Seattle was child's play, and now he controlled more than half of it. Mithras of Sparta had caught the warring Camarilla and Anarchs off guard. He'd destroyed the Anarchs, using it as his justification for removing Seattle's current prince, a Toreador if it was to be believed. None of the other leaders wanted him there. The Primogen likely plotted his death, but what could they really do against him? No, there was nobody old enough to be a problem here. That city, that strange city still called to him like a beacon of supernatural activity. Here fae were rare, demons were weak, and no Dark Angels flapped their wings. It was vampires, werewolves and shifters. He was so bored it made him want to cry. His Majesty had focused mostly on his human following, finding Seattle's mortal population ripe for the influencing. Social media spread word of a new temple opening, and and that it was devoted an an ancient Persian god named Mithra. Curious intellectuals, grad students, the secretly faithful, and the drunkenly curious all came to see the temple.
The temple was little more than a revival church; six isles of pews in a white strip mall off the highway was hardly Westminster Abbey, but it held enough room for about forty humans and himself. That was a good sized herd for a vampire. It was big enough that he'd never go hungry, but not large enough to attract the media. They were all beautiful young men. The women had slowly been weaned out, their minds erased, and their necks unharmed. The beautiful young men though, they were made to join the cult.
A few simple sermons about love, a lot of references to the male body, discussing love as devotion to the self and all of us; it was all that was needed to brainwash the human fools, that and of course his enormous aura. Dominate commands were slipped in. Free will was gradually stripped away, until they had become what all good cultists were, devoted, hungry, and eager to please their god. He'd started out as a pastor. He'd even worn the black suit and white collar. It made them want him more. It wasn't long before he was openly their King, and then... their living god. They provided him with money, blood, sex, service, and anything else he could require. Mithras functioned on worship, and so securing that in this new city was vital.
Mithras decided to be less savage than in the past. Concessions had to be made to this new age, and so pets were no longer dying or disappearing from their families. He traded brutality for mental skill, increasing the lust, and letting them go about their lives during the day. They worked and he even made sure they saw friends. They had careful instructions, all implanted. So far it was working out nicer than before. Letting them think they had free is what kept them coming back. The lessons of this age were clear. Make people think their getting a sale, and you'll always get their money. Religion was no different.
Tonight, he wore only gold robes, and his signature black onyx ring. He wouldn't be clothed for very long. He exited the small apartment he currently occupied, and walked around to the church building. A cultist greeted him and opened the door to the church. He was wearing gold too. He nodded at the man and touched his hand. The cultist kissed his ring.
He had grey eyes, and black hair, and he was nineteen human years old. "May I find you inside your grace," he asked sheepishly, almost nervously.
"Of course my son. I am always here for you." He touched his shoulder. The human boy looked smitten, a wide smile across his face. Mithras liked the look of this one. He entered the small church and saw his followers had decorated for the party. It looked splendid. Gold glitter, marble looking pillars, soft beds, couches and cushy chairs took up most of the room. A bar in the back served alcohol, and other human drugs. Mithras could smell which drugs were in which boys, and while they could all pleasure him, he would only drink from the sober ones. Most of the boys knew this, and he knew several were staying sober just on the off chance that the master might choose them tonight.
They almost looked shy, all huddled around like pretty fawns, laughing and smiling at him. He loved all of it. Was it the toe kissing of centuries past? No. However, this was what modern kings were like, media darlings and distant romantic imagery. He could be that, as long as they called him by his proper title. The ancient passed by a sling set up, lots of lube and toys placed neatly on tables. He wished to socialize for a few hours. Mithras understood the importance of keeping social skills sharp at his age. They asked him about his life, and he gave mysterious answers that reinforced their conditioning, but he asked them about themselves too. Richard was a dentist, and liked something called Lady Gaga. Mithras made a note. Tod was from Kenya and had only recently gotten a work visa. Migration was odd now. He made another note. He worked through all of them, one by one, like speed dating with your deity. Once that was finished, and all of their egos had been plucked and their bodies stroked, he rose and took to the preacher's pulpit, still set up at the head of the church.
"One tonight, shall taste of my blood. Who is worthy?"
At first nobody spoke. He liked their fear. He liked that nobody truly thought they deserved this gift. Then from the door, the young man who'd greeted him called out. "I am," he said, a defiant and devilish smirk. He looked just like...
"You are worthy," he declared, and he watched as all the others let hurtful eyes cast upon this little upstart. Mithras of Sparta opened his mouth and bit into his wrist, letting his thick crimson blood drip slowly. The boy had crossed the room, and took his wrist. "Drank and be strong," he told the young man. The human did as he was told, and took in the life of his master. He would be a powerful ghoul, and Mithras only regretted that he wouldn't be feeding from this one's neck tonight. After a few moments he separated them, and healed his wound.
"Now, let the celebration begin," he called out and music began to play. He'd chosen their kind of music, the garish electronic nonsense. It was bearable and he found it helped with their hypnosis to hear these kinds of sounds. The boys began to kiss, and touch and Mithras remained still, watching them. Things began to progress, and soon the small church was an orgy of forty humans, and one vampire. He took the ones he wanted for what he wanted. From some he took blood, and from others he took flesh. Each cultist felt honored and special and would go home feeling content and like they had never wanted anything else. He was really doing them all favors. The others played with each other, and fun was had by all. They had these parties once a weak now, but most of them showed up at the church more than that. For a few of them it was daily.
Near the end of the night, the ghoul Mithras made found him. He'd lost track of the boy after he'd given him blood and he smiled as he saw him. He'd thought he was full, but this one made him hungry. "May I please you master," he asked, his tone more submissive than Mithras wanted.
"No," he said. "I want you to pretend like you hate me. I want to have to win you over slowly. I want to feel you fighting me but also breaking down for me. I want you to tell me I'm wrong, and bad. And then I want you to break for me."
The boy seemed taken back by all the instructions, but also seemed to understand. He walked away and found his phone, pulling up a sex ap. Mithras walked over to him. The other boys looked in shock.
"What are you doing," the ancient asked.
"Looking for someone other than you," he said, acting bitchy and distant. Mithras smiled and grabbed the boys wrist. He fought it, but underneath Mithras could tell he wanted him.
"I'm going to call you Jacob tonight."
