Lynceus was the last living descendant of the late Aegyptus monarch deity of Egypt. The family tree had been pickled by inbreeding, mass slaughter and divorce settlements, as follows. Aegyptus had a twin brother, Dagon, a forty percent trimethylamine merman more jelly than fleshy who led the Movement of Humane Cohabitation, damned veganism, and founded Mesopotamia.

Aegyptus had fifty sons. Dagon had fifty daughters. Aegyptus, after some furrowed brow brainwork at a pair of abacus, calculated this was a nifty numerical co-alignment of spawn and suggested over a baffling but tolerated Sunday roast of nut loaf, two parts human excrement to one part pistachio, that his fifty sons marry off to Dagon’s fifty daughters.

Dagon, an early appreciator of the consequences of inbreeding and a tad bitter over his brother’s continued carnivorousness, agreed. Whilst quietly instructing his daughters to murder Aegyptus’ fifty sons on their wedding night.

And so in a mythological dissection of familial branches broiling to a reduction of a bitter annual birthday card, forty nine of Aegyptus’ sons were murdered on a group-discount time wharp honeymoon package in late eighties Vegas. Hypermnestra, an advocate of chastity to the anti-cloth, Lynceus’ bride and Dagon’s daughter, spared Lynceus as in virginal jitters Lynceus swallowed one too many slippery nipples and she felt early adulthood erectile dysfunction for a then herculean demi-god was a reputation splicing fate worse than death.

During the time of their marriage Lynceus took over management of the Daniad Dynasty composed of Houses Aym, Andras, Orobas and Vapula all then of house Dagon. He became CEO of a what he turned multi-billion IC media corp half a century after the failure of The Humane Cohabitation Movement when Dagon retired dispirited to a dormant status. Dagon succeeded his position of deity in the hierarchy not to Lynceus who had no interest in promotion but to the then eye-wateringly power hungry up-coming Agares.

Hypermnestra and Lynceus remained unhappily married until nineteen seventy two around about the time divorce reached peak acceptability. Lynceus retained sole custody of the dynasty, in the still as yet unfinalised settlement, transferring the dynasty's affiliation over from Agares up to Leviathan in an attempt to cut all painful ties with Dagon and Hypermnestra.

The ongoing battle with his not-quite-x-wife summed with the recent death of his father was weighing down on his frail coping net exasperated by Aegyptus’ retiring beseech that Lynceus avenge his forty nine brothers by wiping out Dagon’s fifty daughters once the paperwork came through. It was important to wait as The Matrimonial Annulment Spouse Conservation Act of 1971 prohibits the conscious homicide by either spouse of the other.

Inside a tepid breeze wafting salt water brushed the silver laced hairs from Marc's temple. Inky waves foaming an opalescent silver were crashing at the sandy shore several tens of feet below. The room had transmogrified to a narrow segment of some white wash Grecian resort's penthouse terrace.

The linen daybed where Lynceus flopped a shrivelled, coffee tan and pot bellied codfish dwarfed the tight space. There was a low bamboo, glass topped side table of tea lights and in the distance twinkling, golden specks of electrical lights from the villages trailing the mountains which cupped the mediterranean's alcove.

Cross-legged at the altar which was the incapacitated Lynceus sat a succubus iridescent globes of eyes staring up at Marc with a hefty dollop of surprise. She was warming the amber contents of a glass syringe by candle flame. The door slid closed behind them. The succubi unfurled from the floorboards holding out the oseleo to Marc as though it were the apple of Eve. He plucked it from her fingertips as she wound her arms around his neck. His hand absently curled at the small of her back. Mm. The tensions and tortures it could iron. The unvested, unrelenting pleasure.

Marc span the syringe once between his middle and index finger. He pressed the line of his mouth hard into the flesh of the succubi’s temple examining the inflamed mound which was the underneath of Lynceus’ stomach. The succubi withdrew palms framing the sides of his face tugging him down to her. With a single swipe Marc embedded the needle into her eyeball.

The injected oseleo pooled like lava into the succubus' brain which jellified to superheated plasma. He stepped back to avoid her seizing. She stilled quickly gurgling. Marc stepped past her withdrawing an EpiPen auto injector from his inner jacket pocket.

The Daniad Dynasty collectively piloted Damned Times Inc print, online, plus subdivisions of InSatanic Magazine, LynxExcel Radio, LynuxWorks from Lynx Software Technologies Inc and 1st Century Lynx broadcasting. Over seventy percent of the damned’s spoon feed of thought filtered through Lynceus’ inheritance and it cashed in third on Marc’s christmas wish list. Marc tapped the squat blue, yellow and orange cylinder at the side of his hand wearing a look of wicked dreaminess.

Below him Lynceus spluttered resurfacing “Mouwax?”

“Lynceus”

Lynceus’ arms scuttled back trying to pivot himself upwards “Ge’ urgh fu-

Marc stilettoed the EpiPen into the sinewy scaffolding of Lynceus’ turkey neck. Lynceus plunged rigidly back down gargling in ecstasy as hanger on droplets of Oseleo slid into gangs on the inner lining of his arteries before dropleting weightily in a final smack rush into Lynceus' system.

Marc grimaced as Lynceus’ prick flagged erect with a cartoon flare minus bubble calligraphy denoting the inaudible spring. Marc snatched the sodden sheet from its balled heap at Lynceus’ ankles and lobbed it over the man. Marc turned on his heels massaging his closed eyelids and attempting mental arson on the sound of Lynceus climaxing.

Cries of ecstasy cooled to heavy panting and finally prudent outrage "How dare you. You" Lynceus began lobbing bedding across the room searching for his pager with which he could call his bodyguard Fabio.

Marc's watched the assent of a projectile pillow with some entertainment.

Lynceus stilled panting in his dishevelled whipped cream of sheets "You are here to kill me. So be it, but know my loyalties to Agares were cut at, at" the grey, indented slug of Lynceus' lower lip trembled

"Ye divorce. Aye" Marc barked. He made a cautionary glance over his shoulder "Decent yeself man"

Lynceus hunched sighing. Begrudgingly her wrapped the sheet around his lower half "Fuck off then and let me-

"I'm turning. Don't be winking at me when I do" Marc turned and moved to lean against the patio railings "Don't give her this, man"

"Spare me. What do you want Morax?"

"I want to help you enslave forty six of Dagon's daughters, including Hyernmestra"

Lynceus stared at him

"Mm. Chuck me a confetti o' thorns n' brand me saviour"

"How? Why?"

"Daddy's dying wish. Shyte tonne 'o mercy in death. Reduce 'em 't beggars on the central metropolis streets of circle seven. Re-synthesizing cannibalistic feed on Level 3.G. I very recently signed Haagenti Wholesale Speciality Food Ltd. Diced into beef stroganoff"

Lynceus winced "I'm ten times your age boy, get to it" a sobering thought landed "Signed Haagenti? You're sponsoring Verrine's X houses"

"Aye" Marc tossed the plastic encased Contract of Coalition into Lynceus' lap.

Lynceus grumbled and sagged. He patted the fleshy folds of his bare chest. Lynceus' suit hung from a velvet coat hanger on the door. Marc pushed himself off the railings. Lynceus’ glasses were of the ugly, oversized perspex kind signalling that Lynceus was near-blind. Marc handed them to him in passing and resumed his reclining. Lynceus bumbled a thanks and began thumbing through thick pages of parchment. Finally he snatched off his glasses "Do you think I'm a madman?"

"No Lynceus I think you're a junkie. Reduced to pitied glances and punchlines. Chasing the dragon from the vinegary realities of ye life putrefying under ye own weight" Marc lifted the finger he held thoughtfully against his chin "Good for you. Better substance abuse than some subtle short circuit" Marc looked at him not wholly unkindly "but it's time to pull outta it, ol' boy"

"You want control of my -

"I'm offering ye your balls back. Agares falls the houses Dagon submitted to it are left afloat. You can outbid anyone who'd care to sponsor 'em. Settlement or not, you'd own Hypermnestra. Have her forever, the way you've always wanted 'er. As for the forty five remaining Danaids reign em like slaves. Slaughter 'em. Abuse 'em. Whatsoever your labouring heart desires. I don't'ne your fucking dynasty I've enough t' deal with. I want partnership"

Lynceus swallowed a globlette of gluteus, saffron coloured phlegm "Why?"

"Sign"