Chapter 8

It was Dizzy that he felt when his mind came back into something resembling a single piece or a coherent whole. One couldn’t say the mind was a “mind” proper, but ... yeah, it was a mind. A broken and shattered and drunk-as-fuck mind, yes, but still a mind, and a mind in a fine brain, no less. A brain that, if not unscathed, had at least escaped death mostly intact, and in its countless folds and nigh-infinite branches a mind could regroup, recover, and regrow.

It was Dizzy that he felt, and to say so was to make light of his actual situation. The giant was dizzy beyond dizziness. It was ... Dizzy. Everything floated and sank and collapsed and zipped-and-zapped everywhere, all at once, all the time. Gravity was shifting around at an insane pace—but at least it was gravity, which meant that he not only had a body, but also could situate this body somewhere in space. An unfirm space. A broken space. But still ... space. A space just like his mind: shattered, battered, but ready to be recovered, reformed, and rebuilt.

The stud was in and on of existence for a while, and the while lasted months that felt like years. Every time his mind swerved and he felt like being swollen by a vast hole underneath his guts, several weeks passed in the span of a couple of minutes. Sometimes he was feverish and spouting nonsense without moving his lips. Sometimes he had such intense, vivid dreams that he could swear he was feverish, though he probably (or not) was locked on his bed, still as a stone.

The dreams he had were almost all pleasant, though. The sensations were often shocking, and so many as to be suffocating, but none of the delusions were so unpleasant as to be considered a nightmare. Images of his past flashed here and there, also, now and then, but not nearly as frequently as ... as...

...

He began hearing things. Actual things. He knew these things were in the ... in the ... God! How would you call them? In the ... the ... reality? In the, uh ... real life, yeah! In the real life he knew these things were happening—and he could know it, yes, for he had a mind of his own. A mind that could think and stretch over its senses to perceive the world around it and gather information about said world.

He had a mind and he cherished this fact. «Hmm... » In this mind, this very mind he thought at one point he did not possess, something resembling ... words? Thought...? Yes, thoughts! Thoughts began to emerge again! «Hmm ... I...!»

God, the Dizzy was so intense! Everything was so confusing still! «I ... I am...!» That the world swirled so aggressively around him didn’t make things easier, or the act of thinking any straighter. He tried opening his eyes, but...

No. He didn’t feel his eyes. He couldn’t even “locate” his eyes inside his mind, for what he really felt—the only thing he really felt, indeed—was just a mind and ... perhaps his brain, also, throbbing against his skull and ... nothing else, really. «This ... this not right.»

No, it wasn’t right. It wasn’t true: the giant felt ... a hand? His hand. His hands, actually, both of them, and his ... his ... his back? Yeah, his back as well. He felt his back and his hands and his arms, and he felt them crucially in one single, dominating position: down. Laying down. Laying down and back against ... something ... something very... «Comfortable. Soft. Smooth.»

He tried moving his hands. Nope. No movement. He couldn’t. At least he felt his hands, he felt his arms, yes, very clearly, he knew it. «I have hands ... here. I can ... I can even... » He could even locate these hands within his mind. “Picture” their position, as one would say, in the imaginary map of his body within his brain. «My arm, my hands ... yes, here they are.» He “looked” left and right, moving his “eyes” he had inside of his brain: he saw his left hand first, on the left, then his right hand second, on the right.

He tried “looking up” and seeing his arms, yes, but for that, in such a laying position, he would have needed to ... lower up his “head”, force its chin down, and that ... it was quite difficult with such a stiff neck—and he knew, yep, he felt quite painfully that his neck was very stiff, and that in that laying position its stiffness was almost unsurmountable, and so he couldn’t do much to “see” his arms—though he could locate them with perfect precision just by the “feel” of them.

«I ... I ... I... » The most desperate thing about that thinking is that he was quite aware of his thoughts, then also of his consciousness; he was quite aware of something one would call “intelligence”, and that he was intelligent, and that he was feeling quite coherent things, to the point of almost forming sentences to describe them, but ... but... «I ... I... »

Ohhh! How angry that got him!! He had the sentences right! There! They were right there, not even so deep in his mind, more feelings than proper sentences, but he knew, oh, yes, he knew they were right there and it was just a matter of ... picking words ... here and there ... putting them together and then... «I ... I... »

It got him furious to a degree of fury seldom matched in his past. It was like having words at the tip of the tongue, but for your very thoughts instead of speech. Having the clearest thoughts and the sharpest conclusions, but no words with which to express them! «I...!!» And it was now that he lacked the intellect to do so! Once again, he was very aware, acutely aware of his intelligence, of his capacity to put those words together and form coherent sentences inside his mind, but...

... there was an obstacle! There was something, oh, something getting in the way of his thoughts! Every time he tried “grabbing” one of these words out of the boiling soup of letters inside his brain and “pulling” this word to its place in the neat little row inside his mind that was reserved for the sentence, it was like an invisible hand or barrier of sorts blocked the back and kicked the word back into the soup, and so he had to retrieve it again. Every time he tried picking up the word, the invisible force pushed it back. Like bullying. Or...

... like his wrist, right in the middle of the way as he was carrying the word, got so weak it dropped the word. Every time he moved the hand to retrieve the word, he had strength in his arm, but then, as he pulled the word closer into his “consciousness”, his wrist started aching, his fingers shaking, and his arm grew number and number until, by the mid-point of that journey, it would no longer even hold the thought of a word in it, so it dropped it down, back into the cauldron of lexicon where words and half-formed sentences abounded in such dizzying ... dizzying! ... state, just waiting, nay, begging for a consciousness to give them shape and give them form. To grant them a purpose, not just to stay there, shaking and twirling without meaning and without sense.

The god felt hopeless for a while, and his anger was felt perhaps in more ways than just the purely imaginary ones. There was ... shaking. The was ... violence. In the real world. In the ... real ... material world ... that one outside of his mind ... that one he could perceive with said mind, yes, because he had a mind, he had a brain, and this mind and this brain were working well enough to perceive ... to have him realize that...

He was lying down somewhere, for quite some time on a ... comfortable seat. Nay, a comfortable ... bed. He was lying down, yes, and his body was quite broken, and while lying down he wasn’t completely still, no, not all the time. Sometimes he shook. Sometimes he ... broke stuff. And every time he did there was a ... sense of worry ... of ... fear ... and desperation ... not just in him, but in the air around him, yes ... just like a room would get pretty tense if a rhino inside of it began to get flustered and agitated.

There was a sense of commotion around. A sense of worry. But ... peace? And calm? He wouldn’t know it. Oh, fuck, he was so dizzy! He wouldn’t know it, this mix of worry and panic and peace and everything-is-going-to-be-alright vibes, no, because he’d never felt it, he ... never...

He never found anyone who could control him in his anger. Who could pin him down when he got flustered and agitated. Only ... the Masters. Oh, the Masters, yeah, now he remembered them! And by remembering them he got even more flustered and agitated!

There were cries in the voice. No, no! There were cries ... coming from the real world around him. Around his mind, his ... unconscious body. There were cries and ... answers. A cry for help and then somebody answering.

“He’s awake!” And then there was a voice. Oh! The Voice! The beautiful female voice answering those cries, carrying around it that aura of peace and quiet that put all the room at ease. A voice that could...

No. It wasn’t the voice. Of course not. It was the master behind the voice who could somehow control the beast that was getting so flustered and angry in the room. A master who ... well, was probably quite powerful, for never before had the man seen ... or remembered encountering ... somebody ... something ... whose mere presence gave him second thoughts, put his mind at ease, made him reconsider his, uh, “tantrums.”

“He’s getting agitated.” Said that voice. “Thank you so much, Mara! Yes, my love, you should go to King! Stay safe, my love, while I...”

Then the voice receded into the distance and the dizziness attacked the man fully. He was angry! Oh, how furious he was, but ... calm. Calm. Calm. Like his anger was something that he rationally felt but passionately denied. He knew he was angry, but that was okay: his anger had no reason to be because things were going to get so much better! He knew it! The Voice made it so!

“Aah ... hamm...!”

...!

Words were still failing to take form, but this didn’t matter, oh, no, because now ... they were trying to be formed outside of his mind, through his lips, with his tongue and palate! Words were ... booming out of his throat and ... echoing ... resounding in space and ... little ... by ... little...

“Oh, there you are!” The Voice! Oh, god, The Voice was there again, yaaay!! “Calm down, calm down, my hero. Oh, fuck...!” The lust as well. Oooh, how he loved hearing The Lust in The Voice. “You’re only mumbling, but damn, your voice is so deep!” The lust wasn’t even “full lust”. There was quite the shock with it as well, and sometimes more shock than lust: “Like ... holy shit, your voice is so deep! I’m going to give you my mi-” Something, something. Dizzy head going in and out of focus with reality. “You’re going to sleep again, but it’s going to be okay. You are recovering very fast, very quickly, and your body is already as good as...”

There she went. Gone. The man tried reaching her with his arms, but...

Nope. No movement. Still stiff and fixed like a rod. But it’s ... it’s... «It’s okay.» The man repeated the words he’d heard from The Voice, sort of. In his inability to pull words from his thoughts alone, he took aid from The Voice, and The Voice gave him strength: the power without which he couldn’t form those sentences alone.

Like a God bestowing Their blessings on a lowly monkey, he finally had the extra push he needed to properly think! «It’s ... okay. I am ... in a bed. Recovering.» His thoughts began small and broken, yes, but finally they were thoughts at all, and just like his body, just like himself broke in that bed, they were slowly recovering, slowly bettering themselves, and would inevitably get better if he gave them the proper time to grow and heal. «I am in a bed. Recovering.» How did he get into a bed in the middle of a virgin paradise world? «Oh ... no ... no point thinking ... this ... right now.»

His thoughts were like a baby taking its first steps: their dangled left and right, wobbling as if every time they were about to fall, but still persevering, still staying on their feet, and with a lot of support from a caring hand on their backs and ... rails on their hands ... as well as little wheels fixed on a device that supported him around his hips ... little by little ... literal step after step ... they walked farther and firmer, and soon were taking long strides and regaining the memory of their once proud gait. The gait of a man. The gait of a king. No ... the gait of a god!

God ... god... «Oh, yes.» The man remembered. Not the man, but the... «god.» And fire burned on his breast. «I am a god.»

The Man. The God. The God of Men. Seedmaker.

Beep*Beep*Beep The sound reached his ears. It was the first time he’d heard it, though something in his mind told him the sound had been going on and on since the very moment he’d been laid upon that bed. The sound was beeping in a jolly manner, if he could describe it as such, and it was followed by ... by...

“Wheew! Wheew!”

... god, what sound was that? It wasn’t one he’d heard before, probably ever in his life, and it was rather comical, but also urgent: like an animal ... dying? No, an animal chirping. An animal giving a call of sorts. Like a bunny ... no, bigger: like a big feline calling for a mate in the middle of a jungle, hoping to ever be heard: “Woow! Woow!” Sometimes the sound was like this, sometimes it was like... “waaw! Waaw!” In any case, it was quite cute and rather funny in all its variations, and after the first moment of befuddlement, maybe even caution, the giant grew relaxed with this sound, knowing that he was still safe no matter what.

And the sound begot another sound. The Sound. The Voice! “Oh, Mara, thank you! Thank you!” The god perked up on his bed. He was brimming with joy! The Voice! The Voice! The Voice had come back to him, yaaay! The Voice ... called by those chirps. They had indeed been calls, after all—though he didn’t know if from an actual animal (or living creature) or from some mechanical device, a robot of sorts.

Really didn’t matter, oh, in the moment, when The Voice came back, answering the call. Back to him! “Thank you sooo muuuch, my love!” The Voice didn’t address him, but ... probably ... the creature that had made the call. It addressed it as well in a way that ... Damn. It made him a little jealous. There were kisses and many fondles, none of any sexual nature, but all incredibly loving and deep, and to these fondles the creature answered with very lively, deep purrs: puuuurr! Puuuurrr!! As well as cute, but grave growls of love and gratitude.

It was settled: it was a living creature. Not a robot or any sort of artificial device. This he was certain of now. Judging by the tone of The Voice, it was also a very cute, very baby-like creature, for The Voice, always so powerful and firm and mature, melted down into babiness and motherly love when addressing said creature, much like one addresses a pet: “What a beeeautiful, beeeautiful strong girl you are! I love you!” Kiss! “I love you so much, you know that?” Kisses on its muzzles. Kisses very firmly and warm and lovely on its big, fluffy nose. “Mommy loves you so much I think I could die out of so much love for you!” And the big, fluffy creature responded with many rubs and purrs and licks, trying to love The Voice back almost as hard as The Voice loved it—which seemed, quite frankly, a hopelessly impossible task. “Oh, how loving, how loving ... oh, come here, you big fluff!”

There was the sound of struggle: huge, powerful hands grabbing a huge, powerful creature, then wrestling it rough into the ground, much growling and purring flying around, both giving each other many “love bites” in their necks, their faces ... It was a wrestle, yes, but a friendly and mocking one, like two kittens playing and pretending to fight—but the kittens, judging by the powerful sounds they made, were very big and heavy, perhaps two siblings who’d spent their entire lives together and were now bound by both blood and company—the strongest bond of love there was.

It went on for a long time. The man was amazed: one creature—The Voice—loved the other very intensely and assaulted it with a lot of fondles and cuddled and all the nice stuff, and the other creature answered in kind, roughing-and-tumbling with it on the ground, rolling with it in a warm embrace, like two horses playing in the tall grass.

Eventually, though, the loving slowed to a pause—but even in slowing it refused to die, with many kisses and fondles punctuating The Voice’s words as it tried to move away: “now, oh...” Kisses, kisses, and kisses. “Oh, you beautiful stuff! Look, oh ... oh, stop it, you naughty bunny! No kicks, please, no kicks.” Kisses and kisses. “Mommy hurts when you kick her like this in the belly, okay?” Fondles of the face. A hand smoothly caressing some big, long, fluffy cheeks. “Okay, baby girl? Oh, okay, okay...” Kisses. Slow and loving kisses. A rub on the belly. A leg slowly kicking. “That’s it, my girl. That’sa it.” Kiss. Another kiss. “Momma’s gonna see how her future daddy is doing, okay?” Kiss. A very strong, deep kiss. “Thank you, oh...! So! Much!” Mwah! “For calling.” Then The Voice became firm again and it spoke to the creature like an equal: “King is waiting for you.” She winked. Or ... well ... it was obvious to him, hearing those words, that there was a wink of the eye. It was just so natural! He could picture it all without even opening his eyes: “Go make babies!” The creature sounded like it was moving away as The Voice...

Oooh! The Voice! The Voice was moving in. “Now, what are weee going to do about yooou?” The Lust overflowed in it. He could feel it! It seeped from her ... gooorgeous lips ... over his body like ... thick honey. Hot molasses. “God, I feel so bad, sooo bad for ... oh, what am I thinking!” The Voice was conflicted. So many things it wanted to say, but the consciousness itself hung heavily, as if saying it was a sin! “God, you make me feel so hot all the time! Sorry, stud, but you are ... really just so incredibly sexual. Damn, boy, you fiiine!”

Licking and smacking her lips—for he could picture her ... her ... a woman ... clearly licking and smacking her lips—The Voice moved somewhere closer to him, and he could finally sense ... he could ... finally ... he could finally sense ... sense...

«Her smell!!»

“Uurh-oh...!” His body began to shake. Tight constraints restrained it, pulled him down onto the bed, and firmer the harder he shook, but they were obviously not enough for if he decided to really put most of his strength into breaking them.

Thankfully, The Voice was all the restraint it was needed: “Shooosh, shooosh, shooosh. Oh, I ... well...” It sounded so ... proud! “I think you got my smell, haven’t you?” She sounded now more ... distant ... as if moving away and out of his nostrils! “I heard your deep breath, big boy. I saw your gorgeous nose moving.” The pride was unmistakable. It made him feel even better next to that Voice, knowing that its honor and ... sense of self ... was perhaps as great as his own! “I don’t blame you. I am a hard woman to resist. Impossible, really.” Then The Voice ... looked at him. Yes, yes, it did. He knew it did. It looked at him with both lust and defiance, both coveting him and challenging him. “I wonder if you’re going to be the first. Probably, judging by how ... big ... how big everywhere you are!” The Voice fawned. It was amazing! Despite how much he had ... performed in life ... and how many females he had ... seen ... and conquered ... the way that Voice fawned and cooed for him, it was ... it was...

It was like the very first time he ever saw a girl fawning for him, coveting him, desiring him. It was a whole unique feeling. A very tender and wholesome one.

Oh, it was lusty! Have no doubt in that: it was as lustful as lust could get, burning with the fires of such passion that hell itself would look like the inside of a refrigerator when compared to it! It was lust, lust, LUST!! Powerful, intense frothing of sweaty ecstasy dripping from the tip of the panting tongue! It was purring and rubbing yourself all over the desired mate and begging, oh, begging for some good mating kind of lust! It was LUST!! the likes of which the Seedmaker had never seen or felt before, and yet ... and ... yet...

It was very innocent and sweet. And honest. Yes, honest, like the owner of said lust didn’t delude themselves, oh, not one bit about the nature of said lust. They were lusty, yes, and they were okay with that. They were horny like a teenager given a greenlight to bed the Universe’s hottest and most desirable mate, and they were cool with it, completely honest about the places that lust came from and the aims it burned towards.

The beautiful ... the ... indescribable... «Oh, damn!» Frying, frying, brain-frying again, oh, holy shit!! The smell! The ... absolutely ... GODLY SMELL!! ... of That Voice ... the godly, godly, godly smell of it had ... just ... Disappeared. Gone. As if The Voice, knowing that its smell could disturb him, somehow found a way to actually cover it up, and the man’s super nose no longer sensed a whiff of it!

How??? Was he really still so broken that his nose—HIS! NOSE!—wasn’t able to detect that most powerful, most holy, most godly of smells?? Even he thought this wildly improbable! His nose could pick the scents of nature down to the smallest molecule flickering by! It could pick an individual feather out of place in a bird flying with its ten-thousand-strong flock against strong winds on the very opposite side of the planet, if he bent his mind and his will towards it!

His nose was as godly as the rest of him was, and somehow that scent—a scent which was, compared to other scents, like a star would be to a grain of sand ... nay: like a supercluster of galaxies would be compared to a single atom—that scent...! Which was a scent of God ... that! ... motherfucking...!! Goddamned...!! SCENT...!!!

!!!!!

How could that scent just be gone like this, like nothing, so quickly, almost as if by command??!

It might have been a minor thing, an insignificant detail, yes, but to the man it was the very first indication that there was something veeery unusual with that ... Voice.

That Being. That Entity. Whoever it was.

«The Entity!!»

Broom!! His body shook on the bed and The Voice, The Being, The ... Entity ... it didn’t miss one second before coming down and making him feel like he was craddling in the fat, milky bosoms of heaven’s hottest, most fertile angels: “Shooooshhee, shooooshee, shoooosh. Cool, cool ... cooool, big guy. You don’t want to be making a mess again, do you?” The Voice became sort of babyish, sort of mommyish for a bit. Never once even the tiniest bit disrespectful, oh, no, but always so incredibly nigh-indescribably possibly-infinitely loving! “There you go. Theeere you go, you ... huge piece of a male!” Again, the fawning! “Aah, you...! Alright, alright, time to be professional, Carly!” The Voice laughed and giggled, and then sounded quite professional, but also totally approachable and friendly as it spoke: “I see my scent has stirred you up. Hope these covers help block it a little.”

Oooh ... so that’s what it was ... covers? What covers, really, could possibly cover such a divinely strong scent from such a divinely strong nos-? «Oh, shut up, man! Shut up for just a second and let me just ... hear it!» He might have not noticed it—or may never have wanted to admit it at the time—but he himself was fawning. «Let me hear ... The Voice?»

The Voice? No. It wasn’t The Voice or “a” voice or anything so silly and impersonal.

No. It was ... a woman. The Woman.

The Mightiest Woman in the Universe, for all he knew!

Thus spoke the woman: “I also see you’re quite recovered. Perhaps not fully conscious yet, but I suspect you can hear what I am saying.” The woman smiled. Again, he saw nothing of it, but her presence was such that even with his eyes closed he saw just as well as if they were opened. Perhaps even better, somehow. “I don’t even need to get your readings, all this nerdy stuff. I can sense quite well, oh, stud, that you hear me.”

She paused and thought. Heavy memories weighed on her mind. “You have been listening for a while.” She paused again, more gravely, and this time her body was swaying back and forth, coming closer to him, then pulling back in fear—fear of the arousal he could cause on her, fear of the arousal she would cause on him. “I hope you don’t mind me calling you this: a stud. I know you understand my language ... somehow!” He chuckled. “What a miracle, what a ... thing! Oh, gods, what a thing, this whole encounter is...” He bit her lips and shivered, the pure excitement, oh...!

“Never mind.” Focus, focus! “I sense you can understand me, given how responsible you’ve been to my words all these weeks, with your consciousness recovering and all. I hope you understand this.” She spoke more slowly and more methodically, not really as if to a child, but truly for what it was: talking to a patient whose state she didn’t know fully well, so she covered her bases and spoke as slow as she could to try and make herself as clear and understandable as possible given the circumstances. Thus, slowly and calmly she spoke: “The word “stud” has a very charged meaning in my culture. A very positively charged, mind you. It means ... you are ... incredibly, incredibly ... in-cred-ib-ly! ... sexually attractive. And potent.”

As she spoke, oh, poor thing, it was clear how high the fumes and flames of arousal were rising in her, between her legs, all the way up to her lust-intoxicated brain! “It means a male on the top of his sexual prowess. It is the supreme compliment for a man, but it can be misconstrued as a ... an unwanted sexual advance when uttered like this, between strangers.”

As she spoke, poor thing, it was like the woman was getting conscious of very wrong acts she had been committing all this time. Very wrong acts, she felt them, and very conscious, she was feeling them now. Boom! Her heart was struck by remorse. Her tone sank as if brought down by an anvil into dark waters...

... and this darkening struck the man’s heart the wrong, wrong way. «No!» He wanted to reach out to her, talk to her, tell her it was alright. «There’s no need to feel like this! Please!»

But his talking was just thinking, and his thinking alone, at least for now, could not yet move her words and actions. Thus the woman kept speaking, more mellow this time and full of sorrows: “I have been calling you “stud” all this time, while you were unconscious, and quite frankly since the very moment I laid my eyes on you. I’m not sure if you know it; if you belong to some kind of human-like species where everyone ... oh! ... everyone is as ... as godly...” Her lips were trembling. Her teeth gently clicking and clacking, gritting together, making the sweetest of noises. “If everyone in your species is as ... sexually desirable ... as you are ... hmm!”

She cleared her throat. It was pretty obvious for her—for both of them, actually—that the woman wouldn’t be able to speak when assaulted so closely by the sexually gargantuan presence of that superhuman alien. Thus... “Alright. I need a breather.” She moved away. “Give me one second, will ya?” Then she laughed, all girly. “Well, just a couple of seconds, actually. No more than a minute, I promised.”

Then she was gone, then she was back. Under a minute she took, as promised. “There! I think I’m all fine now. This mask will further protect me from ... well ... you. And all that you represent.” He could still sense her biting her lips, and her shivering never quite got away, hard as she tried to stop it. “By the way, I want you to not worry one bit about your ... honor. Your decency and your dignity. You are fully clothed. Way too clothed, in my opinion, to the point I wonder how you don’t die ... with all this heat, you know.” She gulped. The saliva went down haaaard of her ever-drying throat. “I mean, you’re ... like ... you’re so naturally hot. Like, I mean, oh, god, I mean, uh ... scientifically, uh, I mean literally, cough!”

She was tripping over her own words, the poor thing. “I mean objectively, like ... not just, hmm, sexually. ‘Cause you are hot! Like ... sexually, oh ... you are very, very ... VERY ... very, very, VERY, oh-my-god, SO VERY FUCKING HOT, have no mistake about it, b-but ... oh ... oooh...”

There was no helping it. Poor girl. She was pacing around now her place, whatever this place was, trying to force her thoughts into some coherent shape while taming her raging flames in her hips with every hasty, headstrong step: “What I mean to say (and I hope I have the strength of will and character to say it now) is that: one, you are very physically, sexually, insanely ... I mean, uh, attractive. Sexually attractive, you are. A very sexually attractive male, and ... that makes you “hot.””

She stopped. «Girl, you sound drunk right now!» She probably thought, or he thought she was thinking, it was pretty clear to him that she was thinking this, and she sounded ten times cuter by thinking it, and ten times more in need of a good, warm hug!

She continued: “But you are also ... like ... objectively hot.” She fumbled through same papers. “My readings here mark your body as ... like, two hundred degrees Celsius on average? Like ... really? I thought these numbers were just after, you know ... after the incident...”