Twin Suns of Atlantis: Dorgon

What am I doing? Why can't I stop?

Her last bit of coherent thought screamed in impotent fury as two fingers parted her moist folds and a third slipped between them, deftly teasing the hidden treasure inside. Jendayi tossed her head up, her eyes meeting Xevex'. His lips were moving and, from far away, she heard his voice, strained with effort.

"You are in an agreeable mood now. How about we discuss how I can make you happy? What do you need, wife dearest?"

A wordless groan ripped straight from her insides as two of her fingers, generously slicked by her juices, dove deep into her. It had been so long since she had allowed anyone, even herself, to touch her like this. But no matter how deftly she pumped her digits into herself, it wasn't enough. She needed more. She needed hands on her lips, and... and...

No! I don't want this! He is making me do it!

"I need to be fucked." Jendayi whimpered, taking unsteady steps towards the bed. She slumped onto the mattress and flung herself onto her back, wantonly spreading her legs for Xevex to see. Her hand on her sex made sloppy, wet noises as she hungrily drove her fingers into herself. "Xevex, get someone in here to fuck me," she ordered.

What am I doing? Please, stop. Stop! It won't work anyway. I'm taking my herbs!

A moment later, a large shadow loomed over her. She hadn't noticed the broad-shouldered, naked warrior enter the chamber. Jendayi rejoiced. Like a striking serpent, she swung around and dove straight for his impressive manhood, sucking the bronze-skinned rod hungrily between her lips. He was hard in an instant but she kept sucking on him for the sheer joy of it, her tongue fluttering against the sensitive glans. He breathed deeply, gently grinding his crotch into her face but that was not nearly enough. With his hardness still between her lips, she snatched his hands, putting one on top of her head, the other onto her breasts, then she cupped his heavy sac with a hand and redoubled her effort.

Doomed to be a helpless witness in her rebellious body, Jendayi grieved. She wept for herself as the warrior, now really getting into it, tossed her around on the bed as if she were merely a toy, propping up her behind for easy access. He swiftly mounted her from behind, his manhood spearing deep into her. The pleasure her body experienced trickled down even into that tiny, sane place she was confined to but to her it was only ashes. Her body thrashed and screamed in ecstasy as the warrior pounded her over and over, pumping his cock deep into her folds, showering her insides with hot, sticky man-juice. And when she came, screaming herself raw, Jendayi vowed to make Xevex pay for violating her like this.

* * * *

The pain in his chest was unbearable. Each breath like liquid fire and the slightest movement of the tortured skin like a hundred claws tearing at the wide, ugly seam running all the way down to his stomach. The floor of the chamber was awash with his own blood, which trickled like crimson syrup into a drain beneath him. Dorgon didn't know how long the robed monstrosities had let him hang like this but, for him, it felt like the weight of centuries on his shoulders.

Soft steps came closer then stopped just outside of the lake of blood.

"It is time for Phase Two. The body is prepared, now the mind must follow. And the flesh needs more healing. Tsk. So much weave already and it still won't heal properly."

An ominous whirring from overhead. With inhumane effort, Dorgon raised his head, causing his chest to erupt in renewed agony. A large, clawed metal arm came down from the ceiling. With mindless purpose, it lowered and lowered until it clamped the edge of the metal slab he was still fastened to. Effortlessly, it raised the slab into the air, carrying it and Dorgon from the bloody chamber. Along an icy cool corridor they went, the robed monster padding in the slab's wake, chittering to itself.

"Infernal delays. God-Emperor will not be happy! But what needs to be done needs to be done. Don't want his toy breaking down, no, no, can't have that..."

Grating noisily, a stone door pulled open, revealing a much larger chamber ahead. A criss-crossing network of metal rails was on the floor, while the walls of the room hosted a menacing array of huge glass containers, large enough to fit a man. They were lit from below by an unnerving blueish-green luminescence. Most of them were occupied. Men and women, in various stages of recuperation, hovered in those transparent prisons, while metallic tubes and hoses connected them with humming machinery outside their glassy prisons.

The slab stopped and the whirring metal hand disappeared into the ceiling again. But instead of remaining still, the slab slowly toppled over backwards and stopped at an angle. Two of the robed beings came closer, pulling a cart between them. On it was one of the glass prisons, awash with a thick, clear liquid which churned sluggishly as the cart was moved into position at his feet.

Dorgon knew what they were planning but he could only stare in mounting dread as more robed beings came into view, carrying tubes and hoses. He tried to move his head, turn his face away from the bending tubes they forced down his throat and nose, but to no avail. And then he heard locks click open. Before he could grasp the edge of the slab, he began to slide, helped by the robed beings which guided his feet into the thick liquid. One last push and he was in, the viscous stuff engulfing him.

* * * *

Heart pounding, Dorgon awoke. Karas sat a few feet away from him, intently staring at Vokesh and his cronies.

Dorgon thought about telling him about his dream and pushed himself into a sitting position. It wasn't a dream, he realized. He remembered what had happened, clear as day now. While inside the glass bottle, he could feel his body mend. But they also did things in his head. He remembered things where previously were none. Dorgon had been a decent fighter before, trained in the ancient Nothrian warcraft, spears, bows, axes, hammers. Just by looking at the men on the other side of their pen, he knew how to kill them in a dozen ways, even without a weapon, which bones to shatter to cause horrible internal bleeding, which joints to crack to cause the most agony. He shivered, disgusted by his own sudden bloodlust.

Unbidden, his mind conjured up images of exotic weapons, like a shiny metal tube with a hexagonal opening at one end and a handle at the other. A plasma pistol, it came to him. Aim along the glowing sights, press the trigger and vaporize the enemy. He even knew new, hitherto unknown ways to wield familiar weapons like axe, spear and blade. But why give me this knowledge?

Dorgon looked about. The first sun was already peeking above the horizon, bathing the sky to the east in a pinkish glow. He heard movement from behind the portcullis and a moment later the metal barrier opened with the rattling of chains being winched up. A dozen guards, wearing the same gold-hued armors as the ones the day before emerged, only this time they were armed with long clubs and shields.

"Wake up, fighters. It's another fine day to hone your skills and prepare to die to the amusement of the God-Emperor. I trust you won't try anything stupid," the leader of the patrol snapped, banging his truncheon against his shield for extra emphasis.

Dorgon marched alongside Karas and the others as the guards walked them through a labyrinthine network of tunnels. They passed several openings, each barred with another metal portcullis. Behind these barriers, he could see more pits. Some housed more men, some held women, others were filled with snarling predators gathered from all corners of the world. Two-legged hunter-saurs from the mist-shrouded Huan jungles, ferocious saber cats from the Southern Deserts and flesh-eating apes from the cragged mountains in the West. The stink wafting from the beast pits made his eyes water and stomach churn.

Eventually, they were herded up a narrow set of stairs until Dorgon and the other fighters emerged into a rectangular arena. The floor was made of sand and the sides, under some roughly made awnings, held racks crammed full of weapons and armor. The guards made a smart about-face and trotted back into the tunnels, a stone hatch closing behind them.

"Believe me, freak, you don't want to take your eyes off me or your fellow fighters," a harsh voice snarled. Dorgon turned around to see who was addressing him. A black-skinned woman, completely hairless and wearing not much more than a simple loincloth and a wide leather strip across her breasts, stood next to the weapon racks. A serrated scar ran down the right side of her face, from the forehead over her eye and down the cheek, making her already fierce stare even meaner.

"Listen to Lovely here," Vokesh chuckled, picking up armor pieces off a rack. "Nicos, move it." The shaggy-headed warrior joined Vokesh and helped him strap on bronze shell pieces.

"You're new and, by the Creator, you're one ugly bastard," Lovely snarled, sizing up Dorgon. Her eyes lingered on his crotch for a moment. Then her eyes snapped back to his. "So. How do you fight?"

"You're the trainer here?" Dorgon asked her. More fighters arrived, picking up gear and squaring off with those already present.

"Got a problem with me? I'm sure I could lay you flat on your back in a matter of moments. Let me ask you again: Do you know how to fight?"

Dorgon looked around. At first, he didn't recognize any of the weird arms and armor on display but his new memories stirred. These things were built to provide a bloody spectacle, not as efficient tools of slaughter. There were impossibly large clubs and axes as well as swords with straight and curved blades. There was a bewildering variety of polearms, topped off with odd poking, slicing or bashing implements. Gauntlets were on display as well, ranging from simple protective gear to monstrosities with spikes, blades or even blunt surfaces instead of fingers. Rounding out the panoply of bizarre weapons were nets, bolas, lassos, throwing darts and other odds and ends even Dorgon's altered mind couldn't comprehend.

"Here, wear this," Lovely barked, dropping items into the sand at his feet. A studded loincloth, a single metal shinguard and what looked like a sleeve made of bronze shell pieces. She still held a helmet, a voluminous monstrosity with tiny slits for the eyes. "Make haste, I don't have all day!"

Dorgon picked up the metal sleeve. It had been patched numerous times and the inside was dark with dried blood. Gritting his teeth, he adjusted the shoulder straps and fastened it in place. Next came the loincloth and the leg plate. "I don't think I need the helmet," Dorgon said.

"I say you do. Stop arguing," Lovely snapped, tossing the helmet his way and grabbing a trident off a rack.

"What if I don't comply?" Dorgon asked. Wordlessly, Lovely turned around, the barbed prong of the trident whistling as she aimed for his face. Dorgon dodged to the side and snatched the head of the weapon, pulling hard. Lovely staggered a step forward in surprise. Dorgon turned into her, his elbow leading the way, connecting solidly with her midsection. Breath exploding from her lungs, Lovely folded in half. Dorgon, still in motion, scythed her feet from under her. Letting go of the trident entirely, Lovely crashed into the sand and found herself staring at the butt end of the trident, sitting on her throat. Dorgon blinked at her in surprise.

"I'm... I'm sorry," he stammered, surprised by his own prowess.

Laughter erupted around him. Lovely angrily pushed the trident aside and sat up, shaking sand off her scalp. "That was the only time you'll ever catch me unprepared," she hissed, coming to her feet. "Wear the helmet. It's better for your eyes."

* * * *

Training under Lovely was anything but. Dorgon not only needed to learn to properly fight with the new weapons but to use his altered body as well. Despite nearly two decades worth of experience, the way the robed beings had altered his body and mind threw him off time and time again. He was much stronger than before, able to pull grown men off their feet with just one hand, but the added body mass made him slower and threw off his timing. He knew new, impressive moves and combinations but they interfered with the instincts he had honed his entire lifetime. The burning sun and unfamiliar armor didn't help much and, by the time the guards came and collected them for the walk back to their pit, Dorgon's body was covered in nicks, cuts and angry, purple bruises.

"Not bad for your first day," Karas observed when they were back in their pit. Vokesh and Nicos used the water to wash each other while the rest of the men had to wait their turn. "They had to carry me to the witches with a pair of claws in my gut."

Dorgon rubbed his shoulder where a brutal hit with a stone club had caved in his metal armguard and bruised the flesh beneath. He already felt much better, able to move the arm again which had hung useless by his side only an hour ago.

"I don't know. Everybody seems to go especially hard on me," he said softly. Karas shuffled his feet, looking away. "What?" Dorgon hissed.

"Listen. You have been touched by the witches. Your skin, your eyes. And I have watched you today." His fingertips brushed along Dorgon's side, where a barely visible scratch mark was. "Here Lovely had caught you with her falcata. You were bleeding like a stuck pig. And now? Almost whole again. I'm still your friend, Dorgon, but what in the burning Pits are you?"

"I wish I knew, honest," Dorgon sighed. "But I do know I want to get out of here, hopefully in one piece." His eyes flicked to Vokesh, who took his usual place in the shade, with Nicos by his side. The other two men were at the water spout now, scrubbing off sweat and grime, occasionally throwing barbed glares at Karas or Dorgon.

"They had ample opportunity to backstab us already. It's clear they don't like us very much but why aren't they doing anything?" Dorgon whispered.

"It's forbidden to attack other fighters outside the arena," Karas said, shrugging. "The guards always find out who did it and the attacker gets fed to the beasts."

"What, not even as a spectacle for the masses?" Dorgon snorted.

"No. You forfeit your shot at glory once you harm the God-Emperor's property. But don't be fooled. Training accidents happen. A lot," Karas explained, a grim smile on his usually friendly face. The two other men vacated the water spout. "Also, there's always the Culling before a big event."

"The Culling?" Dorgon splashed water over his skin. "Sounds ominous."

"Hm-hm," Karas grunted. "They pick the best warriors from each pit and toss them into a fight, to make sure only those in true fighting shape perform on the big day. You don't need to worry though, they have obviously chosen you already." He ducked his head under the spout, pouring handfuls of water over his bald pate. "Done. Want me to wash your back?"

* * * *

The next days quickly blurred together into a long stretch of merciless drills and long, tense periods of waiting. Dorgon's fighting ability improved in leaps and bounds as he came to grips with the changes the witches had forced upon him.

Dorgon circled around Karas. The bald fighter wore only a skirt made from broad leather strips and a pair of dangerously clawed gauntlets which he used to stab at Dorgon. Taking a glancing blow on his armguard, Dorgon jabbed the trident into the sand between Karas' feet and, grabbing his wrist, dragged Karas forwards, tripping the dangerously overbalanced fighter. Lightning-fast, the trident came up, twirled and then down again, butt end resting on Karas' naked chest.

Lovely clapped her hands. "Flashy, yet efficient. You'll be popular. Do it again." She strode off, critically inspecting Vokesh and a female fighter from another pit who were going at each other with scizore and barbed lance.

Dorgon bent down and pulled Karas to his feet.

"You scare me, friend. No one has been praised by Lovely before," Karas said, panting. "At least not since I've come here. Hm. I wonder what they want?" He pointed towards the entrance of the training arena. Two armored guards strode purposefully between the sparring fighters and headed straight for Lovely. They snapped something at her. She shrugged and nodded, quickly looking Dorgon's way.

The guards approached them. "You," one said, pointing at Dorgon, "come with us. Leave your gear."

"Hooray, a break. Finally," Karas said with a grin, flopping into the sand.

"You wish," Lovely snarled. She picked up Dorgon's discarded trident and jabbed it mercilessly at Karas. "On your feet. You, my bald little peach, do need more practice."

Sweaty and sand-encrusted, Dorgon followed the guards. They walked him out of the training space and back into the tunnels. Some time later they emerged onto the the streets of a gigantic city. At its center stood a towering palace, triple spires piercing the heavens. From where he walked it seemed as if the spires held up the twin suns. The houses were made of white stone, doorways and windows framed by painted outlines done in dizzying colors. The roofs were slated with the same kind of metal the guards wore, the warm honey-gold reflecting the sunlight and painting the sky with a shimmering haze of light. The streets were crowded with people from all over, from the fair-skinned Nothrians to the dark skinned desert dwellers, from bronze-skinned Atlanteans to those with the tell-tale crimson hue of true Huan-i. No one spared Dorgon a second look, as there were more than enough naked slaves about.

Within half an hour of brisk marching, they had reached the outskirts of the palace. After passing through a huge, thirty-feet tall gate they entered a vast, domed space. Large windows set into the dome overhead let wide beams of sunlight in, which reflected off white marble floors and walls. Beautiful golden statues of heroic, muscled men and curvy, sensuous women held up the ceiling. In the center stood an especially impressive one, depicting a tall, robed being. The statue was hewn from a massive block of obsidian and inlaid with a multitude of abstract golden symbols. The face was hidden by a snarling ceremonial mask made from gold, taller than Dorgon was. The right arm was raised and held a sword with a wavy blade, the left hand held a vase, from which cool water poured as a twenty-feet high waterfall into a basin at the statue's feet. Dorgon was certain - he beheld an effigy of the God-Emperor.

They led him through a long corridor into a suite of lavishly decorated and furnished rooms until they finally arrived in a tiled chamber with a basin set into the floor.

"Clean yourself up and be quick about it." the guard barked.

"Am I allowed to know what is happening with me?" Dorgon asked. Obediently, he stepped into the basin and began to rinse off. The guards quickly looked at each other. One of them walked to a shelf at the side and passed him a round piece of soap.

"The God-Emperor wants to see you. Better make sure you're pristine."

* * * *

Jendayi left the bath and grabbed a soft towel. She was alone and grateful for it. She knew what Xevex had done to her. He had forced her to do his bidding and, even though she had no idea how exactly he had done it, she knew she was helpless to resist him. She had tried, each time he came to her. Closing her eyes was futile, clapping her hands over her ears was futile, even fleeing from the room didn't help. It always ended the same way, with her on her back, legs spread and one or more naked bodies on top or around her.

She had sent all her maids and bodyguards away, threatening them with a slow, painful death should they as much as look at her wrong. Swabbing angrily at her wet skin, she once more pondered what few options she had. Maybe she could convince a foreign dignitary to steal her away, someone not under Xevex' thumb and not afraid to invoke the wrath of Atlantis. But who was foolish enough to stand up to him? Maybe she could try to seduce a guard, get him to kill Xevex for her? She already had witnessed Xevex' uncanny ability to sense danger. A slave had once tried to kill him with poisoned fruit but the God-Emperor had somehow sensed the danger and forced the slave to devour the deadly morsel instead, leaving her to writhe on the floor during her death throes for all present to see. Not a feasible idea, unless she could distract Xevex long enough for the assassin to do his deed. Or-