The Godlost Land

by Curtis, Greg

  The fury had finally finished with him a few hours after she'd first begun, at least the first time. And he'd known a moment of relief as she'd finally walked away to rest. He'd thought it was over. But it hadn't been over. The suffering hadn't ended. He should have guessed when he was still left there chained to the table. Still helpless and hurting. If she'd finished with him surely she should have either killed him or let him go. And truly at that moment he hadn't really cared which as long as it was ended. What she'd done to him was an abomination. It had been the most vile experience of his life. But he'd soon discovered that it would only be a short reprieve. She just needed a rest. And thereafter it always had been.

  She had been insatiable, strengthened by whatever strange magic it was that had given her a male member, and completely determined to impregnate him with her foul offspring. And she was powerful! So strong she could break his bones with a crack of her hands. Several times he'd thought she'd broken the bones in his loins as she'd lost herself in the excitement, and the pain of the broken bones grinding over one another as she had carried on driving in to him had been beyond his understanding. What sort of hatred could beat in her heart to do that to him? And why? He had done nothing to her. In fact he had offered her everything.

  She was cruel. Not just brutal, but vindictive. She didn't just bed him, she bit him. Not with the daggers in her mouth, but with the vipers. Each and every time. She seemed to think it was fun. And he'd always known when the biting would come. Just as she did. It was a pattern. Every time she gave him her seed, she had hissed with pleasure, a sound that could melt metal and crack stone, and then there had been a frenzy of uncontrolled biting. It was part of the pleasure for her. He feared her climax as he feared little else. Others enjoyed it.

  Her sisters had cheered her on each and every time. All of them had watched and celebrated each time she had had him. And she had had him so many times. How many he didn't know but it had to be in the hundreds. He didn't even know how many days he'd been down in this dungeon, screaming for help that never came. No one would help him. Not here. In fact each time she had raped him not one of the other furies who had watched it happen had shown the tiniest shred of sympathy for him. Instead they hissed and clapped their hands and encouraged her to do it again. And Varrious had cheered with them. At least the first few times.

  Then after she had finished with him she would tell him how much she had enjoyed it and then would get off and leave him for a few hours. Never once did she forget to tell him how lucky he was to be taken by her. The bitch was crazed! And he truly hated her. If he could have freed his arms he would have strangled her. But he knew she was being honest. She had enjoyed mounting him. For her it was pure pleasure. And if he suffered for her pleasure that didn't matter the tiniest bit. It was all about her! He hated that. He hated her as he had never hated anyone else in his life.

  After she'd finished that first time he had been left there for a while, broken and bleeding and in terrible pain from what she'd done to him. Believing that he was going to die from her disgusting perversion. But he hadn't. His flesh refused to die. Instead it healed. The bones mended, the bleeding stopped and the venom drained slowly from his system thanks to the elixir. And though he had wanted to be sick from the obscenity she'd just performed on him he hadn't been. It had been the same each and every time that followed.

  It was a nightmare. That a beast like her should ride him. That she should keep riding him. It was humiliating and degrading. And he could do nothing about it. Nothing save lie there and be raped repeatedly.

  The worst of it was knowing that she enjoyed it. Seeing the smile on her face as she rode him. She laughed and hissed and smiled as if what she was doing was somehow fun. And he supposed for her it was.

  And it wouldn't end. She had bitten him so many times. She had broken his body again and again. Her strength as she took him was inhuman. Her talons had raked him so many times that he was covered in scars. But nothing she did could seem to kill him. Some days he wished it would.

  It was the living essence. Burning through him, healing his wounds as she tore him apart. Refusing to let him die. So instead he healed. Which meant that she could have him again.

  It had taken him a while to understand. But he had eventually realised that the elixir wasn't the blessing he had dreamed of. It was actually been a torture device. It hadn't just ripped out his manhood and turned him into a woman. It had robbed him of his magic leaving him completely helpless. And perhaps worst of all by healing him it allowed her to rape him over and over again. That was why he'd been given it.

  He wouldn't have thought that even the demons could have dreamed up such a terrible torture. But someone had. Maybe Nemesis. The cursed furies seemed to worship him after all. But more likely it was Xin.

  This was Tartarus. Tartarus in the living world. He was sure of it. Xin had somehow got a head start on torturing him. And she was a demon. Her sisters were demons too. They watched and they laughed and cheered her on each time. While he had to lie there and listen. And he had to listen to Varrious too, as he found the entire thing amusing. The thrall seemed to spend most of his time these days laughing at him. Terellion would kill him for that. When he got his power back. If he got his power back.

  That was a terror for him. That this might be it. That he would be chained to this rack and raped for the rest of time. That he might never regain his magic. That this accursed living essence might have robbed him of it forever. Just as it had robbed him of his manhood. Of his very masculinity. Because now he was a woman. He had breasts. Large ponderous breasts that fell all around and flopped about as he lay there on the rack being raped. Nipples that hurt when she bit them, and she bit them every time. And there was something wrong with his hips. They were too broad and they didn't move as they should. His legs had become shorter, and from where he lay he could see they no longer had any hair or muscle. Even his facial hair had fallen out.

  He had been transformed into a bitch!

  He understood that his magic had gone. That the elixir had stolen it from him. He understood that every time he reached for his five remaining Circle wizards and could make contact with none of them. Every time the guards came down and he tried to control them, but couldn't. He understood that he was a prisoner being tortured. He understood that only too well. And he understood that he had little hope of escaping and taking his vengeance on these foul creatures. Every time he struggled impotently against his chains he understood it only too well. But he could not understand that he had been made into a lowly bitch. He could never understand that. Nor the thought that he might never be a man again.

  Because when he was once more a man, this was how he was going to kill these foul things. He was going to rape them to death. He was going to do to them what she had done to him. But he was going to do it a thousand times worse. He was going to hear them scream. All of them. He was going to hear them beg. And then he was going to kill them. Every last one of them. There would be no more dreams of an army coming from their wombs. No more thought that these winged bitches were his assassins. There would be only torture, rape and death. That was his promise to them. He had to cling to that dream because he couldn't live with the fear that this might be his future. That he might be stuck like this forever.

  But there was yet a darker fear that he refused to acknowledge. The true terror that he could not stand. That no man could stand. But which she constantly insisted was coming. That she had planted something in him. Her abominable offspring.

  Each time after she'd finished with him and he lay there bleeding and broken, she'd laid her hands on his belly and rubbed it, checking for any sign of a swelling. Sometimes she'd laid her ear on it, listening for something. And each time she had turned to him and promised him one thing with a sickening smile on her face.

  “Soon.”

  He hated that word. He feared it more than any other.

  For the longest time he had tried to tell himself that it was impossible. That h
e was a man and it simply couldn't happen. That she was crazed. But his big, fleshy hips said otherwise. His child bearing hips. And his breasts that he knew would feed a baby.

  He wasn't a man. Not any more. The changes the elixir had caused had slowly continued over the long days he had been trapped down here.

  To all intents and purposes he was a woman now – pathetic and weak, worth nothing except as something to mount. A brood mare. And women had babies – that was their purpose. Worse, he knew that furies and humans could have offspring. He had seen the evidence growing in their bellies. And in time he feared he would see it growing in his.

  “She says it's time. You should be ready.” Varrious spoke up suddenly, catching Terellion by surprise.

  The thrall had been quiet for a while. A very long while. Sometimes he'd spent time laughing at him. Sometimes instead he'd spoken to the furies in whatever tongue it was that they spoke. But mostly he'd remained quiet in his little corner of the cell. Especially these last few days. That had been a mercy. The only mercy Terellion had been shown.

  For some reason the thrall was still chained to his bars. The furies could have freed him, but they hadn't. And strangely Varrious had never asked to be freed. He just sat there, or stood there, or often enough lay there, and said little. He certainly didn't beg for his freedom. But neither had he been eaten as Terellion had hoped he would be. The furies had enough food. He didn't know where they got it from, but every so often some of them had gone out and returned with great armfuls of vegetables and meat which they would add to a huge cast iron cauldron in the centre of the dungeon. Then they would set fire to it, adding firewood that they also gathered from somewhere, and lighting it with the torches from the wall and prepare a stew. It wasn't good but it was nourishing.

  They had the guards under their control as well. Whenever they came downstairs to do their daily inspections one of the furies would sit on Terellion and shove a rag in his mouth to prevent him from crying out. Several more would physically block the guard's view of him chained as he was to the rack. And shortly the guards would leave never realising that he was there.

  Varrious had also been instrumental in keeping them from discovering that he was down here The man was a consummate liar. But Terellion was beginning to suspect that the true reason he had been so successful wasn't because of his skill. It was because the guards were brutishly stupid.

  Varrious had told the guards the very first time they'd come down that he'd left when his business was done. That he'd satisfied himself with the fury and then gone on his way, happy. Naturally chained to the table, held down and gagged, Terellion had been able to do nothing to prevent the lies being spread. And the more he tried the harder they hit him.

  It was a pathetic story, but for some reason Varrious' lie had been enough for the guards. They had left without so much as a question, believing the thrall's every word. Terellion would kill the guards for their laxity! For not checking the cells properly. For not at least asking some more questions. When he was free he would make those guards suffer a truly terrible fate. Maybe he would have them tear out each other's eyes. And Varrious would suffer far worse! For his help in covering up this crime he would learn what true pain was. The months the man had spent being tortured were as nothing to the lifetime of agony he would suffer. But of course with his magic gone, he couldn't escape. He couldn't control the guards. He couldn't call out to his pet wizards either. And no one else had come.

  Varrious' lie was a miserable deception. Maybe the foulest lie that had ever been spoken. But it had worked completely. It had trapped Terellion down here as his body slowly transformed into something hideous and pathetic while he was tortured endlessly. It allowed that foul bitch to have her fun with him while her sisters laughed endlessly. And it had saved Varrious' life as well. If the guards hadn't believed him they might have assumed that he'd been killed. And if he had died then they had their orders for the man. But they'd believed the thrall and so Varrious had lived. The guards hadn't torn him apart with harpy leather whips as they should have.

  Terellion was beginning to realise that the furies were far more clever than he'd realised. Far more devious. And that they all needed to die horribly.

  He was sure that the seductress had been deliberately teasing him for all those months before he had drunk the elixir. Leading him on so that he would fall into her trap. That this had all been planned out long before he'd been stupid enough to drink the elixir. The only thing he didn't know was why. If they wanted babies so much all they had had to do was give him the right elixir and he would have impregnated them all. They could have had hundreds. And if it was to punish him then why? He'd done nothing more to them than he would have done to any other woman. He was simply doing what was right and natural! It was what men were supposed to do. And in fact he hadn't even done that – just dreamed of it.

  He'd asked them that many times and got nothing back. The furies still only spoke in their own tongue, and Varrious if he knew wasn't talking. He'd just laughed at him. But mostly the thrall said nothing. He just sat in his corner of the cell and stared aimlessly around. Moving very little Terellion suspected, because of the pain of his wounds.

  “Time for what?” Despite his not wanting to know, Terellion asked.

  “The end. Your end. The furies promised me I would live to see your end.” Varrious laughed quietly to himself while Terellion felt a chill run through him. After all he had suffered he was still to die here? In this stinking dungeon? And then he remembered he still had one thing on his side.

  “I can't die here. If I die the entire city dies with me. Including all of you.”

  “You mean that the binding when it breaks will destroy everything?” Varrious stared at him and he didn't look at all concerned as he said it. In fact he looked somewhat amused. The man obviously didn't have enough broken bones Terellion thought.

  “I wouldn't worry about it. I'm sure the furies have it all worked out. Especially as they aren't under anyone's control any more. Only Nemesis'” And if they didn't Terellion realised, he would die, and the thrall was probably looking forwards to death. He probably hoped it would bring an end to his pain.

  “Dress!”

  One of the furies suddenly hissed at him and handed his clothes to him while another started working on the manacles. Then when she'd done she hoisted him off the table and onto his feet. He screamed with the pain as his feet hit the cold stone floor and he tried to stand for the first time in a very long time. There was just so much pain as his overly wide hips tried to support him on muscles that had been brutally abused from the abuse. It was as though his loins were made of broken glass.

  But he didn't have loins any more. Terellion looked down to see what had happened to him, and it was worse than he'd imagined. His belly was soft and round – but at least it was empty. He prayed it was empty. But he knew it had taken months before the furies under his castle had started to show. And just as it had been before there was nothing hanging beneath his belly. Just two short, hairless legs with far too much fat on them and not enough muscle. It was disgusting.

  They weren't even his feet on the ends of them. Terellion cried out when he saw them. When he saw the soft pink feet on the end of his short, round, hairless legs. He was a man with long thin legs. He was on the tall side. Of proud bearing. And now he had legs so short that his waist wasn't even as high as the table. Hairless legs and tiny feet. How could that be? How could they be his legs? His feet? But even as he stared at them his breasts hung low in front of him nearly tipping him forward on to the cold stone floor.

  By the gods he was truly pathetic!

  “Dress!”

  The fury yelled it at him again and then when he was still too slow started trying to dress him in his old clothes. But there was a whole new problem to worry about. The clothes didn't fit him any more. The robe was at least a foot too long for him, and it wouldn't stretch over his breasts or his hips. His child bearing hips as the phrase went. Terellion p
aled at the thought. That this foul flesh of his might contain something so horrible. When he got out of here he was going to have to see the healers soonest, to get a potion to make certain nothing inside him lived.

  “Leave the neck but slit the rest of the back lengthwise a little, then cover it with the cape.”

  Varrious made the suggestion. He occasionally made helpful suggestions like that. Terellion hated him for it. Not that in this case it really mattered that much. Maybe at the start when the worm had helped to hide him from the guards who might have saved him what he said might have mattered. Not any more. Now he knew he was trapped. Dressed or naked no one would believe he was Terellion.

  Not since he'd drunk the elixir. And that was a mistake he cursed himself for. He had been so stupid. He had allowed his desire to be young again to overcome his common sense. He should have known it was a trap. That was his failure, and now he was paying the price for it.

  The fury did as Varrious suggested and moments later Terellion was dressed in his old robe, even though it fell to the floor and then beyond. But one of the other furies tore the bottom off the robe and he was dressed. He even looked a little respectable when they draped the cape over him. He tied the collar himself since there seemed no point any more in not doing it. What he had to do was escape, and looking like a runaway woman of the night would not help him do that.