Chapter 7

Roberto found himself again in darkness. “Hmm?” He looked around, seeing nothing but pale lights that were more illusions than actual rays of light. “Heeel...” The god attempted to speak, but...

No. No speak. No voice. Just darkness.

He ran, but he ran in a dream: not really ran. Ran and went backward. Ran and saw all the world ahead of him growing more and more distant. Though there wasn’t a world, there wasn’t one ray of light. There was only The Dark.

“Aaaaa...”

After suffering on his skin what felt like one eternity of the sun shining upon him, truly burning him and hurting him, Roberto saw himself in his younger years training alongside Stallion and his other less-fortunate siblings in the grand gymnasiums of the masters.

The god touched himself. He had no body, but he felt it all on his skin.

Skin. He seemed to have only skin, though he was wholly invisible, though he was completely void, almost of mind as well. “Aaaaaa...” He opened the mouth that he did not have and uttered a sound that he did not hear. His words were lost in time in The Dark, yet The Dark Itself took shape, and Its shape was his childhood.

Stallion. Even from the earliest of ages, when his consciousness was just beginning to form (and his irascible sense of personhood would first rear its ugly, defiant head for the Masters), the god stallion knew that his sibling would far surpass him in everything a Seedmaker could be ranked for: body, muscle mass, virility, penis size ... Every bit of Stallion’s superiority was visible for all to see as soon as the boys hit their Growing Age, when Stallion quickly outclassed them all in a matter of days.

There wasn’t much in terms of hurt pride or ego. A Seedmaker might be competitive, but is rarely petty. Only the weakest studs were prone to envy or covet things from their mightier siblings. Overall, what was in Roberto was a sense of intense admiration and ... attraction.

Yes. He had long been growing attracted to his brother-in-arms Stallion—yet Stallion’s overbearing growth, which made him so irresistible to the young and still-growing Roberto, only helped in separating them much earlier than expected. Stallion now belonged to the elites within that most elite species of breeders. Stallion was on his way to the Almighty Five.

“ ... no...”

Stallion stood before, first looking exactly like the first time when he saw him, and then the monster began to grow. His muscles developed at a breakneck pace. His height shot up. A decade passed in seconds. Roberto saw his friends grow beyond the mere adulthood of a Seedmaker and became a veritable god even among that race of gods: he became humongous, monstrous, infinitely attractive ... and just as Roberto’s desire was about to win over his good sense...

... just as Roberto was reaching out his hand to those massive golden pecs and ask him, maybe, hopefully ... if Stallion would like to be his boyfriend...

“ ... no!...”

... Stallion was whisked away. The enormous body of the bull was pulled back into the void, as if the Universe itself was calling him. The Dark began to claim the memory of Stallion just like the Master had, and just as impotently as before Roberto stretched out his arm and shouted...

“ ... no...”

But how could he should when he had no mouth?

Shocking still, Stallion seemed to get bigger—or at the very least not get much smaller—as The Dark pulled him away at lightning speed. The god was growing, growing, ever growing more powerful and absolute, ever reaching those heights that Roberto could only grasp in the most exceptional of circumstances, and even then at the cost of his own life.

Roberto thought, and upon thinking he came undone. He was gone, gone, gone.

Childhood flashed before his eyes, whether he had eyes or not or whether blackness absolute could ever make a “flash.” “Childhood”, as well, was a very generous term for whatever the fuck he’d had ever since he came out of the test tube: exercises and lessons, lessons and exercises ... such exercises and such lesson that, if spelled out loud, would reveal the utter sickness and depravity—or at the very least the unfathomable immorality—of the Master who had conceived them.

He wished he’d had a childhood. He wished he’d been a child proper, not just a Seedmaker in the making—a machine needing only a couple of adjustments and preparations before it really got going onto its heathen task.

Still, the boys were fun. He remembered them fondly before the Masters sliced them apart. He hoped that they remembered him still, wherever they were. He hoped that he could save them from their fates, even though he could hardly save himself from it.

“Hmmmm ... hmm! ... hmm...!”

In mindlessness and numbness the god stallion kept squirming and swirling, falling endlessly upward and sideways in that relentless void. The Universe had a bottom and that bottom contained a whole Universe in itself.

This was it. The Dark. The Void. A void through which he fell endlessly even though he had no mind, no consciousness to process his fall. A void through which he liked to believe all Seedmakers fell once they came to pass, not really having soul, not really being dead inanimate objects either, and so...

Limbo. Limbo. Limbo. Condemned to that limbo worse than hell. The Dark. The hell of Seedmakers. The ultimate fate for the Ultimate Men. Good fucking riddance.

“ ... heeeeeel ... heeeeeel ... heeeeeel...”

Calling for help, all he reached was hell, hell, hell. The Seedmaker kept falling, as he would fall for all eternity. Scenes of his companions flashed by, but...

No. There was just falling. Falling and falling and falling without purpose. No body. No soul. No nothing. Not even falling. Not even being.

There was nothing. No nothing. Not even death. There was just nothing.

He had never been born, really. Test tubes aren’t wombs. Never a baby. Never a fetus. Never something that could be born.

No. Nothing. Just nothing.

Yet the Nothing had flashes: his childhood ... no, no childhood. Never a childhood. But still ... the training session. The relentless exercises. The sprawling, well-lit academies. The lessons, oh, so many lessons that his mind could scarcely comprehend, but that his body somehow seemed to instinctively “get”, as if his body was a machine his mind would have to grow and get accustomed to.

He reached out. A friend, a destiny, a shoulder to rely on. He reached out ... and for once an arm seemed to have materialized in the Nothing, in The Dark. An arm with no shape, no form, but that was definitively an arm, and an arm that could touch The Dark, bend it over, push it sideways like the curtains of a play that was too early to end.

He reached out towards the Light. The Light, yes, at the end of The Dark. There probably was an expression there, somewhere in the Universe, for what he was doing: reaching out to that indescribably small Light in the middle of all The Dark. It was so infinitely small it had literally no matter, it occupied not one atom of space in the Universe, and yet it shone so infinitely bright that before its infinity The Dark itself felt powerless and sterile.

So he fell no longer, but walked, walked towards the shining Light, which seemed to be getting larger without him actually moving at all—for he couldn’t move, for he didn’t exist.

“Very well.”

Then he shivered. He was shaken. Something impossible assaulted his ears that he did not have and his hearing that he could use: a voice. A feminine voice. The voice of a female. The voice of a woman! “Very well.” Said the voice, so casual it made The Light grow infinitely in size—which didn’t mean much for something infinitely small, but still resulted in a noticeable “bleep” in its size far ahead, infinitely away from the monster, the beast, like a tiny grain of diamond growing juuust a little less tiny. “Hang on. Don’t you go giving up now.” The voice wasn’t just female. The voice was drop-dead gorgeous! “You’re doing pretty well, not that I expected any different.” The voice was purring, the voice was groggily, yes, just like any female around him would be, but...

... the voice was also strong? Confident? How?? Confidence and strength were never something he never thought possible in a female voice, at least not when said female was close to him, seeing his body, and...

... had he a body? No, of course n- He had nothing. He was nothing. He was just fall-

“Keep it up, big boy. Don’t go sleeping on me again.” Just like that, like a snap, the voice gave him life and strength again. It made him a person against all The Dark, gave him eyes to see The Light at the end of its infinity and legs to strive towards him, legs infinitely more powerful than the legs he had before, before, in that world when there wasn’t The Dark, that world where other creatures belonged to when they were living, even creatures as soulless as Seedmakers.

“I ain’t daring to be losing you, not with all the things I have planned for you.” The voice purred, oh, that characteristic female desire brimming in it, frothing like an overflow of pussy cum, yes, but also strong, firm, secure, yes, like not the voice of a woman beholding a Seedmaker, but instead a Seedmaker beholding a particularly attractive type of breed. It was the voice Stallion himself would have, yes, if Stallion wasn’t the Male to End All Males.

“Goddess beloved, give me strength! You are so dang hot, stud! I wish you were awake right not to fuck me!” There was joy and there was horniness and there was the unmistakable sound of shaking and hips quivering as the female tried her damned hardest to control herself before him. “If all that you came is any indication...” Her mind seemed to be frying under the endless possibilities! “Goddess! Oh! Then I think I have finally found The Prize!” The Dark advanced. The Light kept growing weaker and weaker. “No, no, no, no, boy, keep at it! Come on! I know what you’re capable of! I’ve seen it with my very own eyes! Hah, hah! Felt it deep in my cunt!” The voice spoke with an openness that, quite frankly, even Seedmakers would balk at when talking to each other about their latest sexual conquests.

The voice was something completely alien to him. Something that could belong only in The Light. It was The Light, perhaps, and just as The Dark was infinitely silent, The Voice was infinitely loud in its bombasticness, confidence, and warmth.

The Voice was his blood. Literally. It filled his vacuous spirit with veins of light that propelled him forward like a shinning comet towards The Light, a Light that just kept growing and that was finally beaten back The Dark in its own turf: it stretched out with a thousand arms, each infinitely long, dividing The Dark into a thousand slices and by dividing it conquering it.

The Light grew. He leaped towards It. It spoke to him. “Good. Didn’t I tell ya? I knew you were going to survive!” Then the Light seemed to be speaking with ... something else...

... something or somebody he couldn’t quite process in that state of nonexistence of his, but something he was very sure was not himself as The Light and The Voice grew just a little dimmer, just a little more distant and said: “Mara, my beautiful, would you keep an eye on him while I take a bath? Please run off to me if he starts bulging out again. This mighty male might be beyond the throes of death, but his power ... oh!”

The Voice seemed to be struck by her own lust, and for once that confident and strong-as-iron voice grew weak and buttery and a little embarrassed by its own lust. The air had been unexpectedly sucked in, and shivers were sent down its body.