Chapter 4: Tyrant

Thanks to b0b for beta reading this! Brandon Fitzsimmons – The Abyss

Fire burned my flesh.

An endless, consuming, hungry, agonizing torment consumed me.

There was only one thing I could hold onto to. I retreated into the depths of my mind to escape the never-ending ravages of my flesh. There, I clung to a single, solitary thought—one day, I would be free of Lucifer's torment and Mark Glassner and his whore would pay.

The bastard stole everything from me. He stole my precious wife, my Desiree, from me, and transformed her into his whore. He so brainwashed her that even when I won her back, she still belonged to Mark. He stole my house. He stole my godhood. He stole my life. He robbed me of even my dignity.

And he had stolen my triumph.

I had crushed Mark beneath the heel of my foot. I had his wife's sweet mouth wrapped around my cock as Mark watched with impotent rage. I shuddered, savoring that one memory of victory over Mark as I despoiled his whore before him.

And then Mark took it all away.

Mark had been in chains. He was beaten and broken. My prisoner. And yet he once again stole everything from me. He and his whore broke my power and dragged me before my once loving worshipers. The barrel of his slut's rifle pressed cold against my scalp as the crowd screamed their worship to Mark and his whore.

And then he stole my life and cast me into torment.

But one day I would be free. Lucifer would not hold me forever. There had to be a way to escape these chains. There had to be a way to free my soul. I clawed my way up to godhood once. I could do it again. I would be the God-King once more. Hell would not hold me. There was no prison that could hold a determined mind.

I would find my way to freedom.

I would wreck my vengeance upon Mark Glassner and his whore. They would scream in eternal pain for a thousand years.

Even in my torment, even burning in agony, I laughed. My mad cackle joined the screams of the damned roasting around me.

One voice joined mine. Not screaming in pain. But laughing. It was a high-pitched and feminine voice.

"Yes, we will have justice!" the voice screamed and laughed. "Justice! Justice! Justice!"

Justice. I liked that word. Mark needed to pay for his crimes. I would bring justice upon him and his whore. "Justice!" I croaked. "Justice!"

Justice was just another word for vengeance.

Wednesday, April 23rd, 2014 – The Samurai – Kyoto, Japan

I knelt naked on that tatami mat, my three concubines kneeling around me in their sheer yukatas, their pale flesh just peaking through the patter of blue flowers on white silk, their nipples round shadows. Their faces were painted white, their black hair curled and adorned with jewelry. They moved with all the grace of a geisha.

"You shall be victorious, Divine Samurai," Orihime purred as I stood, a lovely smile on her round face. She carried my hakama, the skirt-like trousers worn by warriors, as she walked to me. She knelt, holding them so I could step in. When I did, she drew them up my legs and cinched them about my waist.

"You shall crush the Living God today," Chisato smiled as she approached with my haidate, a padded, cloth coat worn beneath armor. I held out my arms so she could dress me. "He will not win against your superior swordsmanship."

Of course not. I was the greatest swordsman in the world. I sold my soul to the gaijin oni Lucifer for my talent. I would reshape Japan into its martial glory once more, restoring the code of Bushido and cleanse the pollution of the Western World from our glorious land. I would be the Shogun, ruling in the Divine Emperor's name. All who heard my words, had to obey.

Another of my three wishes.

My three concubines—Orihime, Chisato, and Hikaru—all willingly served me, bowing and pledging their love to my cause. They were chained to me. I regretted the pain I caused my mother by forcing myself upon her, but my three concubines had to be tightly bound to me. The Zimmah ritual was necessary to keep the Living Gods from stealing them away.

My cock stirred at the memory of Mother's body beneath mine.

I banished that thought. I needed my focus. Today I dueled the Living God for the soul of Japan. He would die on my blade.

"The False God's sword will shatter on your armor, Divine Samurai," Hikaru proclaimed, her hips swaying as she wrapped the crimson obi about my waist and closed the haidate.

Orihime and Chisato carried over the yoroi, the iron cuirass that would protect my torso. Their skilled hands placed the back- and breastplates upon me before their hands tied the crimson cords, securing the armor to my body. My concubines slipped on the kote, the sune-ate, the koshi-ate, the sode, my horned kabuto, and my ho-ate.

I glanced in the mirror. I was a fearsome warrior in my lacquered armor. My great helm, the kabuto, and the fierce, tiger mask, the ho-ate, transformed me into a terrifying oni. I was death. I would crush the living god in the imperial palace.

Last, Orihime brought forth my katana, a crimson tiger worked on the black-lacquered bamboo sheath. She hung it from my belt and bowed before me. "You shall win great honor today, Divine Samurai."

I flexed my hands in my gloves, my armor clinking as I moved. I strode out of the room, trailed by my three concubines. They were my cherry trees, my place of solace that I could retreat to when the burdens of my great destiny grew too great. They were my lovely shade.

The Living God waited in the courtyard. Cherry trees dropped their pink petals behind him, the wind swirling them about his golden armor. His sword was already drawn, glinting as gold as his armor. I shook my head in disgust. What man clads himself in soft, heavy gold? He would be weighed down, his armor offering no protection against my blade.

I strode forward, leaving behind my concubines to watch. Mark's legion of concubines were behind him, dressed in slutty parodies of cop uniforms. They watched their God step forward, their bodies tense.

They feared his death. He could lose.

I smiled behind my mask. Today, Japan would be saved.

"You honor me with your presence," I said in English, bowing low.

Mark bowed back. "It is refreshing to deal with such an honest opponent. I accept the terms of your duel."

I straightened, slipping into my stance, my hand on my sword hilt. His eyes narrowed through the slits of his armor. The Living God was unaware of iaijutsu—the art of the fast draw. And I was a master of it. I would end this duel with a single stroke. In the span of a heartbeat, I could draw my blade and deliver a killing blow that would carve through his soft, gold armor.

Japan would be mine.

The Living Good strode forward, rising his sword to deliver a cutting below. He stepped into my reach.

I drew.

My blade rang as it slid from the sheath. The resistance of the sharp blade against the bamboo sheath added a spring-like effect, snapping my blade forward out of the sheath and moving it at incredible speeds and force.

My blade hit his armor.

And bounced off.

The force jarred my hand numb.

Mark's sword slashed down. I recovered, retreating back, his blade catching on the edge of my sode, the plates protecting my shoulders. The gold blade parted through the steel sode like it was thin silk and hit my bare skin.

Fear curdled in my stomach. That armor wasn't gold.

"Sorry," the Living God said, "but I don't play fair."

I was the greatest swordsman in the world. I had made my Pact. And yet my skill hardly mattered if my blade could not hurt his armor.

His blade could bite through mine like it was rice paper. He wielded it with skill and strength. Despite carving through my armor, the blade never cut my skin, leaving only painful bruises. Whatever magic imbued it kept it from harming my flesh. Not that it mattered. As good as I was with my katana, I couldn't stop every blow from landing. Especially not after his sword cut my katana in half like it was made of bamboo and not steel folded over a thousand times.

I had lost.

There was no way I could defeat him.

I knelt as my ruined armor fell of my body. I gave one last glance at my concubines. They watched with stoic poise. I knew then, even if we weren't bound by the Zimmah ritual, they would commit suicide to join me in death. One of Mark's bodyguard's strode up. Mark took her sidearm and placed its barrel against my forehead.

Shame filled me.

I was not strong enough to save Japan.

The gun barked.

I was falling, falling, falling.

Into darkness.

And then into fire.

My concubines roasted with me, clinging to my body, willingly suffering the same torment that I did. They were chained to me. My cherry trees. Their love and loyalty gave me solace as we burned in Lucifer's fire.

I held them tight.

Brandon Fitzsimmons – The Abyss

The fire died.

My torment ended.

Hell had changed.

I knew in an instant what had happened. Lucifer had been defeated by Mark. The great Prince of Hell had lost all his powers. I was free.

Bitter gall tickled my throat. I was freed by Mark.

But that didn't matter. I had my freedom. I stood up, looking around at my fellow damned souls. We all had made our pacts with Lucifer and he gained power through our torture. I smiled. I needed to act fast and cow as many of them as I could to my power. Many were dazed, stunned by the end of their torment.

I reacted fast, my hand lashing out and seizing a pretty woman with red hair, pulling her to me. She gasped in pain, her eyes trembling. My cock hardened as her breasts bounced. It had been a year of burning. A year of denying my pleasures.

It was time to change that.

"Please!" she shouted before I thrust my cock into her mouth.

I shuddered, savoring how warm and wet she was. I held her head and slammed my cock down her throat. "You are mine," I hissed, battering my will into hers. "You are mine! Submit to me or I will hurt you!"

I shoved my cock deep, forcing it down her throat. She gagged, struggling to pull away. My cock throbbed in her throat. Her screams were muffled, only adding to my pleasure. I drew back my cock and slammed back down her throat, fucking her mouth, my balls smacking into her chin.

"Submit to my will or you will burn again."

I felt her submission. She relented to me. A chain sprang between us. A rush of power flowed into me. Souls were the currency of Hell, and now I possessed one. I shaped my body, regaining the muscular physique I had received after my Pact with Molech.

My cock erupted down her throat. She sucked it down and I pulled my cock out of her lips. She panted, licking at up my salty cum. "Wh-what do you want me to do, sir?"

"God-King," I corrected her. "I am your God-King now."

"Wh-what do you command, God-King?" she whispered in fear. I could feel her humiliation through our bond, feeding off her emotions.

"Find me another whore," I commanded, scanning around the room.

A man had seized a woman, throwing her to the ground, his cock throbbing hard. The woman sobbed, "Please, someone, help me! Please!" Her large breasts jiggled. Her skin was a dusky-brown, like my Desiree.

My cock stirred again.

I strode through Lucifer's oven, the brass floor was cherry-red beneath my feet. It burned, but after roasting for a year, it felt like a mild caress. The man fell to his knees, about to rape the dusky-skinned woman.

I formed a knife by instincts, black as night. I grabbed the man's hair from behind, yanking his head back as I reached around him. He struggled for a moment until he felt the sharp tip of my knife on the base of his cock.

"Serve me," I commanded him, "or enjoy spending the rest of eternity as a Eunuch."

"What?" he gasped.

"I am the God-King," I roared. "I am the most powerful man in Hell. Serve me or I will crush you like the bug."

"Please, don't cut off my dick," the man blubbered.

"Then pledge your soul to me."

"I ... I do! I will follow you, God-King. Just don't cut off my cock! Please!"

His soul chained to mine. My power swelled. I pulled the knife away.

"Thank you, thank you," the woman sobbed.

I pushed the man away, falling to my knees beneath the woman's knees. Her gratitude turned to horror as she saw my cock thrusting before me. I seized one of her heavy breasts, squeezing hard as she squirmed on the ground.

"You," I barked at the man. "Find me more women. You can have this one once I'm finished with her."

"Sure, God-King," the man laughed.

"Please, don't," moaned the woman.

"You have a choice," I told her. "You can submit to me and be my whore. Or I can take you anyways. I really don't care. Either way, I'm going to fuck you."

I thrust my cock into her pussy before she could react. She cried out in pain, her voice sweet music to my ear. She tried to fight, but I was stronger than her. I pumped my cock in her pussy, shoving it deep, reveling in my control over her.

Her fingernails raked at my claws. I seized them, and pinned them over her head. My hips thrust. Her breasts shook. Tears ran from her eyes. The more she struggled, the tighter her pussy grew. I loved the hot heat.

"Your cunt feels great," I groaned. "And you're wet. I bet you love getting raped!"

"You're a monster!" she moaned.

"I'm the God-King," I laughed. "Submit to me!"

"Never!" she sobbed. "Fuck you!"

My hips thrust faster. The pleasure of her cunt wrapped around my cock shuddered through me. My balls slapped into her flesh. I groaned, working my hips harder, slamming my dick into her depths. My passion swelled.

"You are mine, whore!" I declared, thrusting out my power into her will.

She tried to fight it. But I had two souls sworn to me and she had none. Her will crumbled before me. My cock swelled. My cum erupted into her pussy as my soul chained her. The woman's eyes widened as she became my slave.

"No, no, no!" she sobbed as I thrust into her, pumping the last bit of cum into her depths.

"You're all mine now," I laughed.

"God-King," the man I first dominated said, pulling a snarling teen with him, her budding breasts topped by pink nipples.