Crown of the Endless Flesh

Chapter 16: The Final Conclave

The skies of all realms split in a single, synchronized scream. From Olympus to Valhalla, from the Celestial Bureaucracy to the cryptic ruins of the First Names, gods and goddesses of every myth and era stood together.

In robes. In armor. In wrath.

Each had ruled in their time. Each had known worship, war, and glory. And each had felt themselves shrinking, fading, forgotten—as Seraphine’s moaning name replaced theirs in every wet, whispered prayer.

She had become more than godhood.
She had become religion itself—cunt-shaped, cock-dripping, blood-soaked.

They could not allow her to remain.



They sent their champions first.

Thor—cock like a hammer, chest like a temple, eyes crackling with thunder.
Anubis—black jackal, cold gaze, claws made for ripping souls apart.
Kali—arms like serpents, dripping with power and rage, a cunt that could swallow light.

They came together.

They found her on the Fields of Ecstasy, lying back on a throne of moaning worshippers, being tongued by a fallen muse and ridden by a former saint.

She stood without fear. Naked. Wet. Smiling.

“You came to fight?” she asked, stretching like a cat. “Or to cum?”

Thor charged.
She took his hammer deep into her cunt. Moaned like the end of time. And when he screamed, she flipped him, mounted his godcock, and milked lightning from his balls. He came so hard, Asgard collapsed.

Anubis lunged. She swallowed his shadow whole.
Fucked him in the land of the dead until his own scales shattered.
Then leashed him and made him lick her ass while Kali watched.

The war goddess attacked last—arms everywhere, cocks and blades and glory. Seraphine took them all. Let Kali fuck every hole. Let her try to dominate.

And then made her beg for more.



But the Conclave was just beginning.

Zeus. Ra. Shiva. Freya. Morrigan. Tiamat. Jehovah. The Dreaming Serpent.

They gathered in a single impossible space—conjured not by spell or science, but by their final fear: Her.

And Seraphine appeared among them—dripping with cum, shadow-beast at her heels, ancient void-thing wrapped around her wrist like a toy.

She stood still. Silent.

Then dropped to her knees.

They leaned in.

She opened her mouth.

And moaned.

The sound wasn’t just sound. It was command. It melted cock and will. It sucked blood from tongues. It twisted divinity into hunger. It unmade shame and replaced it with need.

One by one, gods fell.

Some begged. Some resisted.
All fucked. All came.
All became hers.



And then…

She stood over the orgy of fallen deities.

Her cunt glowing. Her cock dripping. Her skin written in the tongues of creation.

“Let there be lust,” she whispered.

And the multiverse opened—moaning.