A Raging God Returns
Copyright© 2025 by Hunter Johnson
Chapter 11: Fryson Drayib
Science Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 11: Fryson Drayib - Three young people represent Earth in a battle with our powerful ancestors who seeded us and terraformed Earth. It is a battle against people who believe Earth has lost its way, and they intend to destroy Earth if it does not comply. They are so far ahead of us that they are Godlike but are biased and irrational and prepared to inflict pain without compunction.
Caution: This Science Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fiction Military Science Fiction Extra Sensory Perception
Fryson Drayib’s mind returned to what he knew of David and Brendan. His rage grew. He tuned out of the conversation, and his mind went back to when he was Fryson Drayib’s mind returned to what he knew of David and Brendan. His rage grew.
He tuned out of the conversation, and his mind drifted back to when he was fourteen when his life imploded. He was living on Ferois, the core planet of the Theyeb Theocracy. He was a pious young man in a devout family. His father was a successful merchant, and they were comfortable comfortable.
On that fateful day, which he eagerly anticipated, he donned his coat and waited for his best friend, Ephrih Kraknek. Ephrih arrived looking harassed. That wasn’t unusual; he was always disorganized and struggled to wake up in the morning. As a woman, he would’ve been beautiful. He had fragile blue-white skin, startling emerald eyes, and a slender build. He was a joyful but anxious young man from a family as devout as Fryson’s.
“I can’t wait to see the Eupon; it is a joy to serve,” said Ephrih. “I wish you luck and great honor today, Fryson. May your voice be strong as you lead The Chant of Celebration!”
“I am nervous, but I also look forward to serving the true Gods — hail the bliss,” said Fryson. “What are you doing this afternoon, Ephrih?”
Ephrih shrugged. “My mother wants to take me shopping.” Ephrih stuck his finger in his mouth and then stuck out his tongue.
They walked in companionable silence to school.
Mukden was built atop quiet, gentle, and serene hills. As the planet slowly cooled, fungi dominated. Many were small like you’d find on Earth, but others towered high into the sky, similar to trees. Many were edible and tasty. As they walked, the boys snacked on chunks of the outer layers of some of the larger fungi. They loved the earthy smell. As they neared the school, they heard the discordant sounds of the band tuning their instruments. The houses they passed cleverly blended into the hills.
Soon after they arrived at the school, the principal announced the imminent arrival of the Eupon.
They stood in disciplined rows waiting for the Eupon’s shuttle. It finally arrived five minutes late. The guards clad in bright green left the shuttle first and checked the podium before the Eupon emerged. Zuxel Zunkrik, the Eupon, was a tall, obese, pear-shaped man ostentatiously dressed in lustrous dark green robes. The Eupon strode towards the stage, moving his head from side to side on his short, thick neck. He smiled as he shook hands unctuously with the principal and waited for his introduction to the students, linking his hands above his ample stomach while closely observing the scholars. Fryson felt the Eupon’s small, recessed eyes briefly linger on him. They remained on Ephrih for long enough to be uncomfortable. Ephrih moved from side to side and sighed. He hated attention.
Eupon Zunkrik wore a thick amulet around his neck bearing an enormous, glowing burgundy stone.
The principal droned on endlessly about the achievements of Eupon and the honor bestowed upon the school by his presence. Eupon, Zunkrik smiled thinly. His gaze returned to Ephrih periodically, frequent enough for the other choristers to notice and feel uncomfortable.
Fryson looked at Zunkrik, and for the first time in his life, he questioned his beliefs.
The Eupon took the podium. “Principal, many thanks for inviting me to your school; the honor is mine.”
The principal smiled as the media recorded the words of the Eupon for posterity and the evening news.
This man was not a picture of modesty and restraint as Fryson expected. On the contrary, the Eupon had bejeweled rings on every short fat finger and looked like a wealthy oligarch.
Those thoughts were heresy; he must never say what he thought.
“I accept the honor and the privilege attached to it.”
The principal looked puzzled.
“Sometimes, we must pass our honor to another, much as we give charity. Therefore, I will donate the privilege of leading the charge to a student of my choice. He and they will chant the Ode to our Glorious Crusade. I honor the students and teachers as it is our most holy chant.”
Eupon Zunkrik scuttled down the stairs and crab-walked along the row of the students, looking first at the front row of the student row arranged in an arc and then peering at the second row. Fryson knew he would probably pick Ephrih, and it wouldn’t be good.
“He is going to pick me. I know something terrible will happen,” Ephrih whispered. “I will stutter, and it will be a disaster.”
“Don’t worry; you’ll do fine. You haven’t stuttered for ages,” Fryson whispered in reply.
Despite reassuring his friend, Fryson had a growing feeling of dread. His stomach was a mass of knots.
“We’ve never chanted that Ode; we must read it as we chant.”
The young men knew it was the hardest chant, and it took them over an hour to complete. The reader didn’t weigh much, but they had to hold it in front of themselves. Ten minutes was hard; how could they manage an hour?
Zunkrik placed his hand on Ephrih’s shoulder and announced he would lead the chant.
Ephrih performed heroically. He didn’t make a single error or stutter. Unfortunately, two students fainted: one at forty minutes and the second five minutes later. The Eupon glowered and huffed throughout the presentation. Principal Bavor beamed. The teachers thought the students were doing well.
By the end, the Eupon looked as though he would explode. Finally, when the scholars completed the last chant, he shouted. “That was without enthusiasm, and it is an insult to the spirit of our beloved Theyeb Theocracy. The Gods are grief-stricken in the heavens. You will do it again and louder. Let us hear the triumph!”
Principal Sielma Bavor looked surprised and hurt, then moved to the podium. “Students, you may take a ten-minute break.”
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