The God Emperor Ch. 03

When the laughter finally died, I drew myself up and replied to Ischyri's demands with stiff dignity. "As God and Emperor over all mortals and goddesses, Ruler of All Orifices and Rapist of the Universe, I shall give you my formal reply for you to carry back to your queen and your army." I paused dramatically, then intoned with extreme solemnity, "No."

My men laughed again. Ischyri turned on her heel, stalking back through my men toward her own force. As she passed through the front line, Brawm Giantsbane, mightiest of heroes, gave her a firm slap on her ample armored posterior, sending her stumbling three paces forward. The princess turned about, hand on the hilt of her blade. "You dare touch me with your filthy hand, cur? I'll carve you to pieces where you stand!" she shouted. But then she hesitated, remembering that she faced an army alone.

"Save it for the battle, princess," Brawm lazily admonished. "You shall have your chance to cut me down, for I swear by my twice-grandfather's glorious name that before the sun sets today you shall feel again the touch of my filthy hand. And furthermore, before that sun rises again on the morrow you shall be unable to live without my touch! This I swear by my sword, my blood, and my cock, and let me lose all three if I am forsworn!"

The men around him clashed their weapons against their shields three times in rhythm, acknowledging mighty Brawm's boast. Ischyri merely sniffed and strode angrily back to her own lines. Almost as soon as she arrived, the Wundarian host began to advance. I raised my arm, bellowing, "FORWARD!" in a mighty voice that carried across the valley. The men of my army surged forth to meet the foe.

First blood was claimed by Mshale Snake-shooter. Just before the two armies clashed the great archer loosed a golden shaft from his great bow from his pavilion far behind the lines. The arrow slammed right through the eye of one of the Wundarian Undead, punching through the back of his skull. He fell, trampled carelessly by the unthinking host behind. Mshale kept right on raining arrows down into the enemy, still seated comfortably on a cushion while two snake-sluts sucked on his cock and balls.

With a terrible din, the two lines met each other. Brawm Giantsbane proved his status as greatest hero, carving through the Undead enemy with his giant sword. He was like a hurricane, sending blood and body parts flying in a near continuous torrent. Men and Undead alike within a hundred paces of him were soon covered in a fine patina of blood as mighty Brawm, engine of carnage, made it rain red from the sky.

Undead after undead went down beneath the wheels of the chariot of Porozdatus Thousand Father. With a whip in one hand he cruelly lashed his Centauresses, driving them to carry him further into the enemy army, trampling enemies beneath their thundering hooves. His personal force of sons and grandsons rushed after him, cursing that the crazy old man was going to get himself isolated.

Despegadax was nowhere to be seen. He had an uncanny ability to disappear when he didn't want to be seen.

And yet, despite the mighty efforts of these heroes, the Wundarian force began to push my forces back. Eris had empowered her Undead soldiers with beastly, chaotic strength far greater than mere mortals. Beside that the Undead did not feel pain. When stabbed or cut they would continue to fight completely unaffected. Only a mortal wound would stop them, and only dismemberment could slow them down. In the center, the women of Wundaria raised their staves, redoubling their commands to their undead slaves, ordering them to kill, to slay, to fight, and to die. Our center held, for the moment, but the men were hard pressed to keep the silent legion of supernaturally powerful undead at bay.

At that moment a flash of Divine Light nearly blinded my soldiers in the center. A pale, nude goddess with waving red hair materialized at the heart of the light. Eris, the physical embodiment of Chaos, held forth her terrible red sword. The weapon seemed topulse, sending waves of psychic energy outward. Eris's sword was called Panic, and any who broke before its power would never recover. They would flee and flee and flee, driven by unrelenting, chittering fear until they eventually died of exhaustion. Grinning in triumph, the goddess rose into the air, holding her blade aloft. The lines of my army wavered, falling back step by step. The power of the sword was affecting them, but they fought on desperately, unwilling to face dishonor.

Then another light flashed in the sky as Athena, Goddess of Wisdom and War came up from the ground, streaking toward Eris like a lightning bolt. The two war goddesses dueled in the sky above the battling armies at a speed no mortal could comprehend. They exchanged hundreds of feints, thousands of thrusts and ripostes, Athena's Spear of Reason seeking Eris's evasive flesh, Eris's Sword of Panic crashing again and again against Athena's Shield of Discipline. The battle was truly incredible, but ultimately one sided. One Goddess had recently received in sacrifice the lifeblood of the men of an entire nation. The other had accepted a single load from the end of my Divine Cock.

The entire fight took place in a time the length of a single flash of lightning, and, to the mortal ear, sounded like a roar of thunder. The two Goddesses fell to earth together, striking like a comet in the midst of the contending forces. When the dust cleared, the result of the Divine Conflict was revealed. Eris lay face-first in the dirt, arms and legs splayed. Athena stood proudly atop her divine foe, a foot planted firmly atop Eris's shoulder blades. Athena held her Spear of Reason firmly grounded in the Chaos Goddess's rump, the butt of the supernatural weapon lodged firmly in Eris's asshole. With a wordless roar of victory, the Goddess of Wisdom blasted her power outward in a wave.

Many of my men were enemies out in the Outer Empire. They fought each other for dominance constantly. Only allegiance to the God of Masculinity had brought them together to fight on this field, and even in the midst of battle they were suspicious of each other. Under the power of Athena, however, they became an orderly, disciplined, cooperative army. They fought as if they were old comrades instead of old enemies, as if they had trained in units together for years. Men with spears pinned the undead foe with their superior reach, while others with axes darted in to strike off the foe's legs. Men with shields darted in front of their fellows who had none in order to intercept arrows. Men with large, two handed weapons swung their blades in wide, deadly arcs, missing their allies by inches, but those allies didn't even flinch, focused entirely on the foe and on supporting one another. My army had become a giant machine of death, grinding the undead minions of Wundaria to bits with glorious efficiency.

The undead were falling now at a staggering pace. The battle would have been over within the hour if matters had continued thus.

But then, on the raised ground across the valley, a robed and hooded figure stepped up beside the Queen of Wundaria. This was Ochi, second daughter of Queen Ypsili, and apparently a devoted follower of the Primordial Void, the force that exists in opposition to my Cock. She raised her sleeved arms, and a fell wind began to blow across the valley, carrying her voice. Her words struck the ears of every man in the valley, including mine, but the mind could not comprehend their meaning. It was not as if the words themselves were unintelligible, they were not spoken in some strange foreign tongue. Rather, it was themeaning of her words that couldn't be understood, as if the minds of normal people refused to allow the admittance of such blasphemies into their consciousness. When Ochi completed her fell incantation, a strange, supernatural silence fell over the battlefield.

Then the fallen Undead began to rise. All the fatally smitten Wundarian warrior-slaves my army had struck down climbed shakily to their feet and picked up their fallen weapons. Even headless men shambled forward, striking blindly about them. The mad red light of Eris was gone from their eyes now, replaced only by an emptiness as vast as the universe itself. These new zombies were weaker and less skilled than their Eris-empowered countrymen.Eris had only drained them of their free will and most of their masculine power. These things were animated by something older and darker: the hungry emptiness that prevails everywhere in the absence of Divine Power. The Void.

Although they were weaker than Eris's undead they were an even greater threat to my army for two reasons: first, they were tougher than Eris's undead, who would fall if dealt a mortal wound. These new zombies could not be killed in any way, except by defeating the Void Priestess who called them forth. The only other way to stop them was to hack them limb from limb.

The second reason the zombies were a greater threat was due to their location. As my men had been winning the battle, the line of conflict had pushed forward toward the Wundarian side of the valley, leaving behind thousands of dead undead in its wake. Now those fallen rose again, threatening the rear of my forces. Once again my forces began losing ground. Seizing upon this opportunity, Ischyri Gynaika, first princess of Wundaria, led her personal guard in a daring attack at a weak point in the Imperial lines. Within minutes she broke through. Now my men were in two isolated pockets, embattled on all sides by unrelenting foes.

The day might have then been lost. But the heroes of God's Own Empire would not fall so easily. Brawm Giantsbane stepped up alone to challenge Ischyri and her company of personal guards. These guards were neither Void Zombies nor Eris's Undead, but living women, trained in weapons as Ischyri herself was. They were wary of Braum, having observed his prowess on the battlefield earlier. At their princess's command, four heavily armored warrior women advanced on the hero, spears held ready. Brawm dodged one spear thrust and punched one of the women in the face. Her head snapped back and she crumpled to the ground, dropping her weapon. At the same instant Brawm had thrown his punch, one of his feet had lashed out backward like a horse's kick, slamming up between the legs of the woman who had been approaching him from behind. She collapsed, clutching her cunt. Brawm swung his enormous blade at the third guardswoman horizontally, turning the blade at the last second so that the flat part of the blade hit her in the side instead of the edge. She was hurled sideways through the air by the force of the blow, slamming into the fourth attacker and sending her flying too. Both of them spun and rolled through the air until finally crashing to earth in a tangled heap twenty paces away. Ischyri cursed, reluctantly ordering her guard to retreat. The Imperial line was now unified once more, though the army still fought surrounded and in dire straits.

Then, as if from empty air, the hero Dispegadax appeared among the Wundarian women. These women, holding their glowing red staves forth and concentrating on controlling their undead, were unprepared for the storm of misogynistic fury Dax brought them. He wielded only a short wooden baton, but he swung it with a skillful, rapid, and barely sub-lethal contempt into their vulnerable flesh. His cudgel bashed heads, smashed arms and slammed up into cunts with equal ease. Soon women were dropping their staves and fleeing from him, some out of fright, some because he had hit their hands or arms. As their controllers were interrupted, the Undead soldiers stumbled to a halt, standing stock still and waiting patiently for their mistress' magical commands. They continued to stand immobile until Imperial troops cut them down where they stood.

If the Hammer of Bitches was the one who turned the tide of battle, the Nameless Knight was the one who crushed the last Wundarian hope for victory. A giant of a man, the Nameless Knight strode forth covered head to toe in a suit of gleaming plate armor too intricate to have been crafted by human hands. In one hand, he wielded a mace so massive that not even Brawm could have lifted it. The Knight charged into battle against the Void Zombies that threatened the rear of the Imperial Lines. He swung his mace with such force that only red mist remained in the path of his weapon where once ten or twelve zombies had stood. The Imperial warriors took heart at his arrival, redoubling their attacks, cutting zombies to bits.

At the fore, the last of Eris's Undead fell to a fatal blow. The men of the Outer Empire surged forth, surrounding the now defenseless Wundarian women. The stave-wielding women had not expected to fight the battle directly, for they had trained only in controlling their Undead slaves. They surrendered en masse within moments. The men came forward into their host, seizing their new slaves. They roughly tore and cut the linen uniforms of the defeated Wundarians from their trembling bodies, laughing as they slapped and fondled the defeated sluts. No rapes yet, though. The discipline of Athena was still upon them, and they would not unleash their lusts until the proper time.

Once the women had been captured and the last of the zombies had fallen to the Nameless Knight, the only remaining Wundarian redoubt of resistance was the promontory from which Queen Ypsili had watched the battle. Ischyri and her guard surrounded the hillock, expressions grim. They were preparing themselves for a hopeless last stand. The queen's two younger daughters stood beside her. Ochi was unreadable in her hooded cloak, but something about her posture spoke of impotent rage. Mikri was turning about nervously, quaking with fear as the Imperial army surrounded their position. Beside her stood her lover-turned-undead, Anoitos, impassively awaiting her command. She had held him back from the battle, and now he was the last of the Undead left standing.

The Nameless Knight stepped to the front of the victorious army, removing his helm. The Imperial Army cheered as his identity was revealed. He was me, of course! The intricate suit of shining plate was a gift to me from Hera, Queen of Goddesses. It was called the 'Armor of Anonymity'. While wearing it, none can guess my identity. Even those who helped me to don the armor in the first place had forgotten they had done so. In fact, so powerful is the armor's enchantment that I often find myself narrating in the third person while I wear it.

In any case I was soon clad once more in only my loincloth, revealing my powerful body to all onlookers. I called to the small circle of resistance on the hillock above me. "Women of Wundaria, are you prepared to accept your defeat and surrender? Your army is gone, your horde of Undead slaves fallen. Give up and embrace your new place under Imperial rule!"

"You shall never take us alive, Tyrant!" Roared Ischyri. Her stalwart guardswomen took heart from her defiance.

Queen Ypsili spoke with more poise, but her response was basically the same. "As Queen of Wundaria I acknowledge that our victory is no longer possible. Perhaps our cause was hopeless from the start. And yet, it may be that by fighting defiantly to the end, we shall inspire other women who currently suffer under your vile yoke to take up the cause of equality. Though the revolution may not come for centuries, I have faith that it must come eventually. Our lives are a small price to pay for that outcome. I defy you, False God."

Mikri just bit her lip, looking terrified. Ochi stood unmoving as a statue, shrouded in her hooded cloak. I could feel hatred radiating from her gaze.

I turned to my men, motioning for most of them to stay put. I called for only my three greatest heroes, Brawm, Porozdatus and Dispegadax. They followed behind me along with a sizable contingent of Virgin Guard.

I abstained from the final struggle, leaving the subduing of Ischyri and her loyal female soldiers to Brawm and the Virgin Guard.

As armored Wundarian Guardswomen futily stabbed at the lithe, black clad Virgin Guard with their spears, Ischyri stood to confront Brawm. With a shrill battlecry, the First Princess of the Last Kingdom charged at the mighty hero, twice grandson of the Supreme God. Brawm swung his massive sword at her, his attack seeming to pass narrowly in front of her as she charged. But then, the proud princess stumbled to a halt as her armor and her clothes fell from her body. Brawm had struck so skillfully that he had sliced even her undergarments without so much as scratching her skin. Shrieking in a very feminine way, she futilely attempted to cover her ample body with her hands. Brawm took advantage of the Princess's discomfort, kicking her feet out from under her. She fell face first to the ground, her massive breasts (nearly the equal of her mother's) cushioning her fall somewhat. The victorious hero planted a boot on her shoulder blades, holding the defeated princess down.

Ischyri soldiers fared no better. Though they were well trained, armed and armored, they were up against Virgin Guard, demigoddesses trained in combat from birth. Within moments all were held in submission, though a few still struggled in vain.

I continued up the hill toward the Queen. Dax and Porozdatus flanked me on either side. Valanepa, Anwe, Jeanne and Xiee followed a respectful distance behind me. As I reached the crest of the hill, Mikri, the youngest of the queen's daughters stepped forward, holding up her staff. The young woman's youthful body and grey eyes reminded me of Athena, but Mikri had none of the War Goddesses courage or wisdom. In a quavering voice, she squeaked, "Anoitos! Slay them!" Her staff blazed with red light. Anoitos, once lover of the third Wundarian Princess, sprung forward, raising his sword to attack. There was no malice or anger on the face of the Undead slave, only determination to do as his mistress had commanded.

Dispegadax snarled, deflecting Anoitos's downward slash with contemptuous ease. Then he stepped inside the Undead's guard and, producing a dagger as if by magic, planted the blade in his foe's eye. Anoitos fell dead instantly, crashing to the ground. Mikri fell to her knees, eyes wide. A keening wail burst from her throat as she stared, teary-eyed at the corpse of her once lover. "Great. A crying woman," Dax spat. "Is there anything more annoying?"

At that moment I felt cold, sharp obsidian pressed against my neck. In the chaos of Anoitos's attack, the second princess, Ochi, had snuck up on me from behind! Without hesitation, the Void worshiping witch screamed in fury and pulled her obsidian dagger across my neck with all her might.

The blade shattered in her hand. Only Adimantium can harm my divine flesh, and even then I could only be killed by being severed from the eternal source of life and power that hangs between my thighs, as the goddesses did to the First Male God in their ancient rebellion. Hissing, Ochi tried to draw another dagger, but Porozdatus Thousand-Father stepped up behind her, wrapping his gnarled old arms around her and crushing her arms against her sides. "I ain't as strong as once I was, girl," he said, "But I reckon I can still outwrestle any skirt if it comes down to it. Why don't you knock off your silly struggling and..."

But the Void worshipper kept right on writhing and contorting in his grip in an insane attempt to attack me. "You will die, Aberration!" she shrieked. "Die, die, DIE!"

The Thousand Father's grip remained steady. "Lets take a gander at our pretty princess's visage, shall we?" Said Porozdatus, pulling back the hood of Ochi's black cloak.

The snarling, hate filled face was indeed quite pretty. The young princess in her early twenties bore a striking resemblance to her mother, though her eyes were green, rather than grey. Apart from the mad intensity of her hatred for me, the most remarkable thing about her was hertranslucence. Ochi looked about as substantial as a ghost, and the light of the evening sun passed through her unobstructed.