Once they were aware of what was happening to them, the four wanted to simply lie down and die right there. One of the three wealthy men started the bid at four sheep, but the contest quickly turned to gold as the three bid against each other.

Meanwhile, Eric was not as willing to sell the boys off so quickly. He wanted them for his own purposes, still believing they were sent by the sun god as a magical gift to be used, not wasted.

Micky watched as the hooded young man whispered to his pagan friend. Whatever he was saying, Micky could tell by his gestures that he was trying to be convincing.

"Dargon is wrong," Eric said to his hooded associate. "We can use these gifts to build our own magical power. Then we will no longer need the leadership of that stupid old man."

"But Dargon will be expecting the profit from the sale - what do we tell him?"

"There is another full moon tomorrow night. We will finish with them quickly and sell them once we are done."

And suddenly the four slaves-to-be were untied and taken back to the dark, rotting prison they had come from. There would be no slave auction - not today. They all sensed something was planned, but no one wanted to dwell on the possibilities. So they spent one more night in the cold, damp, cell, waiting.

The next day was uneventful, until the sun went down and left them in the dark again. Their clothes were taken away and replaced with thin white robes. Then two enormous thugs with big sharp swords came for them and brought them to a place they hadn't seen yet. The room was small and round with arched openings like windows surrounding the circle. The only light came from the moon itself rising through the archways. And in the center was an altar made of stone.

Some torches were lit and the four boys were lined up for inspection. Eric studied them. He had had his eye on the wild-haired one with the face of a child and when a beam of moonlight happened to strike Micky, Eric was sure he was right. He had to be, standing there in the bluish-white glow of the moon herself; he looked just like the angel sent from the god that Eric had dreamed of and he had no doubt that Micky was the one.

Now to find the other.

Micky was taken from the lineup to face his friends.

"Choose one," Eric ordered.

"Ch…Choose one what?" Micky stuttered.

"Choose one of the three to live."

"What?! What do you mean?" Micky asked, panic in his high-pitched voice.

"I think I've made your instructions clear. Choose one of your friends to live - the other two will be killed."

"NO! You can't do that!"

"If you don't, then I must kill them all. Now choose…quickly!"

"I can't," Micky cried. "Please, don't make me do that!"

The guards held up their swords to the necks of the other three to drive the point home to Micky. The reality of his situation was starting to sink in. This was serious, and there was no way out. How could he choose one of his best friends over the others? A life or death decision, sitting in his hands. Who would he choose to die? He looked at all of them through his tears, one by one, searching for some kind of answer to this horror. There must be a way out of this, he thought in desperation.

He was given a hard push to speed up his decision making, almost throwing him to the ground, but he sank to the stone anyway in complete despair. There was no way out. He would have to do what he was told or all his friends would die. The least he could do is to save one of them.

Again, he looked into the eyes of each. Davy was wide-eyed with the notion that his time had come, but he was tired of this game; he had already given up hope days ago. Micky understood the small shake of Peter's head, and the sadness and strength in his eyes. Peter was nervous, but willing to sacrifice himself for the others - the karma would be good, and Micky knew that was what Peter was thinking. Then there was Mike, as stoic as ever, and Micky couldn't read anything in those dark orbs, except that he seemed almost content with his situation - a strange look for him: loving, accepting. And Micky swore he saw those cold eyes fill with tears as they stared at each other. "Mike," he said in a low whisper, as if Mike could hear him from that distance.

"Which one is Mike?" Eric asked with impatience.

"Huh?" Micky came out of the hypnotic trance Mike seemed to put him in. "Please…Please don't make me do this," he cried again. Eric motioned to the guards to make a move on the three as if they were going to decapitate them right there. "NO!!" Micky screamed. His pleading and begging were useless. "Mike," he said again and covered his face with his hands in shame and disgrace for what he had just done.

"He's Mike," Peter offered with all the dignity he could muster. Davy was silent and held his head down waiting for the inevitable, but they were both led out of the room with only Mike standing before a broken Micky.

Micky was lifted off the ground by two bulky guards, stripped of what little clothing he had left and placed on the alter. The shackles they used to confine him were thick and heavy, and cut into his wrists and ankles painfully. He was trembling like a leaf and wasn't sure if it was from his fear, or the freezing stone slab he was lying on. As he looked above him, he noticed a circle cut out of the stone ceiling. He could see the stars as clear as he did in the planetarium he visited back in high school.

A low-pitched chant was started by all the cloaked attendees of the event, and Micky's head started to swim from the sound. He concentrated on the sight above him: the stars were beautiful, he thought, if only he were somewhere else, where he could enjoy the scenery. As the chanting became louder, the more Micky trembled with fear. Tears streamed from his eyes for his two friends he had condemned to death, and for what lay in store for himself and for Mike.

In the midst of his despair he found Mike's face inches from his own whispering something to him. It took a moment to snap back to the real world, but a kind familiar face seemed surreal in his situation.

"Calm down, Mick. I don't think they're gonna hurt us - seems they just want a good show."

"Huh?"

"Just relax - you may even enjoy this." Mike had an odd smirk on his face. How could he be so happy knowing his two best friends were probably dead by now? Micky didn't understand and he knew it would be impossible to enjoy anything at the moment. Mike must have finally flipped.

Mike leaned in closer for a small kiss of reassurance on Micky's temple. The taste of salt from Micky's tears made him realize just how much he needed to put himself back in leader mode. He'd never seen Micky cry before. This was no time to lose control of himself, and besides, it would take a lot more to beat him down. Micky still needed his leadership and Mike wasn't going to abandon his last bit of hope.

He felt a lash from a leather whip on his back, a sign to hurry up - but Mike didn't even flinch. He looked into Micky's tear-filled eyes with an expression that said 'trust me' on his face and began what he was instructed to do. The chanting became louder as the moon rose through the arches and Mike bent down for a long lustful kiss on Micky's trembling lips.

Micky was more confused than ever. Why was Mike kissing him? The sound of the chant and the sensation of Mike's tongue were like a drug. He thought the room was spinning and he became dizzy even though he was secured to the immovable solid stone. When he looked up at the stars, they were spinning as well, and all he could do was allow it all to happen, lose himself in the ritual - there was no escape.

He could feel Mike's mouth working on his body, but for what? What was the purpose? Even his thoughts started to blur and were being absorbed by the intensity of the sounds echoing in the room and the feelings of his body. The contrast of the icy cold against his back and the hot wetness of Mike's mouth enveloping him was too much. The chanting was getting louder and faster as his body became aroused against his will. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to find himself in the chaos and sensations surrounding him, desperately trying to hold on to the small piece that was left, but he wasn't strong enough and was overtaken by Mike's long powerful sucking, and the chanting, and cracks of the whip, and the moon coming into view above him at the edge of the circle, and his two dead friends. It was overwhelming.

He could feel Mike working harder, not taking no for an answer. Why? It didn't matter anymore; he couldn't fight it. Micky arched his back and shut his eyes tightly. As much as he tried to avoid it, he could feel himself coming, rising slowly from Mike's persistent sucking.

Eric watched Micky carefully, waiting for the perfect moment of the highest magical power. He studied the moans and cries escaping his gift's mouth and he knew the moment had come when the moon was full above them and Micky's form became rigid with an orgasm ready to explode. "Now!" Eric ordered, and Mike was pulled away as the surgeon made his cut into the magical casing of Micky's scrotum. Quickly the gland was removed from the left side, but there was not enough time to take both - tomorrow night perhaps.

Micky screamed with a long loud shriek that could be heard back to 1969. Mike struggled against the guards that held him back. All he could do was stand and watch, not quite believing what these people would do in the name of their god. He wasn't let in on this part of the ritual, and he screamed along with his friend, both of them helpless to stop it. He wanted Micky to trust him; he wanted to take care of him, and now this. If Micky lived, he would want nothing to do with him, and Mike couldn't blame him. So far, his love for Micky had only saved himself from death, while the others would be killed and Micky suffered unbearable torture. Mike had failed again.

For a moment Micky looked up at him. His face was distorted with pain and tears; his body too exhausted to scream anymore. Mike wanted to tell him he was sorry, that he didn't know, but Micky's breath became shallow and he could tell he was slipping from consciousness. Mike looked down at the damage between Micky's legs. The blood was dripping thickly off the slab to the stone floor, but he was being skillfully sewn back up by a hooded man with a needle and thread; not left there to die, but for another use, something Mike didn't want to think about.

The prize was placed in a shallow silver bowl and given to Eric. Pleased with how the ceremony went, he smiled to his followers and announced that this was the beginning of their new power and order. He held up the bowl to the moon as they began a final magical chant.

The sex organ of a man/child during orgasm was a very magical and special item to have in one's possession, and now Eric had what he needed to overpower and defeat Dargon. And if he could keep this one alive, he might be able to steal another. But that was almost never done. The victim was already aware of what would happen and was too frightened to be aroused. That was the secret to the magic - the building orgasm collected in the small round source before it is allowed to drain.

"I told Dargon they were a gift from the gods, and he laughed. Now we have captured the power we needed for the change," Eric said to his audience. Apparently, Eric had more pull in this fraternity than expected. His own followers seemed genuinely happy and in complete devotion to their new leader.

Micky was cleaned up and he and Mike were sent back to their small prison cell. The first thing Mike noticed was that it was empty; Davy and Peter were gone. He sat down in the dirty hay trying to stay busy with Micky so he could keep himself in control. He inspected the brutally torn cut, and though it was still bleeding, he was surprised to find such a decent job done with such crude instruments. He laid Micky's unconscious body in his lap and tried to keep him warm from the drafty cold stone. There wasn't much else he could do. He sat and thought about his other two friends. 'Why would these assholes kill them when they could sell them for a profit?' he wondered. Mike tried to convince himself of the best scenario, but looking down at Micky he realized these people would do anything and were certainly capable of killing a couple of hated strangers. And what else was in store for Micky and himself?

Micky stirred in his arms and Mike held him a little tighter. Resisting no longer, he finally allowed himself to feel all the pain of the last few days. And he leaned his head down to hide his face in Micky's curls and cried.