Tgpedia - Body swap MK part 2

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The ritual chamber roared with swirling light, crimson and sapphire tearing through the air. Shang Tsung spoke the final words of the forbidden incantation, and magic slammed into them both like a crashing wave.

Baraka felt his soul ripped free from his own rough, heavy flesh — his massive arms, his bone blades, the weight of his old form — all stripped away in a heartbeat. He was hurled into something lighter, softer, burning with restless energy. When his vision cleared, he stared down at slender, graceful hands with delicate fingers. He ran them over his body: curves he’d never known, skin smooth and warm, the red-and-purple battle attire clinging to every line. He touched his face and felt the sharp fangs, the jaw marked by the Tarkat affliction… and he smiled. This was Mileena’s body. And it was his now — fully, completely his.

Shang Tsung drew a deep breath and opened his eyes. The centuries of weariness dropped away. He stood tall, lithe, breathtaking in grace and beauty: Kitana’s body, flawless skin, midnight hair spilling over elegant shoulders, the blue-and-gold royal regalia glowing in the torchlight. He flexed his fingers, felt the steel fans resting at his hip, and laughed low and hungry. Her form was his vessel now. And he would never give it back.

“So this is what it is to be them…” Baraka’s voice came out — Mileena’s voice — rich, fiery, throbbing with raw vitality. “Softer… yet burning with so much life.”

Shang Tsung stepped closer, every movement regal yet sharp with his own ancient will. “And now they are ours.” His tone was Kitana’s — sweet, melodic — but underneath lay all the sorcerer’s dark desire. “We do not merely borrow. We have taken control. And we shall do exactly as we please with what we have claimed.”

Baraka closed the distance between them, moving with Mileena’s swift, fluid grace. “Everything we please?”

“Everything,” Shang Tsung whispered, stopping inches from him, eyes blazing. “And what I crave… is to devour you.”

There was no hesitation, no shyness, no holding back. They crashed together instantly — ravenous, desperate, as if they had waited lifetimes for this moment. Baraka’s arms locked around Shang Tsung’s slender waist, pulling him flush against him, groaning aloud at the feel of that smooth, firm body pressed to his own. Shang Tsung tangled his hands in Baraka’s hair and claimed his mouth in a fierce, demanding kiss — claiming, tasting, possessing.

Their tongues clashed and sought each other wildly. Baraka moaned into the kiss — high, throaty, Mileena’s sounds spilling out uncontrollably — and the noise only stoked the fire burning through him. Shang Tsung answered with moans of his own — Kitana’s voice, soft yet breaking with pleasure — each sound driving them deeper into the heat.

“Mmm… yes!” Baraka gasped, nipping Shang Tsung’s lip. “I feel every inch of this skin… it burns for you… it aches for you!”

“And this body…” Shang Tsung’s hands roamed boldly down Baraka’s back, gripping his hips with possession, “answers to me as though it was always meant to. And you… you answer to me.”

“Yes! Only you!” Baraka arched, shivering, as Shang Tsung’s hands found his chest. “Touch me… it’s yours… I am yours… take it all!”

Shang Tsung didn’t wait. He backed Baraka against the stone pillar, kissed him with savage tenderness — biting his neck, sucking marks into his skin, claiming every inch. Baraka writhed beneath him, crying out freely, fingers digging into Shang Tsung’s shoulders, needing to hold, to claim, to leave his mark on that perfect, beautiful skin.

“It drives me wild…” Baraka panted, head thrown back, “seeing you like this… you inside her beauty… burning for me… don’t ever stop… please don’t stop…”

“And I am lost,” Shang Tsung murmured, his hands pushing the top of Baraka’s tunic aside, “lost in what is now mine to feast upon.”

The fabric fell away, and Baraka’s skin lay exposed — warm, quivering, glowing in the firelight. Shang Tsung did not hesitate. He leaned in and feasted: open-mouthed kisses, teasing flicks of his tongue, soft, claiming suction that made Baraka gasp and shudder and cry out louder still. He took Baraka’s sensitive flesh between his lips and worshipped it with fierce, greedy devotion.

“Ahhnn… yes… like that!” Baraka’s fingers tangled tight in Shang Tsung’s hair, pressing him closer, no shame, no restraint. “Don’t hold back… take it… take everything… I’m burning up… I can’t get enough!”

Shang Tsung obeyed — hungry, thorough, relentless. He drew deep, pulling low, broken moans from Baraka’s throat, each sound sweeter than the last. He tasted every curve, every sensitive spot, claiming this body as his prize, his pleasure, his forever.

“Moan for me,” Shang Tsung commanded against heated skin. “Let me hear you break apart. This voice… this flesh… all of it belongs to me.”

“Yours!” Baraka cried out, trembling from head to toe, arching further into the touch. “All yours! Ahhnn… your mouth… it consumes me… it owns me… I’m yours completely!”

They moved with urgent, breathless need — slow gentleness forgotten, replaced by ravenous fire. Baraka held Shang Tsung’s head to him, gasping, shivering, Mileena’s voice filling the chamber — loud, passionate, utterly unashamed. Shang Tsung groaned against him, Kitana’s melodic tones tangled in pleasure, revelling in every shiver, every gasp, every proof that he was the one in control — the one making this body sing.

“Harder… more…” Baraka begged, breathless and wild. “Make me feel everything… fill me with your fire…”

Shang Tsung gave more — deeper, hungrier, and Baraka cried out long, loud, and unrestrained, arching fully off the stone, hands clutching desperately, holding on as pleasure crashed through him. Neither looked back. Neither longed for their old forms. Here, in this borrowed flesh they had conquered and claimed as their own, they had found something stronger than any magic: the freedom to want, to take, to burn without end.

When finally he lifted his head, Shang Tsung’s lips were damp, his eyes dark and glowing. Baraka pulled him back immediately, kissing him with desperate, endless hunger.

“We’re never going back,” Baraka breathed, still trembling, hands roaming greedily over Shang Tsung’s body. “This is ours now. They are ours.”

“Never,” Shang Tsung promised, kissing him hard. “We keep them. And we will lose ourselves in them… again and again and again.”

And they sank back into each other — no limits, no regrets, no turning back. Two souls who had seized the bodies they’d always desired, and meant to keep them — forever.