The cool shadow of the temple corridor was a great relief to the panting mongoose. Vines and twisted tangles of green ivy pouring down the blocky slopes of the ziggurat had made the excruciating climb no easier. Beneath broad heart shaped leaves there occasionally dwelt a hissing serpent in silent revere and very often it was a surprise to both of them when he trod over them. Careful steps in the scorching sun made his slow approach up the stairs a tense ballet of uncertainty. He was glad to just be able to sit down – even if his tail was so moist with sweat that the stripes had blended together. He took a moment to wring it out, double checking his phone and swigging from his water bottle to rehydrate.

The stone structure had attracted Caudle’s attention for its alleged plethora of artifacts and inscriptions. Not that he was an archeologist or anything of the sort – just a collector for collectors. Museums, scholars. People will pay a lot for a couple of rocks if they have the right stuff on them, and with luck this would be easy pickings. An alleged home to a tribal deity. Sacred ground onto which mortal paws ought not tread. No guards, no priests – no competition. As he finished wiping the perspiration from his brow, bright brown eyes adjusted to the dusty dark of the entrance. His gaze rappelled down the creases of the wall – jumping from crease to crack to weather-worn hieroglyph. They revealed nothing. The same paw-imprint markings as at the base of the stair. It was meaningless without context and the other etchings had been worn down by exposure to the elements. Sanded away by the dust-speckled sigh of ancient winds. None-the-less, he rummaged around in his rucksack for a flashlight. A short flick-click pierced the darkness with a spear of illumination – showing him which matted drapes of spider webs to avoid as he descended.

On his way down, the mongoose was startled to come across the seated figure of another explorer, though they had long finished any explorations. It was a withered looking husk – body affixed in a cross-legged pose. The clothing had since depleted of colour – leaving only dusty brown and pallid tatters draping the otherwise ghoulish frame. Desiccated flesh withstood whatever duration its stay had been – though fur and markings had since faded away, leaving only the leathery hide intact. Gaunt muscles twisted into a serene sort of smile – over exaggerated by the fine lines of stretched muscles now permanently held in place. It looked more like a clay figure than it did a person. There were no apparent wounds on the figure, which made the ethereal grin plastered across its features that much more unnerving. Though a bit shaken, Caudle had heard tell this was the meeting place of cultists and fanatics. He had not expected them to stay around, though.

Despite the fearsome exterior, the inner grounds of the temple were fairly tame. A triangular stairwell delivered him down to the still silent, dusty domain untouched by casual breezes and gales. Markings on the wall were relatively preserved [if incomprehensible]. The slope of the passages guided him downward – deeper into the cavernous interior – where the regular pacing of the ancient brick and mortar gave way to natural bumps and rocky outcroppings. He was so deep his GPS could not discern his location – likely the consequence of hard stone and poor conductivity. None the less, the view was becoming spectacular the further he went. Crystalline fingers stretched out of stalagmites, forming sharp crowns that twinkled in the flashlight’s rays. Prismatic arcs diffracted out, revealing the enormity of the chasm in which he traversed. It stretched out – wide roofed and bowl shaped. His curious glance down [and the inability of the light to detect the bottom] was sufficient to keep him from wandering too far off the winding path on which he trod.

Eventually, in the deep and the dark of the caverns he was surprised to find another source of light. A dim reflection of a reflection that stretched across a corner. It had the orange-yellow tones of natural light – speckled across the cavern floor and growing only brighter as he approached. Here the ground approached the regular patterning of etched bricks again. It was a strange and alien reoccurrence and he wondered momentarily if there was another entrance this way. The light snaked around a heavy stone door, slotted into a dust-caked ridge. The hard wooden grips had long since rotted away, but at his urging press – the stone mass groaned and moaned but moved none-the-less. A scraping shuddering lamentation of old rock gritting along echoed throughout the hall and beyond back into the cavern behind him. He stopped momentarily, listening to the retreating sound echo back at him like a bass chuckle. There were no distant skittering of approach nor the flapping screeches of bats. Presuming he remained undetected ( or preferably, alone ), he continued on.

Beyond lay a circular room. From a narrow hole above stabbed a radiant beam of evening light. It wormed down through the hard rock above to illuminate a stone pedestal, where there lay an ivory flute beset with waxy obsidian shards. It glinted dangerously in the dying light of day, reflecting spots onto the walls. There stood extravagantly patterned etchings. Images of spotted leopards presiding over villages. A great gale that blew clouds over tribes. Brutish images of sacrifice and sacrament. He averted his gaze, no longer so keen to observe. In the dark shadows of the room were sat a trio of those desiccated followers he had seen before. Their serenity was replaced here, with trepidation, stretching in disquieting silence across their time-molded faces. What surely must have been ornate robes and dress from once upon a time dangled from their limbs and chests. The sagging weight of the cloth pulled them forward in a sloping bow. He bit his lip and turned from their eyeless stare as well.

The flute though, was marvelous and eye catching. He approached it and carefully collected it into his fingers, admiring the monochromatic intersections and textures. It was feather light despite its sturdy construction, feeling more to him like a balsa wood model than something made of bone and stone. He ran his fingers along the carving work that painted the ivory surface. Sweeping curls and curves reminiscent of windy whorls. Squeezing the firm surface experimentally, he found it harder than his grip could afford to deform; which only made more impressive that airy lightness. The smooth glassy obsidian terminated in sharp rhombi, lazily dotting the semi-yellowed ivory cylinder. Their sunbaked warmth seeped out against his palm, and the hot ebony portions impressed their disjointed texture against his finger-tips. The mouth of the flute culminated in an impressive flaring feline maw. Sharp obsidian fangs inset into a ferociously curved, snarling jaw. Lips curved into a hideous, fearsome visage that accentuated the dangerous glimmer shimmer of green stones that occupied its eyes. The wicked face seemed to glare back at the mongoose. An unblinking stare whose challenge he could not match. He shuddered and turned the flute back around, unable to meet the face any longer. Experimentally, he lifted the instrument to his lips. It was devoid of spider webbing and the sun-warmed feel of the mouthpiece felt nice against his chops. Drawing in a breath, he gently blew -

- and yelped a startled cry as an explosive roar bellowed from the instrument at his lips. It was immense beyond expectation – a snarling yowl like you would hear from a tiger or lion mid-leap. The wrathful tone pierced his ears and heart and occupied his thoughts with an instinctual dread. The acoustics of the chamber reflected the sound back at him – magnifying its intensity and making him stumble back, clutching his ears. He dropped the flute – which fell to the hard floor with a clatter before settling in the dust. But still the sound hummed unabated with a pulsing ring in his ears.

Or rather, he thought it was the lingering echo. What filled his ears instead was a resonating rumble. A tremble pulse. Like a purring that shook the gravel on the floor and made his fur stand on end. He looked around the chamber frantically for the source – worried a wanton jaguar or worse had slunk down into the temple after him. Instead, his eyes settled on two glimmering jade orbs etched into the chamber mosaics. Distinctively ocular sorts of spheres that had not been there before. The cypress glow of them increased in intensity with a few lazy flashes, until the light flooded the chamber. He felt the sweep of them scan the room, before focusing acutely on the spot he was standing. Boring into him – seizing him up. It was hard to see but he swore those two eyes belonged to the sculpted figure on the wall. It was like trying to make out a car with its headlights bearing down on you, but he was sure of it. . He swallowed nervously – breathless, watching as that sculpted leopard figure stretch and slink along the wall. The purr-growl was unmistakable now, as was the movement of that figure – slinking along the surface of the stone as though it were some dust coated lake surface. It pressed outward – before seeming to burst forward like a portrait leaning forward out of the frame. It melted into low lying smoke that whisked throughout the circular room, before reconsolidating into a breath stealing sight.

Ivory fur dusted and dotted with obsidian spots. Great green eyes. Immense. Paws as big as his face connected daintily with the floor – settling and flexing as the immense frame stretched. Great chops parted in a yowling yawn. Caudle felt like they could swallow him whole – stretching so wide. The feline figure’s ears nearly nicked the top of the chamber. Twice his height standing on all fours. The sheer size was so intimidating that the mongoose felt unable to move. Paralyzed. Afraid of being noticed – even as those eyes narrow a piercing gaze upon him. They regarded him with a curious glimmer, as if his presence was unexpected, before a blink and shift of those facial features settled on something much more disdainful. That stare was the stare reserved for a stranger at the bus stop. It was the offhanded, upper lip stare you had for the mouthy intern. It said “you are beneath me” and Caudle felt very small under it.

The immense leopard sauntered along the wall. Sizing him up. Moving in on him. A sweeping paw collided with one of the three corpses seated on the floor, pressing it aside and then into the floor. It crackled and burst into dust with all the grace and respect one might have stepping on a clod of dirt. Caudle imagined what that kind of force that could do to him and it made cold, molten dread bloom along his back. He stumbled back a few steps – ridged puffed out tail just barely feeling the stone door he had entered from. The thought of escape traced along his mind, and he decided to pursue it – shambling back. His flight seemed to raise an eyebrow from that immense predatory, but it did not pounce or accelerate its advance. It did not slow it down either – and Caudle groaned – seizing that stone door. The rumble-grumble of the slab sliding matched the pitch of that ever present purr-thunder. It fused into a mocking chuckle-rattle that shook his arms and legs. Still – the jade light grew brighter as that cat approached. He felt the nearness of those paws impacting the floor. The door was crawwwwwling closed. His heart thundered in his chest as that purr-rumble quaked so near. Stone weight dragging before the cool shadow of the door blotted out those piercing eyes. The click of the heavy door settling in place hung in the air as that purr quieted behind it.

He felt the weight of the door press back against him. A heavy scraping that made him stumble onto his back in fright. The unmistakable sound of clawing scraping along the ancient stone door. For a moment he worried the vast creature would simply punch through – or be able to hook its claws around the door. A few terrifying seconds rasped over and then everything went silent once more.

Caudle fumbled for his flashlight, feeling around his leg before noticing an odd, warm mist pouring out from the door before him. Low lying smoke that eased and wormed around the door and slithered over the ground. It crept over his paws and sifted through his clothing. It felt like dry steam, like he was standing next to a fireplace and the heat was billowing over him. As it coursed over his waist and chest he shuddered. It felt like being wrapped in a quilt fresh out of the dryer. Air and soft and light. It was oddly pleasant. He exhaled and watched the vapours retreat from him before resettling over his neck and face. His next breath though – felt intense. It was as though he was drawing in incense right off the ashes. Even as his snout wrinkled up in alarm, he felt the invasive vapor pull itself through his nostrils. He felt it weave through his sinuses and pour down the back of his throat. Filling him and striving for his lungs before a violent coughing ejected it from his mouth. He gagged and groaned – struggling to his feet as his thrashing dispersed the smoke. And as he did so he heard that purring resurface anew. In whispered tones he could heard the great cat's chuckle. It echoed in odd places - from the far end of the hall and the door behind him at once. The raspy tongue hissing syllables along the back of his ears. The rumbling resonating tone that seemed to bloom from the very breath seated in his chest. That tickled and cackled in his shaky exhales.

"All the world is my playground,
All the air is mine to roam -
Every syllable and every sound,
Must pass through the domain I call home,

Though you hide behind the wind break,
The gale will form anew;
And with every breath you take,
I will be there to embrace you,

And now that I have tasted your intention,
Your bitter inclination towards theft,
I lay claim to you , and by extension,
all the ruins that you have left. “

The singsong tones rolled through him as if he were sitting beside a loud speaker – but he heard every syllable crystal clear. Like there was a pair of chops right beside him – though spin around as he may, there was only smoke and shadows and pallid green light in the dark. Full blown panic squeezed upon Caulde’s mind. Wet instinctual dread of the thing in the dark. He scrambled on all fours before shambling to his feet – running headlong along the path. The flicker-flash of his light reflecting off the crystals in the dark was the only thing that kept him from plunging headlong into that abyss. The slap-crackle of his footsteps in the dark were met with a resounding, booming laughter behind him, before him, around him. The cackle-crackle of that ever-present voice mocked him as his eyes clawed at the walls for the familiarity of the stonework. The dusty stink of the chamber and the cavern all blurred together – saturated by that smoky scent. It poisoned his senses. He couldn’t tell which end fresh air as coming from and he could feel the salty moistness of tears bleeding at the rims of his eyes. His legs hurt. His arms hurt. His chest hurt and still he ran. He felt his blood boil with lactic acid and sizzle with adrenaline as he stumbled through the dark of the underground. He swore he would work out if he got out of here. He would outrun a treadmill oh please he if could just get back out.

The mongoose had nearly despaired when a wayward flicker of his loyal torch illuminated the familiar brown-grey squarish shape of a nearby brick. He almost cried with joy as he heaved himself forward. He felt his paws touch on the disturbed dusty patches he had trod on the way down. He pushed his hands against the wall to hurry himself up the stairs. The action caused his flashlight to fall from his grasp. Clapping out an agonized bang of betrayal as it tumbled down behind him. Reflexively, he glanced back – watching the cylinder bounced and settle at the foot of the stairs. An immense paw slapped down over it, - exploding plastic shrapnel from all sides as a glass lens shattered somewhere in the sudden darkness. All that Caudle could see was the hateful dull glare of green stare back at him from the darkness.

Half pushing himself, half pulling, he lunged up the stairs. The growl-thunder of the great cat shook under him but he did not look back again. He wanted to feel the sun on his fur. He wanted to run along those fines. He wanted to trip over snakes and stairs and roots. What he did not want, was to see that smoke billowing up the stairs in front of him. He certainly did not want to observe that mist overcoming his pace. He absolutely did not want to feel that thick vapour swallowing up his paws and legs and waist. But it is so rare to get what one wants these days.

The mongoose yelped as he felt that thick quilt of smoke percolate through his jeans and squeeze around his waist. He patted at his pants as it they were on fire – but that only forced the inky mist to disperse around him. He felt it crawl up his chest and chin and immediately held his breath. But it was to little avail – the furious fumes only closed in around his chest. They coalesced, thicker and more opaque, into the unmistakable form of a thick, fluffy, feline tail. It coiled around him like a python. Squeezing. Tightening. He felt his ribs press against his lungs – stretching out the boundaries of his chest and throat with tension. Tip of that tail dragged up along his oxygen starved neck. It batted against his whiskered cheeks and tickled his sinuses with impossible fur strands that splinted into fractal smoke trails. He felt it itch against his lips and drive against his snout. He felt like he was drowning as he stood there. His arms pushed against the walls of the hallway. They ached with his previous exertion. The punishing lack of fresh air left them trembling and unsteady. His entire body wept for a fresh breath and the vice like tail persistently squeezed him until at last he coughed out. The toxic air in his lungs sputtered out of his lips; and that smoky tail was there waiting. He struggled not to open his lips, but it pushed through his sinuses. He willed his throat not to open, but his asphyxiated body choked it down.

It was a remarkable feeling. That smoke poured across his senses, filling him with an unmistakable musky presence. It dragged across his taste buds leaving bursts of ambrosia in its wake. It wormed through his sinuses like gentle perfume. That tail sank against his frame and burrowed through his fur. Toasty and soft. It occupied his nerves. Like the kneading attention of a masseuses fingertips, it willed him to relax. He heard the purr-rumbling command to release his grip sink through his ears and drift to the forefront of his thoughts. God, it felt like he was pushing his arms through the warm covers of his bed in the morning. The smoky tail against his face was like a pillow. Somewhere in the back of his mind the conscious desire to push those last few steps to freedom struggled. Wake up! It writhed and resisted. It called out with decreasing clarity.


“Surrender, you’ve lost,
My venom is already in your veins;
The line’s already been crossed,
Now hand over the reigns,”


That voice commanded. Demanded. He felt it overflow into the dark corners of his mind. Every recess of his thoughts invaded. The instincts that demanded he pull away had their foundations etched away by those sultry purring tones. It dragged them down like pylons in quicksand. Swallowed up and forgotten as his screaming heart and starving lungs delivered the vapour to his bloodstream like a drug. Everything felt perilously strange. It made his vision dance and made the warm light of the sun in front of him unfathomably bright. He had to turn his head away.

And when he did there were those eyes. They poured into him. They occupied his entire vision. Intense and trustworthy. He couldn’t imagine looking anywhere else. He didn’t want to look anywhere else. His hands were idle. Touching walls when they could be attending to that feline snout before him. The coiling tail pulled him away from freedom and he was glad for it. His fingertips rasped along the smooth, time worn stones with a lackadaisy bemusing. The texture felt fuzzy and ethereal. His steps down the stairs, guided by that world-supporting tail felt like he was stumbling through a dreamscape. The only thing solid was that Cheshire smirk at the base of the stairs. The only thing real were those welcoming eyes.

How had he never noticed them before? Surely this was why he had come here in the first place? To pledge himself, to become the thrall of such a majestic creature. His memory stretched back, trying to recall why and how he had come here - but like that immense paw that so effortlessly crushed his torch, the twinkling thoughts were snuffed out one by one. The candlelight of memories outside this moment were smothered under all-consuming smoke. There was nothing before this moment. There was nothing else but this moment.

Whether by his own absent minded stepping or the delirious guidance of that smoky appendage, he found himself standing before the great cat. His frame leered over powerfully. A great neck curled around him - inhaling along his hair and shoulders as if to discern whose property he was. He belonged, of course, to that immense feline. He always had. He always would. A tremble rumble of satisfaction affirmed this universal fact. Broad paws swept out in a relaxed pose. The divine entity arched his back - laying on that belly and lowering his muzzle before Caudle’s chest. A searing breath kneaded down over his hands, as that tail loosened up just enough to permit his arms to lift. They were required. He was needed. The master mew sought his attention and he was eager to deliver it. Caudle’s hands lifted. Numb with inactivity - they struggled for feeling as they drifted over that immense muzzle. Fingers drifted through that spotted fur – seeking out whisker bases to knead and tend to. An immense desire to please consumed him and when that resonating purr rewarded him, he felt complete.

---

A commission by the ever lovely and creative  caudle
Icon altered from this delightful image by  gryph000

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