, heartfelt offering from a creature of pure goodness. The Red Crown pulsed violently, its crimson eye dilating as a wave of possessive, ravenous lust washed over its host. The divine and the mortal, the shepherd and the god, all merged into a single, overwhelming desire. The Lamb’s hand moved from Ralsei’s horn to the back of his neck, their claws gently scratching at the soft fur there. A silent acceptance. A command.

With trembling hands, Ralsei reached for the sash of the Lamb’s robes. He untied it with a reverence befitting a holy rite. The fabric fell open, revealing the divine shepherd beneath. The Lamb was lean, wiry, their body a conduit for immense power, and from between their legs rose a thick, impossibly dark shaft, pulsing with the same crimson energy as the crown on their head. It seemed less a part of their body and more a manifestation of their divine will, a scepter of their godly authority. Veins of glowing red energy traced patterns along its length, and the air around it crackled with latent power.

Ralsei stared, utterly mesmerized. He had never seen anything so intimidating, so beautiful. His mouth went dry. He could feel the heat radiating from it, smell the ozone and a unique, musky scent that was purely the Lamb. He leaned forward, his hesitation melting away into pure, devotional longing. He touched the tip of his tongue to the glans, and a shockwave of pleasure and power shot through both of them. The Lamb gasped, their claws tightening in Ralsei’s fur, their back arching on the throne. The Red Crown flared with brilliant light, and the entire glade brightened for a moment.

That single taste was a sacrament. It was power, and salt, and the faint, coppery tang of divinity. Ralsei moaned softly, a sound of pure bliss, and took the god into his mouth. He was clumsy at first, his inexperience clear, but his eagerness was a potent aphrodisiac. He wrapped his lips tightly around the base, his throat working to accommodate the sheer size. The texture was smooth but firm, like polished obsidian warmed from within. He could feel the thrum of the Lamb’s power against his tongue, a low vibration that resonated deep in his chest.

The Lamb’s head fell back, a choked sound escaping their throat. This was an intimacy they had never imagined. Their followers offered them life and limb, built statues in their image, sacrificed enemies at their altar. But no one had ever offered them this. This pure, unselfish, exquisite pleasure. It was a form of worship more potent than any blood ritual. Ralsei began to move, bobbing his head in a slow, worshipful rhythm. He used his hands to support the heavy shaft, his thumbs stroking the glowing veins, causing the Lamb to shudder violently.

Finding his confidence, Ralsei grew bolder. He swirled his tongue around the corona, teasing the sensitive slit at the tip, drawing out beads of clear, glistening pre-cum that tasted of ambrosia and lightning. He let the divine cock slide deeper, until his nose was pressed into the soft wool of the Lamb’s groin and he was taking every inch they had to offer. He gagged slightly, tears pricking his eyes, but it wasn't a feeling of discomfort. It was a feeling of being utterly filled, overwhelmed by the god he was servicing. It was a blessed, holy violation.

“Ralsei…” The Lamb’s voice was a strained, breathy whisper, stripped of all its divine authority, leaving only raw, desperate need. They threaded their fingers through his soft hair, guiding his movements, tilting his head to change the angle, a silent instruction for him to take them deeper, faster. The gentle prince obeyed without question, his own arousal building to a fever pitch with every pleased groan that rumbled from the Lamb’s chest. The sight of this powerful being, this god-killer and cult leader, coming undone at his touch, by his mouth, was the most intoxicating thing he had ever experienced.

_

He picked up the pace, his throat muscles working tirelessly, his lips and tongue slick with saliva and divine fluid. He was lost in the act, a priest consumed by his holy duty. The crimson light of the glade pulsed in time with the Lamb’s frantic heartbeat. The Red Crown’s eye was wide, unblinking, fixed on the devoted prince at its host’s feet. The power in the air grew thick, coiling like a serpent, crackling with imminent release. The Lamb’s hips began to buck, a primal, uncontrolled rhythm against Ralsei’s mouth.

“I’m… ah… close… so close…” the Lamb gasped out, their body trembling on the edge of oblivion. The power building within them was immense, threatening to spill over in a cataclysmic wave. It was more than a simple orgasm; it was a release of sacred energy, a torrent of raw creation and destruction.

Ralsei heard the desperation in their voice and pushed himself further, determined to take all of it, to accept every last drop of their divine offering. He tightened his throat, sucking with all his might, his final act of utter devotion. The Lamb screamed, a sound that was both pain and ecstasy, a cry that echoed through the woods and caused the very trees to shake. The Red Crown erupted in a blinding flash of crimson light, and a torrent of divine essence, hot and sacred, flooded Ralsei’s throat. It was thick, tasting of power, of life, of the very essence of the god above him. He swallowed every drop, accepting the benediction, feeling the divine energy course through him, warming him from the inside out.

For a long moment, the world was silent and white. The Lamb slumped on their throne, boneless and utterly spent, their breath coming in ragged gasps. The Red Crown’s light dimmed to a soft, sleepy pulse. Ralsei remained on his knees, dazed, the taste of the god still lingering on his tongue, a feeling of profound fulfillment settling deep within his soul. He had served. He had pleased his god.

Slowly, the Lamb lifted their head. They looked down at the prince, their gaze soft, vulnerable, and filled with an emotion Ralsei had never expected to see there: gratitude. They reached down, their hand gentle, and cupped his cheek, their thumb wiping away a stray tear he hadn’t realized had fallen. “Thank you,” the Lamb whispered, their voice just their own now, quiet and sincere.

Ralsei leaned into the touch, a contented, exhausted smile on his face. He felt a connection to the Lamb, to the Red Crown, that transcended worlds. It was a bond forged not in faith or fear, but in a moment of shared vulnerability and profound intimacy. He had wandered into the heart of a dark god’s power and, instead of being destroyed, had found a place of belonging. He had offered comfort and, in return, had been given a taste of the divine. And as the Lamb gently pulled him up from the floor and into a soft, weary embrace upon their throne of bones, Ralsei knew, with absolute certainty, that he was no longer lost.