My soft vore tales: Terror, furries, despair, drama

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Re: My soft vore tales: Terror, furries, despair, and grypho

Postby TheGuyWhoKnows » Mon Jun 17, 2013 7:06 pm



Damian is appalled.

"What do you mean, "still"? Of course it's a better love story than Twilight! It's a love story rivalling the masters of romance down the ages!"

"But... I kinda find you the most terrifying thing ever to h-have existed..."

"NOT THE POINT! Who says love has to be consensual?"

"Er... well-"

"Quiet, little one."

I, on the other hand, love it. Genius.
Voracious Gryphon Overlord of the portal, sadist, and writer.Beware the Goldeneye.

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Re: My soft vore tales: Terror, furries, despair, and grypho

Postby nephilim » Thu Jun 20, 2013 11:43 pm

TheGuyWhoKnows wrote:


Damian is appalled.

"What do you mean, "still"? Of course it's a better love story than Twilight! It's a love story rivalling the masters of romance down the ages!"

"But... I kinda find you the most terrifying thing ever to h-have existed..."

"NOT THE POINT! Who says love has to be consensual?"

"Er... well-"

"Quiet, little one."

I, on the other hand, love it. Genius.


Non-consensual love is the best kind of love.
*shot. repeatedly*

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Re: My soft vore tales: Terror, furries, despair, and grypho

Postby Imrhys » Sun Jun 23, 2013 4:08 pm

Ohhhh non-consensual love, mmmmmm, love it <333 I still remember the time Im'Rhys stepped up to a mousey woman, trapping her against a wall, gave her a business card, and Ordered her to come to the club tonight and... mmmmm... yes, non-consensual is deliciousness incarnate.
"Mmmm," Purple eyes stare enviously at a young woman's chest. "I might have to borrow that..."

A bit later as whimpers of despair fade, Im'Rhys admires her newest bewb job, "Ooooh, these look so much better on me."
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Re: My soft vore tales: Terror, furries, despair, drama

Postby TheGuyWhoKnows » Thu Jul 04, 2013 6:21 pm

^"Of course it is! A lover he really doesn't want to be with you is just so adorable! That begging, that squirming... honestly, it's as if you don't look for a partner simply so you can watch their mind crack beneath all the terror and pain! Such strange people."

And speaking of strange people...

Finnley Nero Sharpe.png
Liar, lover, lunatic.


Me?

Oh, my dear, is that really what you want? After all we’ve done together, and all I’ve done to you? You still want to hear about me?

That is… delicious. And adorable. I’m a little surprised, certainly. I find myself almost a non-entity in terms of interest, really – it’s you, little darling creatures, you who fascinate me. Then again, you’re already paying the price of curiosity, aren’t you? A little more can’t hurt… well, I think you’d be rather well placed to know how wrong that is, actually. It can hurt so much…

You know the truest of the names I go by. Finn. I’ve had many changes throughout my earlier life, but they were all masks. Deceptions for the dancers, to let my weave my way in and watch them flutter up close. Perhaps even this one is a mask as well, eh? What lies at my core consciousness has never spoken to me, and I cannot know it for what it is.

But very well, let’s have little fun and delve deeper. “What am I?” Who am I? Who is this… this rather daringly handsome lupine who stands before you? What is there within it? What drives its games of laughter and cruelty?

Liar. Oh, yes. It’s an art, really. Lying is not merely a feat of words, you see. You can lie with a glance. You can lie with the way you stand. You can lie with the colour of your teeth. You can lie with anything, and then… ahhh. You can orchestrate them all, everything, every last one, into a perfect symphony of deception. Lies do not just destroy lives, they create them as they see fit. Lives donned like cloaks, shrouding for as long as needed – a few seconds, an hour, a year. And behind… here I prowl, watching you dance with me. And soon, I’ll call the tune.

Lover. That may seem a little narcissistic, perhaps, but it honestly isn’t. I don’t mean that I’m skilled in the ways of seduction and stimulation – I certainly am, and you’ve appreciated the result already, haven’t you? But what I’m talking about is… not loving, but being in love. I have deceived you in nearly every way, but I promise you upon my heart, my love was completely real. Simply because you’re not ever going to leave my embrace does not mean that the embrace itself was just a trap. I want you, my dear little creature. I want you so much it burns my every vein. I want you in every way, mind, body and soul.

And oh, I will have you. Which brings us to…

Lunatic. Because while I am perhaps the least deluded person in any room – after all, I alone seem able to see past my own act – there is no doubt that madness nestles within my soul. I destroy those I love because I love them. I create whole lives just so I can appreciate my consumption of another’s. It’s insane, isn’t it? But what is madness to the madman? It drives me to fuel my dark desires, and gives me the tools to pursue them. It pleasures me with every tiniest fulfilment. It defines my being. In short, I have made friends with it.


Oh, yes. One more thing. And it’s our newest addition, too! Barely a few months old, yet it’s made me what I am in a far, far more literal sense.

Voidtouched.

I’ve always longed for the beautiful souls of the living. Before, I trained myself, trained and taught me, to watch you with all my heart, and over our time, I’d learn yours. Slowly, exquisitely. Delectably.

But since I passed through and suffered and paid the price for the pleasure to come, I can see so much more. I look at you now, you beautiful thing, and I see you. All the way down to your last delicate thought. The cascades of emotion running riot, the roiling stars of pain sparking so mirror-bright in there, the delicious, malicious fruit f your entire life. Ripe to be plucked.

It’s a sight worth murdering for. It’s the most perfect thing in all creation.

And now it belongs to me.

Oh, there’s so much more to my mystery. I can play the sparkle of your soul like a fiddle. But more importantly… I can – with no small amount of effort, mind, this is like dancing in quicktime in fourteen dimensions – manipulate the fabric of your mortal shell. Nothing complicated. Just a little change in dimensions. After all, I’m already taller than you, aren’t I? A few more inches, or feet, won’t matter. Just to make you the perfect size for your perfect body and perfect soul. Just so you slip down all the smoother.

Perhaps I should add that to the list, then. Before I gained my new self, I played the part in name. Now… mmm. Now, you see, I can take you the old-fashioned way. The most delicious way. Slipping down so smoothly… Because perhaps behind it all, the madness and lies and pleasures, there’s only one word which maybe sums me up in my horrible entirety.

Predator.

Now, come close, and let’s make you mine.

This being none other than a simply magnificent depiction of charming wolf and supernaturally gifted sadist Finnley Nero Sharpe, by the hyper-talented and long-suffering artist Neltruin, here at http://www.furaffinity.net/user/neltruin (seriously, I won't tell you how many revisions I made her go through). Finn first made his debut in my psychological thriller-esque vorishness, Playing God.

Finn is a grey wolf, handsome, intelligent, incredibly charismatic and charming.... and also a clinically insane psychopath and one of the most prolific and sadistic serial killers in recent history. His reign of playful terror only ended when the lupine was captured and sentenced to death... but Finn gained much more than that. As the youngest Voidtouched on the block, he possesses near-invulnerability, impossible speed and strength, a vast array of telepathic powers... and the ability to reform his prey's body into a more suitable size. He finds that three inches or so is best for swallowing.

Contains: Finnley Nero Sharpe Wolf lupine sadist maniac psycopath liar lover lunatic Voidtouched predator Goldeneye grinning
Voracious Gryphon Overlord of the portal, sadist, and writer.Beware the Goldeneye.

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Re: My soft vore tales: Terror, furries, despair, drama

Postby TheGuyWhoKnows » Sun Dec 15, 2013 1:30 pm

Oh dear, I've abandoned this poor thing. We can't have that. Things have happened since.

Pleasure in Power

goldie.jpg


When I become interested in you, the price will almost inevitably be your life. That doesn’t mean you’ll die, though. While that is rather likely – just ask all the innocents who have slipped down my throat, or all the creatures who gave their lives (however unwillingly) to let me place my paws somewhere pleasant – there are plenty more fates for you to be placed in. Slaves, I find, are always an appreciated resource. What purpose you’ll be put to as an underling in my service is also rather variable... chances are it will end in my belly anyway. Perhaps you can simply act as chew toy and masseur and cuddler as needed. Perhaps you’ll find yourself aiding the running of my ever-hungry empire.

Perhaps I’ll find myself desiring more... intimate servitude.

Thanks to the rather curious nature of my consciousness, the best definition of myself in this area is... an asexual nymphomaniac. I don’t feel what approaches normal attraction towards anything – given that I’m not a natural gryphon, nor a natural anything, the desire to reproduce is non-existent, and so the act of reproduction holds no instinctive value. However, I do possess a rather extraordinary capacity for experiencing pleasure. The desire to feel, to experience, to live, is the primary motive for most things which cannot, and for the millions of years it took for me to be born, I had none of those privileges of consciousness. Now, however... the world lays itself bare for me. So I take pleasure in what I desire to take pleasure in. And frequently, when intimate with another on the telepathic plane, I find... ideas. What do they dread in their heart, or perhaps what do they secretly dream of? What will cause the most beautiful fireworks in their mind?

And this is often the case with this small gryphon. As terrified as he frequently is, he knows as well as I do that the sight of a predator looming above him, dozens or even hundreds or metres larger – or even more – tends to stir a few deviant impulses in him. The results are, telepathically speaking, quite simply magnificent, and so it’s something I rather enjoy myself. After all, when your body is merely a physical manifestation of a composite consciousness residing in the realm of thoughts, changing as minor an aspects of your form as “dimensions” is effortless. And also rather enjoyable.

Resultantly, I find that I’ve rarely had a conversation with Fumei in which I’ve been less than a thousand times his bodyweight. Although conversations are the least I get up to with him. The poor little creature has every right to look nervous.

Goldeneye's also had some fun with a delicious vulpine slave of his here: http://aryion.com/g4/view/245600

Only when the dripping saliva was beginning to pool in the bowl beneath Lyca did Goldeneye finally pull back, purring hungrily. Even as he did so, his stomach gurgled, impatient to begin breaking down the mass inside. Not yet. One more addition...

The fox stood, utterly drenched in saliva. He brushed it carefully from his eyes, looking up as the centre of his entire universe. “I... I...” he nearly buckled then, nearly fell to his knees and begged for mercy, but Goldeneye’s devastating bejewelled gaze held him. “I’m ready, M-master.”

Goldeneye smiled sincerely, his beak opening slightly to let a cascade of liquid heat wash over the fennec before him. The air around Lyca was suddenly hot, humid, musky and scented with the faintest acrid scent of the gryphon’s innards. Another glimpse, as the dripping pink flesh inside Goldeneye’s beak peeked out at him. It was ravenous.

“No, you aren’t. You still can’t let go of life, can you?” The vast predator chuckled, his throat rippling. “So I’ll tear it out of you.”

And without warning, he flicked a claw out and cuffed Lyca savagely. The fennec went sprawling, a squeak of pain and fear escaping his small throat as he slumped on the bowl. The blow made his head ring. Before he could gather his senses enough to stand or even utter a word, Goldeneye had tipped the great bronze vessel up, letting his dazed prey slide down towards him. Lyca’s painfully disorientated state was only broken by a sudden sensation on his naked paws: sudden, silky, incredibly wet heat.

He looked down, and saw them both firmly enveloped in the soft flesh of his master’s beak. The sensation, surrounding his wriggling toes and pads, was at once blissful and horrifying, and also very, very ticklish. Lyca choked out a whimper, trying instinctively to pull back, but suddenly the grip around his ankles was like an iron vice. He was trapped, and helpless to do anything but squirm.

Then Goldeneye let the soft, lascivious heat of his tongue trail over the sensitive pads, wrapping lazily around them in a teasing, tasting, taunting entwine, and Lyca did the only thing he could do. He wriggled, batting feebly at the Emperor’s beak, shivering all over, half sobbing, half pleading, half – a secret half, even if Goldeneye could see it in his mind easily – enjoying it all to the utmost. The tongue did not let up, pointed avian tip exploring what felt like every inch of the fennec’s paws, every nook, cranny and last hair of creamy fur. It was nearly three unbearable, exhausting minutes before he even let another inch of Lyca’s flesh pass his beak.

When the gryphon did, however, it was monumental. He simply paused a moment in his greedy ministrations, eyes sparkling at Lyca’s tearstained own, and tipped his beak back, and opened it fully. The fox slid straight all the way to his navel before his sodden, tingling paws even touched the back of his predator’s mouth.

It was like a new world. Suddenly, the hot liquid softness of living flesh was around Lyca on all sides. His master’s beak was big enough for one of normal stature to kneel easily – indeed, squeezing prey in submission beneath his tongue was a favourite method of mild punishment for those the emperor did not wish digested. Lyca’s tiny frame could fit in easily.

He shuddered, sensitized skin bathed again in heat, and finally wriggled his abused paws against the rippling flesh either side of Goldeneye’s gullet. This was it. This was his home now: the inside of his master. So hot, so soft... so tempting to give in.

The fennec tried to. He tried to with all his heart. He wanted to. But while Lyca’s body and soul belonged to his master, his body was still a living thing. And it just wanted to keep on living.

So a high, quivering whine broke from his traitorous throat, and his body twisted frantically in the gryphon’s powerful beak, struggling to pull out with all its might. Goldeneye growled, the sound soft and rich. Whether it was anger, amusement or pleasure Lyca couldn’t quite tell, but it mattered little: the soft flesh rippled and pulsed around his wriggling paws, but did not let him go. His instincts didn’t care, driving him to kick and squirm even more, flexing his toes in the hot liquid and tight flesh... but unable to lose as much as an inch from the vice-like grip of the gryphon’s maw. Bleakly, Lyca was reminded of his earlier revelation: he was thinking as if he had any power whatsoever over his own fate.

There was no chance of squirming free from his master’s gullet – far stronger individuals than he had tried, and simply slid down slower as the Emperor enjoyed their struggles, letting unruly meals tire themselves out as they entered his body. He should accept it, rejoice in it, enjoy all the sensations of it, right up to the acidic and very final ones the stomach would no doubt provide.

But he had been tested in faith and devotion, and Lyca found himself wanting. He sniffled weakly, still squirming as Goldeneye’s tongue ran over his feet again, and then gently guided them further in. Without warning, the gryphon’s dripping interior suddenly convulsed, a devastating slurp dragging Lyca’s helpless body a full foot into the wet darkness. Suddenly, his knees were slathered in the slick flesh as well, the hard rim of Goldeneye’s beak digging awkwardly into the fennec’s lower thighs. He felt his thick, fluffy tail lashing beneath the Emperor’s beak, hanging off the edge of the bowl, and tried to kick again, almost paralysed by his body’s natural terror. The flesh of Goldeneye’s beak absorbed every squirm with nothing more than an appreciative squeeze. And all the while, that tongue was lashing itself, winding around his slender legs, teasing his paws again, drenching every part of him in its loving, murderous heat.

His paws hadn’t even come close to the dark avenue of the gryphon’s throat yet. Another slurp – Goldeneye had nothing to swallow yet, so it seemed his slave was being treated like a thicker, fluffier piece of spaghetti – and the fox slid further in. By now, gravity was taking over, propelling his little frame in a slow, irresistible slide down into the dripping flesh beneath...


We've also finally continued Alex and Damian's sadistic relationship, after an unnerving incident which shook both of them in the prologue. His beloved wounded and seemingly under attack from an unknown enemy who the gryphon seems helpless to understand, Damian retreats to the safety of his sanctum with Alex in tow.

Darkness held him.

Soft and smothering, seeping into every inch of his soul with black tendrils of pure exhaustion until he could not even try to resist the weariness, and slipped back under its cocooning embrace. Several times, he felt the blurry shreds of consciousness grasp at him, and for a moment the blackness let out a hint – red, red in the dark of the night, oh god it hurts, I don’t understand, please, make it stop – but then that caressing expanse of unconsciousness pulled him under again, gentle and utterly irresistible, and he surrendered to it once more.

And eternity passed, and blindly, he felt upwards once more. Another weak attempt to escape, simply met with the same soft crushing into nothingness. But his time, the flash of remembrance was longer, stronger, managing to scream within him before it was snapped off by the dark which he nestled in.

NO! NO, NO, NO! How did – who – Little one, no... I swear, with my entire being... oh no...

That voice. It didn’t matter how blind and helpless he was, how kittenlike in his lack of understanding, or how the sleek tones were no longer cool and gentle but harsh, sharp, lividly furious... he knew that voice. Oh god help him, he knew that voice.

Terror.

The emotion roiled through him, thrashing in the encompassing blackness, cringing away, not understanding the words but simply seeking a frantic, terrified respite from that hellish tones, more words springing from his own mind, words which had become as ingrained as bleeding. No, not h-him, please not him! PLEASE!

Another memory jolted, triggered by the sudden cacophony of screams, and here there was, he could perceive, a strange symmetry to their tones. Both frantic, both desperate. Both utterly infused with horror.

Don’t move or I will crush every part of you, Alex. Don’t you dare. Can’t capture his soul – oh, Alex... – no, not at this range... and... what if... oh no. Can’t capture it at all. You’ve got to hang on, please, and I-

This time, there was no uncertainty. The softness of nothing took him hard, rippling over every inch of his mind, and crushed it into submission. He whimpered once, choked and confused, and then it was back under with no hope of escape.

Save for one fragment, caught in the darkness as he was cocooned again, infinite soft blackness closing over his head once more.

Please. Little one, please, I... I’m begging you.
Voracious Gryphon Overlord of the portal, sadist, and writer.Beware the Goldeneye.

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Re: My soft vore tales: Terror, furries, despair, drama

Postby TheGuyWhoKnows » Tue Dec 24, 2013 8:14 pm

Because this is a season of goodwill. And even in my stories of pain, death and despair, we can have such a thing. For Oscar and Jess and Damian and Alex alike.

Also excuse to actually build some of the story at last! Damn, this was satisfying to write.

If anyone's wondering, this takes place after the events of Chapter 6 for Damian and Alex. Including the part I haven't sent out online yet. My apologies. It's going to be quite a time for those two.

Finn, sadly, isn't in here yet. Thing is that unlike the others he really is a complete and total monster, and I couldn't find something which allowed him to show this same spirit... yet. He wishes you all the best and hopes he'll be seeing you soon. Preferably at an easily swallowable size.

Now, merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

Contains: griffon gryphon griffin fox vulpine The Taste of Terror Falcon Mouse Christmas

Holy Night
Have a good one, all of you.


For a while, he’d left the radio turned to his favourite jazz station, but then Oscar turned it off. He brewed some coffee the way both of them preferred it: thick, black as the night outside, with at least four sugars, left the jug on the side, and sat at their small kitchen counter, rubbing the tip of his beak. His system hardly seemed to respond to caffeine, but the bitterness and the sugar helped his thrumming headache a little.

Jess had long traipsed off to bed, albeit unwillingly. Her work was intensifying, and she’d been refusing to let it get in the way of the increasing focus of her conspiracies. The strange day, the one 24-hour period they’d lost without memory or trace or understanding, had kicked something off in her. The free hours now were spent traipsing her dogeared history books, newspapers, internet archives. Anyone who asked was told it was portfolio work. It wasn’t. The mouse was building a database on her own theory.

Which was? he’d asked, watching over her shoulder as Jess dragged one pictured icon to another, linking a historical text examining the vanishing of a tight-knit group of four 19th Century sketch artists in Melchester to the recent spate of disappearances at the Mândręte Art Academy, and drawing another chain in the growing virtual web of mysteries she was connecting. The answer had been about as concrete as their memories of the unremembered day. “I don’t know. That there is something here, something which is part of this society but… but using us. For their own ends. And they can control it by their own means.”

“Right,” he’d said, unconvinced. “And you’ll be able to find them and expose them?”

“You’re unconvinced, Osc. Please don’t ask me how I know this. I hate going against rational thought. But… I can just feel it. Something is coming. I don’t know anything more, but gods help me if I’m not going to try.”


And so she’d kept on, tracing the causes of the escalating Rebel Wars across the globe from the Eastern Fringe to the seven districts torn by civil war on the plains in western Arwraki. Nothing was clear enough, nothing explained, and Jess hated explanations that wouldn’t lend themselves to her.

Christmas would be a quiet affair for them this time: the first not spent at home. A friend of Jess’ had invited them over for lunch, but aside from that the two would most likely be satisfied with each other’s company. Normally, she would have been accepting of her father’s offer to come home for the festive period, but tensions were higher than ever between Sir Lawrence Gaunt and his daughter. Two days after the day they’d lost, he’d appeared on Jess’ doorstep, more agitated than Oscar had ever seen him. The tall, thin mouse barged his way in and came across a still shellshocked and confused Jess, . A moment of silence had passed, the billionaire’s face looking to Oscar as if he was going to collapse on his daughter and start sobbing. Then, instead, he exploded at her, demanding to know where she had been and why she had not answered his calls for the past two days.

Jess had been emotionally fragile; full of distress and confusion. She had exploded right back. The shouting match had been the worst Oscar had ever heard. Sir Lawrence had stormed out half an hour later. Neither of the two had spoken to each other since.

Normally, such a rift would have healed, were it not for the suspicion placed on Lawrence by his timing. Even Oscar the sceptic couldn’t help but wonder if he knew something. Jess, for her part, had been noticeably avoiding any examinations of major pharmaceutical companies in her world-bearing examination. The falcon knew her well enough to tell the meaning of that: she was worried of what she’d find.

He realised he’d drained his mug, and considered refilling it. The caffeine had barely touched him, and sleep was still in the balance. Maybe best to let it take him, both the dreams of warfare and the other, newer ones he couldn’t quite remember. The small tree they’d bought sparkled in a corner, heavy from promises of tomorrow. Although now, it was already several hours into December the 25th. He should go.

There was a quiet knock at the door.

The falcon didn’t move an inch, but suddenly his body, muscles and senses alike, were taut and straining. He moved silently on bared, taloned feet to the door, leaning against the side and removing a small lead-weighted cosh from his jacket sleeve. He’d had a peephole installed the day the two of them moved in here, and he leaned forwards to glance into it now, still giving no sound to let any intruders know his position.

He blinked, and unbolted and opened the door.

“Good… er, evening, Sir Lawrence.”

Lawrence stood outside, the lurid glow of a streetlamp making his shadow seem to loom over his employee. He was a tall mouse, thin and sharp-edged with piercing dark blue eyes. The only appropriate word, unfortunately, was indeed “gaunt”. The same sense of wiry strength which Jess’ smaller frame hid was much more evident in this man. These days, though, he carried a cane. He’d taken his years well physically, but his age seemed more apparent in his dour demeanour

For a moment, Sir Lawrence looked at Oscar. Then he spoke quietly.

“Is she awake?”

It was Oscar’s turn now to pause. He frowned, looking at the creator and owner of the largest pharmaceutical company on Actura. Gaunt had a good four inches over Oscar’s five feet ten, so the falcon was inevitably looking up. Gaunt had the eternal fierceness in his gaze, but he looked tired. Tired and worn.

“No…” he said slowly. “Long asleep. What are you doing here?”

Sir Lawrence nodded, unsmiling. “Good. May I step inside?”

“Um… of course.” Oscar stepped aside, and the mouse stepped in. He looked around, a muscle in his jaw twitching, as the falcon shut the door to save them from the chill air. The few playful decorations passed uncommented on, the workbooks and notebooks Jess’ area of study and her new hobby might have caused a slight clench of his fists, but no comment. There was an awkward silence.

The mouse sighed, and stiffly proffered a large satchel, Oscar nearly fumbling it with surprise. Lawrence had already sent them both presents by post. Was this another? Or something more ominous? He looked up, and then down, unzipping cautiously.

The falcon lifted out a gold-and-red stocking, heavy and bulging with the weight of its contents. His breath caught in his throat, his feathers seeming to wilt.

“I think Jess is going to have a difficult year.” Sir Lawrence murmured the words softly, both hands now on his cane. He was looking out at the dark windows, full of night spangled with distant lights. “She deserves some short peace for now.”

He knew. Oscar was, in that instant, quite certain that Jess was right about her father. But he’d been muted by the gift. It had been Jess’ Christmas stocking since the age of three. This would have been the first without.

Before he could speak, Gaunt turned back, his face unreadable. “Thank you, Oscar. Merry Christmas.” He gave a nod, patted the bird on the shoulder, and turned to go.

Oscar managed to get his powers of speech back just as the old mouse reached the door. “Sir! Sir Lawrence! She’ll… she’ll think it’s from me, you know.”

Lawrence paused in the doorway, hands flexing on the hand of his cane. “I know,” he said, and strode forwards into the darkness.

***

The Williams, it was remarked jokingly, lived for Christmas. It was the time where their irresistible spirit of cheer was one with everywhere else as well. And they made an effort at it, too. There would be five generations in the house this time, with Alex’s new seven-month old nephew as well as Max, the venerable ninety-six year old great-grandfather. Jacob and Melinda, his siblings, had come - in Jake’s case, from his art course all the way over at Mândręte. Five uncles and three aunts from either side, various friends… the large, beautiful house before him should really have been groaning at the seams.

He didn’t know if he could face it.

The fox leaned numbly against a lamppost, curling his tail around his ankles. Would they be talking about him? Poor Alex, once the epitome of the brightness and vitality of this vulpine clan: struck down in the growing prime of his new life, by an unknowable depression and unseen terror. His month long “sabbatical”, when he’d vanished to go to far-away parts (such had been the cover story that had been fed to them, after all) hadn’t worked, that much was obvious. Would it be more painful to them to leave now? To make some excuse, spend the festive period with his own thoughts and miseries? Or should he go and try and enjoy it, and watch the heartbreak in their eyes of his failure. Mum just wanted him to be happy, Dad had begged him to share his burdens. He never could.

He’d been leaning here for almost an hour, knowing they were waiting, his white fur hidden in the dark of the night of Christmas Eve. His chest, and his eyes, were boiling with it all.

And then the reverie of questions was interrupted, in possibly the most effective way conceivable.

“Hello, Alex.”

The fox froze for about ten seconds, his jaw falling slack. Then he made a high-pitched whimpering noise, tried to run, and fell straight forwards onto the cold ground. The pain was lost in the explosive scrabblings, shaking paws trying to yank his curled body forwards, away, away.

Damian stilled him with a single thought. The gryphon sat calmly in the middle of the road ahead, watching with a calm amusement. His body stretched easily across both lanes. The fox tried to fight against the paralysis running through him and stopping him from screaming, and gave up. “P-please,” he mumbled. “Not now. Not… not at Christmas. You can’t!” Suddenly, he realised how selfish it had been to think of going back. This could be the last Christmas he’d see. He had to go and face his family, no matter what… but instead. This. The terror was ice and fire in his veins. “You… you utter… now, why, why, why? P-please…no...”

“Hush, little one.” The beast’s tail flicked behind him, the lights of the neighbourhood making his silky plumage gleam, but otherwise he was again completely still. He didn’t speak for a moment, letting his preything try to bite back an avalanche of sobs. Then:

“Alex, I mean it. Hush.”

The fox swallowed his screams, staring resentfully and hopelessly at his captor, who smiled thinly. “Thank you. Would you mind listening this time before you begin squirming? This is difficult enough as it is.”

“What is?” Alex mumbled, hugging his tail again. “Holding yourself back? I can’t believe you… you’d do it now. You know what this is to… to them, don’t you?”

“I think we both know that I do, little one.” Damian sighed, tapping his claws impatiently. “And that’s what I’m here about. Alex…” he hesitated, pink tongue caressing the edges of his beak. “Merry Christmas. Now, go.”

The fox blinked. “What? W-what do you m-mean? Go? G-g-go?”

“I’m not... harming you. I’m not going to this time, little one. I promise.” The gryphon smiled ruefully, and Alex noticed his claws seemed to be clenched. “As long as I occupy as much of my brain as I can with a mathematical puzzle or two to solve, I should be able to resist the temptation you present. That is why you need to stop squirming. I don’t need more of your… grrr… of your scent reaching me.”

“B-b-but…” the vulpine sat up straighter, still shaking. “Y-y-you mean… you’re… y-you’re…”

“I am letting you go.” Damian gave a long, low groan of desire. “Alex, they’re waiting for you. And we may find you don’t have another year to wait. So go, my little fox.” He stood, labouriously. “You’re alive for now.”

He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t stop it. His face seemed to ache, but slowly, quaveringly, a weak, weak smile crept onto Alex’s muzzle. “You… you mean it? You’re not going to…?”

The gryphon arched his neck in a sinuous stretch. “Christmas, my darling, is not the time for misery. And we have no more taboos between us, do we? Not after what happened in that lonely Watchtower. Enjoy it. Please, Alex. Enjoy it.”

His steps half-faltering, his legs almost paralysed with shock and hope and fear, Alex took a step away, then another, then another. He reached the gate, and turned back, seeing the dark shape of his murderer crouching, preparing to spread his wings and take flight once more. The words felt so alien, and yet they were true.

“I… th-thank you. Thank you so much.”

No reply, but the gryphon’s eye seemed to give a wink, before he burst up, and vanished into the darkness above. The stars were out tonight. For once, Alex could really, genuinely smile. He walked, shakily, towards the warmth of home… and paused. He’d forgotten.

“Um…” the gryphon could hear him. Of course he could. It didn’t matter that it was a whisper into the dark surrounding his little galaxy of life.

“Merry Christmas.”
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Re: My soft vore tales: Terror, furries, despair, drama

Postby TheGuyWhoKnows » Sat Feb 22, 2014 6:23 pm

What are we now, little one? In their lonely watchtower, Damian and Alex's confront each other and themselves, sadistic predator and tortured preything curiously united by their psychoses. But of course, there are darker tones to delve...

FINALLY. Oh my gods, I've made you wait for this. I am sorry. It's been a hard few months, and also this has been without doubt some of the most difficult and challenging writing I have ever attempted. The end result is imperfect, of course, but I hope it keeps you with it along for the ride.

I am open to any and all comments, and delight in them. They are my preciouses.

The Taste of Terror Chapter 6: Where the Heart Is is now fully uploaded, and here's the long-overdue Part 2.

“It doesn’t interest you, then?”


“Death? Of course, it is my stock in trade. But it’s aftermath is meaningless. A bodiless soul fades into nothing, Alex. I’ve watched it nearly happen to you five times. There is no more to this world. Now, if that is the most pressing of your concerns, little one, I can give you some more pressing ones.”


And he was evaded. Alex sat glowering and quivering on the smooth wooden floor, watching his predator slinking towards the windows as the gryphon thought. He wondered how fast his ideas were moving.


The gryphon flicked a claw angrily at the ground, with a loud splintering noise. “Hmmph. Three of my lines of thought are going nowhere, and the other four had major logical flaws from the outset. This is all pointless.” Damian sounded bored now. He paused, and groaned melodramatically, rolling over onto a sleek flank. “We’re going nowhere, are we. I shouldn’t be doing this, now. Not with you here and everything so so precious. I need some more pressing concerns of my own.”


He chuckled lightly, closing the golden eyes for a moment. When they opened again, their smile was back.


Alex froze.


“N-no,” he stammered, scrambling back. “Please. P-p-please, no. No. No, no, no.”


“You think I’m more than an eternal destroyer, Alex. Maybe.” Damian stretched, beginning to pad forwards towards him with the terrible predatory grace he’d come to dread above all else. “But I will never lie to you, and that applies to all that I have used to describe. I’m not… noble, or… tragic in any way, Alex. I’m just cruel and sadistic, with a few interesting variations. And you’re my prey.”


“B-but… please….” he was suddenly against the wall, flattened, nbo, the surface was cool and smooth, he was against the glass, trapped with the world inches away as Damian stalked closer. “No, no, you don’t… you don’t have to… please…”


“I don’t. But I want, and the wanting isn’t a desire. It’s the lust of gods. I can’t breathe for the ache of your taste. Alex, Alex, Alex... you’re mine, you’re mine for the rest of your life and…mmm... I will make it so.” He was getting closer, moving to either side in time with Alex as his preything tried frantically to squirm left or right. “How did I live through those moments with you so close? I could barely think for the ecstasy of it all. But no more.”


Feet away. The fox moaned, curling up into a ball, his flesh hissing with terrified anticipation for its old master to return, and hurt it. “W-why here?” he whispered. “I-it wasn’t just safety, w-was it? Y-y-you wanted to reclaim me… put me b-back in a world you could control…”


“Yes…” his murderer smiled silkily, edging closer, his flanks rippling as he breathed in great hungry gulps of Alex’s scent of fear. “It wasn’t without problems, but you needed to be… purified of the taint. Made mine, mine again. Now then…”


“P-problems?” He could barely think beyond a delirious whimper with the terror. “What… you… god, please, no, no, no…”


“Shhh. Alex, my darling little one… I swear I’ll never let you go from my devotion. Not again. Our time is ours alone, and it is precious. No matter how shor-”


Alex had no idea how the idea had come into his head. It wasn’t even fully formed. A mere second of terrified thought by a mind teetering on the brink of a future full of pain and despair beyond it’s own belief. A single mad chance. He would have lost it forever in the very next moment, had it not seemed to have stopped time.
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Re: My soft vore tales: Terror, furries, despair, drama

Postby TheGuyWhoKnows » Sat Jul 25, 2015 4:08 pm

I'm kind of behind. A few new things have gone up. Here's a few of 'em.

delectable2000.png


This can't be happening.

Surely.

And yet it is. Keep squirming, there's a good morsel. You taste perfect, my dear. Mmmm...

"I... I'll squirm, M-m-master, I'll squirm all you want... b-but please, don't swallow! PLEASE!"

I can feel that liquid heat, the power of a body so much vaster and divinely more powerful than mine, squishing up again. Now my legs are fully wrapped in Master's throat. The rippling, clenching massage of his throat muscles could drag me down in a single gulp, or crush my bones with even less effort.

I've understood that he can do that, that he has that power, from the moment I saw those godly mismatched eyes and became his forever. But... I suppose I'm mortal. And mortals are the masters of "it won't happen to me". Why else is it that anyone in the world goes a second without throwing themselves in front of the Emperor, and begging to fulfil their destiny? Because they think they can exist outside his immortal body, and they're blind enough to think it's better. It won't happen to them, they'll not slide down that slurping maw, they're too important...

It is delightful, isn't it? It's half the fun of you little things. You're always so surprised.

"I... I... I'm sorry... please.... I'm begging you, please, n-no..."

Now I've slid down to my waist, and the heat and squeezing muscle means I can barely twitch my legs. I keep twitching, though, sobbing and squirming as much as I can.

I never believed that I was important. I knew, more than anyone else, just how tiny I was in a cosmos containing this god. But I suppose... I suppose I thought I was special because I was in a cosmos containing him. Because I was the favoured slave, the one who always cuddled his chest while he ran his vast empire. Because when he deigned to sleep off a gut full of screaming, gurgling innocents, I was always me who'd be crushed beneath that soft, rippling bulge, feeling it slowly become still and liquid and sloshing. Because he thought I was special enough to really be worth having.

I'm wrong.

Very wrong. Do you know how good it feels to have you here? My nerves are singing with the sheer weight of it. You may be a tiny little creature, little one, but you are enough to distend my throat gloriously. Every movement, even your heartbeat, I can feel. Every hair is stimulating my gullet. So...mmm... squirm.

"I... I just... I did something, I'm sorry! Please! I swear, I'll serve you better! Master, please, n-no, no, no...."

I feel my grasping, flailing hands grasp at something. It's Master's claw. He smirks around me, gently letting me slide into the furnace heat of his gullet. Maybe if I tug with all my might... my body shifts a few inches forwards, grinding over his throat, then is instantly slurped back down, resting with my head a few inches outside the squishing flesh of the gryphon's divine beak. I scream again, weeping openly now, and feeling his tongue lapping a few of the tears up. "P-please... I-I... I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Master... I... I'll do better, I swear! I'll do anything! P-please, just..."

Anything?

Anything?

That's the truth which we mortals can never comprehend. When master devours us, it is not punishment, not disposal. It is simply our role: to slide down as a squirming bulge and join the thickness of his belly. There is no escape because he wants nothing else. I could have devoted every fibre of being to my master's life - indeed, I have up until now - but that would not save me.

I scream again, knowing that no-one will hear me, and no-one will dare intervene anyway. I'm going to die, melted away in the belly of a god. It will hurt unimaginably - he has digested for entire weeks before, I've heard the screams go on every night and even during the day, provided he lets me cuddle close enough, for a month. I will suffer, and I will die.

And it is the best thing I could do with me life.

Yet I weep, I sob, I please. Why?

You silly little darling... it's because you're pathetic. A little morsel, barely a snack. A snack who dares to think he's worthy of life.

Anothe rslight ripple, and my head is pulled inside that dripping, sweltering maw. I can barely breathe enough to cry. I look hungrily at the light outside, and the perfectly-formed talon of the god-gryphon. I will never see him again. But I will be him.

"P-please... master, I am a s-...s-snack. I am less than that, I am n-not w-w-worthy to exist when you do.... b-but... I... I... plead w-with you, S-sire.... give me mercy to serve you alive! I swear, I'll be a thousand times more valuable! For your sake, I-I'll give my last breath for y-your pleasure! J-just... p-please, l-let me live. I'm y-yours. I-I'm yours. M-m-mercy..."

You're mine yes. And yet you barely comprehend it. I can feel the wet, dripping heat squeeze around my body. Goodbye, my little meal.

The darkness leaps up, and engulfs me in sloshing, boiling darkness. I am crushed downwards, wailing and cringing, sobbing, squeezing, stretching his gullet as much as I can with all the useless wriggles. The slow descent seems to be miles, miles of gullet and fleshy tunnel, taking me so deep inside the body of this perfect god that I can't even imagine a world existing outside him. And finally, I am spewed out into a chamber hot as a volcano, brimming with liquid, squeezed on all sides. I begin to burn, and to scream. It will last as long as he can make it.

ANd you will suffer.So much. I'll keepyou inside, little fox. No-one need even see the bulge moving, I'll wrap you up so tight.

The stomach walls clench, forcing me into a crushing embrace of acid and boiling flesh. "M-master... I... I love you... I'm yours... p-please..." Why so much cruelty? Why so much pain?

Why? Little one...

I'll show you what it is to be mine.


daww.png

This is the part before the end.

This is the part before the end.

When you imagine dying violently, you think about the thing itself. The part when you get to scream and fight and your senses are giving you more than enough to concentrate on. And then darkness. If the part before even enters your mind, it's as a contrast. A normal life suddenly ripped away and replaced with pain. Light bulb all bright and shining, just clicks off and lets the darkness in.

When I watch him dying violently, I think about that. And nothing else. When I watch him trembling in the night at the slightest shudder, I think about that. And nothing else. But here, in this moment, against me, so small and fragile and tender... I think about him.

It's these moments now which are worst. When I know, beyond any shadow of doubt, that I am going to die. And that it is going to hurt first. But I can't run. I can't hide. I can scream and wriggle, and of course I have tried to at first... but every effort is effortlessly repelled. So now that the adrenaline has reached paralytic rather than just energising levels, I can do nothing but wait.

It's these moments now which are best. When I know, beyond any shadow of doubt, that he is going to die. And that first... first, so many things. Dying is just the end. I have so, so much killing to do to him first. But instead... we lie, entangled in each other, and wait for the end of the world. This anticipation screams at me, and the masochist I am holds it off as long as possible, for to hold back is agony, and to prolong is agony, and the agony is so so sweet. I can do everything but wait.

I feel him beneath me, so, so unimaginably vast. Mountains are big. Mountains are blind and unthinking and peaceful. The sky is big; the sky is merely there above you, and it's unlikely to fall on your head. Not here. Not against me, breathing with lungs like bellows which hum beneath me. Not as hot and silky and soft as the most perfect blanket, as comforting as the most loving and gentle intimate mass murderer the planet has ever known.

And I feel him on me, so unimaginably perfect. I've considered many beings to be perfect in my unlife. I've never felt it like this. Never as raw, as desperate, as all-consuming. Part of me wants to meld our minds together and let Alex feel as I feel, and see if he forgives me. Everything he suffers, everything I suffer when I make him suffer, is just a scrap of bread to a devourer of stars. I will never, ever, ever, ever stop wanting him to hurt. To cry. To be. To be mine.

Every second is endless. Every moment shunts me closer to the killing part. So why do they last so long? Why is it that I can snuggle against the massive fluff of feathers and inhale the terrible delicious musk and choke back sobs and then time just forgets us? Hours and minutes are meaningless. There is just the two of us, embraced, crying and purring with terror and joy.

Every second is endless, every moment shunts us closer to the killing. And that's why they last so long. We understand what comes next. We know how much it's going to hurt. We can think about nothing else except how long it's taking. And so I can feel him snuggle against the softness of my chestfeathers and breath tiny breaths against me and cry despite how much he pretends not to be, and time will not dare disturb such perfection, for it knows I would kill it myself.

And that silence... oh, the silence can't be broken. What can be said? By now the hope of mercy has been beaten out of me. Literally. There's nothing I can do. There's nothing which can divert or distract him, nothing to offer him except that which he finds it more fun to take. He's a god, my god. I'm beginning to realise that. The actual origins don't matter, what matters is the power. He created me. Maybe not the me who went for a walk in the woods because it was a perfect day so long ago. No, he created the cringing cowering heap of trembling white fur pressed against him. The me who is ready to fall to my knees at a moment's notice. I worship him not out of terror, but by terror.

And this silence... I will slaughter anything which dares even touch the silence. Even him, perhaps, but he's good, he's flawless, he treats it with the same fearful submission he treats me. What can he say? I've broken him, broken that sweet shard of hope, shown him that there's nothing in the world which will stop what is going to happen. He's... I can feel his soul quivering. Oh, my. He's thinking that I'm a god. An avatar of sadism and cruelty and alien greed. No, more than that... his god. His masterful murderer.

"Our Master, who art right in front of us..." you see, that's why this moment is so sweet. because I can end it as easily as I end him.

"Terrifying be thy name." Our gazes meet again, molten gold and shining sapphires. It's time again. I weep with despair at the smile which twists my beak.

"Thy Kingdom come." Gently, I slide him off, letting him stand upright as I stretch muscles which have never become stiff or sore in eight hundred years. "Thy desires be done."


"On Actura, as it is in the Void." His voice is dripping with glee and delight. My legs begin backing away, mindless terror ignoring the mutters from my brain about how useless it is. "Give us this day our daily torture, and adore our perfection, as we abhor you who trespasses against us over and over and over again."

"No. No, no, no, please." My throat is sore, my voice cracking with desperate pain. The wall flattens itself against my back as I press myself into it, and only now does he take a step forwards. Now that I have nowhere to run.

"And lead us not into thy throat, we beg you, please, but deliver us from the evil which is you incarnate." He's over me now, three steps enough to clear the distance. Mountains are nothing to this size which towers over me now. His great blunt beak nuzzles at my chest, and when I try to push it away he simply looks at me and locks my arms around his beak.

"For I am your kingdom, your power, your glory. For ever and ever."

He stands, hot breath pouring over me. I won't say it. I won't say it. We know what we want and we will not say it.

After this, the agony which will come is almost tempting. A comfort from a dear beloved friend, the fulfilment of my whole life.

I say it.

"...A... Amen."

The waiting is over, and the pain begins.


MEANWHILE

Alex's attempted assailant continues to be mysterious. He wasn't alone. And he knew exactly what he was doing. http://aryion.com/g4/view/279055

Goldeneye turns from the hungriest thing on four legs to the sexiest thing on two legs, and befriends a sweet bat-eared fox in modern London. Poor Geta soon learns why the charming, handsome, silver gryphon is so interested in little him. http://aryion.com/g4/view/275946

The same Emperor-shard, feeling a bit remorseful about the stories which he is made of (or maybe Geta's just giving him indigestion), helps arrange a meeting between two poor star-crossed souls before their relationship becomes quite so predatory. Young Alex actually gets along quite well with his tormentor when there is no torment involved, for once. http://aryion.com/g4/view/286976

Goldeneye spends some quality time with his biological son Arkrel (I'll just go say it, Sehria was the mother) giving him some useful hints on enjoying oneself at the expense of others. The only true way to do it, in their opinion. http://aryion.com/g4/view/298037


A fine fine turnout.jpg

And finally, a good ol' cast photo of the Actura Sacrifice's poor cast. Including a few new faces, who may eventually be detailed in more... detail.
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Re: My soft vore tales: Terror, furries, despair, drama

Postby TheGuyWhoKnows » Fri Jul 08, 2016 6:43 pm

The latest two stories of mine are almost a two-parter, really. In the first, a kitsune merchant named Leshana is travelling to Alphasiron, the capital city of the strange Seraphian empire, famed for its mysterious, incredibly powerful ruler, the monstrous Emperor Goldeneye the First and Eternal. But she’s just here to trade. The world is safe for people who aren’t actually doing anything bad, because it is ultimately a fair and just universe. Right?

Wrong. Accused of a crime she did not commit by a financial rival, Leshana is taken to the inescapable Alsar Prison to serve her time. And really, her bad luck has barely started

Goldeneye’s empire, this time to be a terrible tourist attraction for :iconLeshana: who is the delectable fox.

In the second, Goldeneye decides to give his own form of "justice", in this case to the judge who declared the poor vulpine guilty. Milo is not corrupt or greedy, simply unfortunately wrong. Very unfortunately wrong.

They can be read here - http://aryion.com/g4/view/329948 - and here - http://aryion.com/g4/view/351333. I'll also post them below, but go to the page for proper italics and such. Hope you enjoy!

Crime and Cruel and Unusual Punishment
By Goldeneye
A commission for Leshana

“But wait, please! I’m not - you can’t - this, this isn’t right!”

The guard with the key managed to indicate, through sheer force of silence, just how monumentally uninterested he was in the rightness, or otherwise, of the situation.

“Please!” Leshana grappled for the thin cloth of the lanky kangaroo’s desert robe, her small hands outstretched. “That bastard Carsen, he paid the jury off! I-I, I want to appeal!”

He continued to ignore her entirely, shaking off her grasping paws, and began to walk away.

“I’m a trader! I can pay you, I promise, j-just get a message to my partners. They’re lodging at Whitefeather Way, they can-”

The cart, little more than a large iron cage on wheels drawn by feral camels, jolted into movement and she was knocked off her feet, yelping as she hit the ground. The outskirts of Seraphia’s capital, Alphasiron, began to slowly rumble past, the pale stone of the buildings starting to give way to the lonely heat of the desert. Leshana desperately tried to find someone else to help her, answer her, give her a way out, but only saw the weary, glum gazes of her fellow prisoners. The two guards driving the cart were Immortals, tall and strong, clad in heavy bronze armour despite the sweltering sun with the Emperor’s sigil standing proud on every plate. They were a lost cause, automata-like beings who wouldn’t even acknowledge your existence unless you were breaking the law. They would be no help in the slightest.

She curled up the rumbling wooden floor, trying to think, wrapping her two tails around her knees. The soft, fluffy feeling calmed her and helped her think. She’d only gained her second tail a few years ago, and still found it odd sometimes. Leshana was two hundred and ten, which put her in young adulthood for a kitsune. Her fur was soft orange, pure white on her belly and throat and at the tips of her tail. She wore small lenses in a wire frame on her hazel eyes, a new invention from Palutia nicknamed “spectacles”, very useful for correcting the slight blur in her vision. Short but fairly curvaceous, beautiful in a wide-eyed innocent sort of way… and very aware that prison was not the best habitat for someone like that. It had all gone horribly, horribly wrong. This was insane. There had to, had to be some way out.

“They won’t be interested either,” growled a male voice from across the rumbling floor. Leshana looked up, thankful that her spectacles hid her glistening eyes. A brawny crocodile nodded at her from the other side, leaning against the hot iron bars of the cage. “The guards at Alsar Prison. I’ve been there before. They’ve heard it all. You can offer them the Emperor’s treasuries and they won’t lift a finger to help you. Face it, foxy,” he scratched at his bare, powerful chest, the scales making a rough grating noise. “you’re stuck here.”

“But…” Leshana tried very hard to stop her lip quivering. “Look, I d-didn’t do it! Carsen just wanted me out of the way! He must have bribed gods know how many-”

“Woah.” A voluptuous gazelle sitting next to her, clad in the silk veils of a professional courtesan, kicked at her leg. The hoof stung. “Not so loud, honey.” She motioned towards the two Immortals sitting at the front of the cart. “There’s only one god here, you know.”

“Yes, I know, I know, the Emperor. Sorry...” Leshana had heard of Seraphia’s “Emperor”. Most of the planet had by now. Merchants like her had to keep a special tab open for that strange, horrifically powerful creature, to make sure they didn’t send a wagonload of goods to a city which had been attacked, defeated and devoured the week before. “But anyone can see it couldn’t have been me! I just need a review of the case…”

“You’re not getting one.” said the gazelle flatly. “Thanks to Our Lord And Master,” she kept her voice carefully neutral, “the Seraphian Empire now covers two continents. Fastest expansion in history. The bureaucracy is barely keeping up. They’re not spending more court time on you. Like ‘e said, you’re stuck here.”

Leshana said nothing, clenching her fists helplessly. The crocodile reached over, placing a large, clawed hand on her leg.

“Stick with us, foxy. We’ve done this before,” He grinned, exposing a large number of sharp teeth. “You’ll need some friends in there. The whore next to you is Jezeval. I’m Kaskar. What’s your name?”

Jezeval gave a quiet snort next to her. The kitsune swallowed back her fear and dread and raised her eyes to look at him.

“I-... I’m Leshana.”

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Five years wasn’t the rest of her life. And when she got out, she and her partners would make sure Carsen’s ugly avian face never smirked again. If there was any justice in the world.

***
Alsar had been a prison camp for a long time, even before the Emperor fell from the sky in a blaze of flame and desire. It was in effect a small fortified town, except that it had been fortified for assault from the inside as well. Tall, sweeping walls rose up over the lonely desert sands, the battlements accessible only by the bridges which lay crisscrossing the rooftops, allowing the guards to observe their charges from above. The only way to get from below to above was via crane lifts, controlled, of course, from the bridges.

The buildings of the complex were in the traditional Seraphian style, pale stone with designs in faded colour, strong and flat-roofed. It was perhaps the morning break or similar, as prisoners seemed to be fairly free to move around the “streets”, always under the watchful eye of a guard or the impassive bronze helm of an Immortal. The sun beat down overhead, unrelenting and cruel, and competition for shaded spaces was fierce. As Leshana and her new friends entered the prison, she was greeted with the sight of a savage brawl between four prisoners, yells of pain and exertion ringing over the half-hearted cheers of a few onlookers. As the cart rolled past, an Immortal entered the fray, her wide bladed spear tossed aside. Moving with dextrous, unnatural swiftness, the bronze clad figure broke a bellowing rams arm, threw him into his opponent so hard they both hit the opposite wall, floored an eagle before he could even react to her, and grabbed the fleeing lynx who had apparently started it all by his throat, lifting him off the ground. The Immortal gave no warnings to the other, groaning figures, simply striding off and dragging her helpless prey behind her, casually picking up her spear on the way.

Leshana was left open-mouthed, but the other inhabitants displayed only weary resignation. A few friends of the broken men and women helped them to their feet, leading them away to whatever passed for medical attention in this godsforsaken place. The cart rumbled on.

They were led out, manacled, at the edge of a massive square in the centre, easily big enough to hold the entire prison population. Kazkar and Jezeval stepped out ahead of Leshana, stretching and joking amongst themselves as if this was just the end of a long journey home - although they too went silent when the Immortals stepped down from the driver’s bench.

Leshana looked around, the stone hot and dry beneath her bare paws, and curled her tails around her legs. There was a raised stone dais in the middle of the square, perhaps once used to execute prisoners whose crimes were too heinous.

She was wondering if it still happened when the doors ahead opened and another Immortal appeared, leading a tall, sinuous lizard with scales the colour of the shining forest and an expression of even more disinterest and disdain than the guard who’d locked her up in the first place.

“Good morning,” he said coldly, his accent pure Seraphian. “I am Warden Aliquab. In the name of His Divine Majesty, Emperor Goldeneye the First and Eternal, I now legally own your lives. If I decide you are to be punished, in any way, I have the right of it and I guarantee you I have the means for it.”

His eyes roamed over them, staying on Leshana’s body for longer than the kitsune would have liked. She flushed, glaring at him. The lizard smiled thinly. “I advise that you do not give me or any of the guards here a reason to decide that you should be punished. There are various rules in this new home of yours, but they all boil down to three main ideas. Firstly, don’t try anything with your fellow filth-sacks. No stealing, no fighting, no raping or killing. Secondly, and this one is easier: obey your superiors at all times. Any command given by any one of us is not to be questioned or hesitated about, it is to be performed. And finally, not that you could anyway, but do not attempt to escape. We have had zero successful escapees since the Silver Summer claimed this prison upon His ascension to the throne, and that is not going to change.” Aliquab clapped his hands together. “As long as everyone here obeys those rules, I will not have to see your pretty little faces once during your stay here, and everyone will be happy. Understand?”

They nodded. Kaskar looked bored, Jezeval amused. Leshana tried to look sincerely afraid, which was thankfully not hard.

“Good. Now get them out of my sight.”

***

They were given simple desert robes and leather collars which rubbed against the fur of Leshana’s neck, tagged with their name, number and the ever-present crest of the damned Emperor. Sure enough, the relaxed atmosphere when they entered had just been a break, and before the middle of the afternoon Leshana had been assigned to Gang 162, a group of some dozen individuals - various species all short and slim like her, unsuited to heavy lifting - who were currently engaged in weaving cloth on a large, surprisingly advanced loom in one of the innumerable buildings, under the cold empty eye-holes of an Immortal. The work was hard and long, but survivable. Her fingers ached by the time the sun sank over the horizon, and there was no way to signal the passing of minutes until the sonorous toll of a bell rang out over the prison and freed them from the work.

She found Kaskar and Jezeval that evening at the kitchens, hunched in a corner talking quietly, and made her way over to them, carrying a bowl of tagine with grains and some sort of meat. The two looked up stonily, and Leshana hesitated and eyed the empty space next to the crocodile politely.

Kaskar grunted assent, and Jezeval scowled at him, but Leshana sat down, rubbing her sore fingers. “So, um, how was the first day?”

“Ask me again after I do it seven thousand more times,” muttered the gazelle bitterly. “This is cruel and unusual punishment.”

Seven thousand days was nearly twenty years, Leshana calculated. “Well, what did you do? Were you framed as well, or…”

She wilted under Jezeval’s angry glare. “S… sorry. I don’t mean to pry.”

“And you won’t need to,” Kaskar said, scraping his bowl clean. “We’re going to let you in on a secret, foxy. We’re getting out of here.”

“You… you mean…” the kitsune leaned close. “You’re… you’re escaping?”

She could only dare to mouth the last word. Kaskar rolled his eyes.

“We are. You’re coming too, foxy.”

There was a noisy clatter from across the table as Jezeval attacked her vegetables ferociously, glaring into the bowl. Kaskar ignored her.

“We’re... mostly united on this. You’re innocent, and you don’t belong in here. So we’re taking you with us when we go.”

“But… but… how?” Leshana pushed aside her conflicting thoughts. “Isn’t it too dangerous? There are walls, and the bridges above us, and gods, these freakish Immortals, whatever in the Hells they are, and-”

“Yes, I know it’s not exactly easy!” Kaskar snapped. “I know that. We won’t be ready to go for a few weeks at least.”

“Make that a month,” Jezeval said testily. “Getting caught is not an option here. Seraphia doesn’t take kindly to people who get found.”

“Fine! A month! Look, the point is we’re not staying here a second longer than we have to!” Kaskar glared at the antelope. “And that goes for all three of us, understand?”

“Is… is there a problem with me coming?” Leshana asked timidly. “I mean, you, you barely know me, and you just said you had to be especially careful. So why… why are you giving me the chance?”

The crocodile looked at her, suddenly lost for words. “Well,” he muttered, “you... you, uh-”

Jezeval groaned. “For the Emperor’s sake. Kaskar couldn’t bear the thought of someone so clearly innocent suffering with these hardened criminals. You deserve to be free. Of course he’s too much a hard old beast to say it out loud, but he’s got soft insides.”

Leshana peered at Kaskar’s scaly outside, which grunted in irritation and embarrassed assent. He didn’t smile, but that might be just because teeth like that didn’t look good in a smile.

“I… Well, thank you. Thank you so much. I promise I won’t let you down.”

The two inmates exchanged glances. “Good. Now, we have some of the plan so far, and you’re going to have to help. First of all...”

***
The days blurred into one another.

Or rather, they should have done, Leshana reflected sourly as she trudged out of the loom halls into the soft evening heat. Why couldn’t she become absorbed in her new life and forget everything until the escape was ready? Instead, every hour and minute was spent waiting for the next bell to ring, every meal spent exchanging glances and significant coughs with Jezeval and Kaskar (they shouldn’t be seen together too much, lest someone become suspicious). She’d been given a few assignments herself, mainly just observing the guards’ positions at certain times of day and when they were changed. It wasn’t much, but she had to admit it fitted her low experience level. The antelope and crocodile were handling the heavier missions.

Not for the first time, she wondered about them. Jezeval and Kaskar had so far refused to tell her anything personal of themselves, or even whether those were their real names. And what crimes had they committed to end up in here? Neither of them had ever claimed they were innocent.

Then again, helping her escape at such personal risk was a pretty major act of kindness. Despite their refusal to trust her - probably justified - the two were good people underneath. She’d be willing to look past whatever misdemeanours they’d committed.

The kitsune twirled her tails wearily as she exhausted her train of thought, heading towards the mess halls for the evening meal. Time would pass, and if this country’s feathered god really was a god, and a merciful one, she’d be free eventually.

“...and it is by his mercy that you reside here rather than in the pits of the Hells where you would meet your end. All flesh and souls alike are to be rendered unto him as he sees fit, and yet he has chosen to allow you the chance to take the rudder of your own lives once again even after you have steered them into the path of devastation.”

There weren’t usually any preachers on the grounds. Apparently Emperor Goldeneye didn’t go into ritualised worship that much. Leshana drifted towards the gathering crowd beneath the official, a stout patridge in the gold-edged robes of Seraphia’s considerable bureaucracy who stood on one of the guard bridges above them. What was he actually talking about?

“And yet his Divinity is like no other so-called “deity”, for he walks the earth with those who are his property. He is your god as much as you are his possession, and he would see all of you secure in your rightful place in this universe.” Finally she seemed to be getting to some sort of point. “His Divinity will visit unto this prison upon the morrow, to see the state in which his wayward followers are kept and to judge them for himself.” The avian sniffed, looking down at the rabble beneath her. “His word is law and his deeds are will made manifest, and without even a glance he can read your soul in its entirety. They had best be pure souls or you will find his mercy suddenly coming to an end.”

She continued, speaking about confessionals to be held and rites to be done, but Leshana was not listening. She stumbled away from the crowd, tails twisting around her ankles and head whirling.

The Emperor was a telepath. Everyone knew that, though few seemed very clear on exactly how it worked. What was certain was that he’d be able to see her conspiracy to escape clear as day in her mind.

But on the other hand, he’d see her innocence, how she was framed for a crime she had never committed. How she was only trying to sneak out unfairly because she had been locked in unfairly. His word is law. He could free her without the slightest effort. But would he?

Another thought spun into her brain. Kaskar and Jezeval - probably not innocent, and actively plotting to escape. The Emperor would know, and unlike Leshana they’d have no mitigating circumstances. They’d be dead unless they escaped tonight. She couldn’t let that happen. But they weren’t ready! They couldn’t smuggle three out tonight

The kitsune leant against a wall, flicking her hazel eyes across the twilight. Either she stayed here and hoped for mercy, or she tried to escape and hoped for success. Neither option seemed wonderful. Not for the first time, she was struck with the bitter unfairness of all her situation, the hot helplessness burning in her chest.

No. Think about Kaskar and Jezeval! They had no choice at all but to attempt escape. She was lucky by comparison. Whether she stayed or went, they had to be warned.

She hurried off into the gathering gloom, breathing hard with exertion and anxiety. They weren’t in the mess hall, nor in the corner of the main grounds where they’d meet and discuss plans. They weren’t at the site where Kaskar’s strength had been employed to help build a new block of cells, or where Jezeval had worked as a cook. Finally, she tried to recall the cells they inhabited. Third building from the square of execution, seventeenth and eighteenth cells - somehow they’d managed to stay together. And there they were through an arched doorway, huddled in a corner, speaking in low, urgent whispers. Leshana hurried towards them

“...how the hell are we going to get her past them as well?” Kaskar muttered, his bass rumble carrying across the hall. They must have heard already. Leshana slowed to a halt, her large ears twitching curiously. For a second, she hung back.

“I don’t know!” hissed the gazelle. “This is like last time. You’re the reason we’re bringing the bitch so it’s your bloody problem!”

“If we get caught it’s our problem, Jezeval. And right now you can shut up about that, alright? We have bigger problems.”

“No, listen. Just because you never got used to eating vegetables, you want to jeopardise both of our lives? Listen, we have to leave her behind.”

“We are not leaving her behind! That’s desert out there for a hundred miles. We will not be able to carry supplies for the whole damn trip! So we’re taking the self-carrying supplies, alright?”

“This is just because you like how she looks. I said this, I said there are dozens of morons in this godforsaken place who’d jump at the chance at escape and also have the experience to not probably cock it up! But no, she looks tasty, she’s what the goddamn predator wants, so here comes Kaskar’s Kitsune!”

She was so stunned that she didn’t even gasp, simply standing in the doorway with her mouth open, so quiet and so still that Kaskar and Jezeval didn’t even notice her. It might have saved her life.

Then a noise came from outside, some brawl or argument. Who knows what it was? Perhaps just the universe tripping her up once again.

Kaskar looked up, and saw the kitsune standing there. He froze, as did Jezeval. No-one spoke for a moment.

Then Leshana said, quietly, “You were… you were going to… to eat me.”

Kaskar ran his clawed fingers over his scaly skull. “No..no, no, no...” he groaned, more to himself than to her.

“You’ve, you’ve done it before, and you were just going to let me tag along until you got hungry.”

Jezeval clenched her fists.

“Is that why you’re here? Is that what you did? They never found the bodies so they couldn’t charge you with murder? You, you utter, utter-”

“SHUT THE HELLS UP!” Jezeval roared, charging into her. She was six inches taller and who knew how many pounds heavier than the small slender fox, and before Leshana could react she had been barreled into the walls. Her vision sparked, her head exploding in bright fireworks of pain. The gazelle smashed her fist into her gut, sending her choking and reeling, and as the kitsune doubled over Jezeval drove her hoof into Leshana’s knee, which snapped gorily.

The kitsune gave a gargled scream of agony, a tattered heap of soft fur on the floor, and Jezeval gave her another kick. “Someone will have heard. We’ve gotta get out, right now. Emperor’s Claws, what a mess.”

She snatched up a pack, or at least a brown blur picked up a paler brown blur. Leshana’s eyes were glazed with pain and tears. She had hoped so much…

“Kaskar, come on. We’ll just have to ration things, okay?”

The crocodile stood over her. Leshana tried to crawl away from him, making a small whining noise.

“What a waste of good meat,” he snarled, and stamped on her neck with horrible strength. And everything went black.

***
The blackness twisted. Like a deepsea leviathan, something larger than she could imagine moved beneath the surface, brushing against her tiny mind here and there. And slowly, she rose.

She did not hurt any more, Leshana realised as she filled her body again. Her bones were unbroken, her muscles no longer bruised. She lay on a silken sheet, bright sunlight pouring in from the arched window.

It had been a dream. All of it. She had slept too late at Whitefeather Way and awoken from a dreadful nightmare. She slid out of bed, tails curling around her knees, and stumbled over to the window, taking great, heavy breaths.

Outside lay Alsar’s great square, with the executioning dais in the middle.The air was heavy and hot, but far too silent for this time of day. She was still here. The world was not fair but cruel.

Leshana felt her knees shaking, as if they remembered being broken. What in the name of the gods was going on? She spun around, tails awhirl, heartbeat back to the usual fearful tempo. There was the luxurious bed, far finer than the rough cots she’d slept on before. Rich furnishings in Seraphian style. Even a suit of bronze armour standing next to the door.

The suit moved. Leshana yelped in alarm. It was an Immortal, so silent and so still that she hadn’t even recognised it before. “Gods! I… uh, sorry. I didn’t...”

The Immortal ignored her, raising its shining arm and pointing to an open doorway. Its great spear stood ramrod straight in its other hand.

“I… alright.” She went through, hesitantly, eyeing the creature behind her. It did not move to follow, at least.

This seemed to be some sort of guest quarters for Alsar. Even the corridor was finely furnished, and she glimpsed other rich rooms on her way down. On ground level was a larger dining hall, with benches and tables currently pushed to the sides. It was occupied.

Leshana froze. The occupant looked up from a dossier they were reading, clasped in one gigantic claw like a doll’s book, and fixed her with a bright, mismatched gaze.

There was no mistaking the massive frame, eyes higher than her own even though the creature was quadrupedal, even though it was lying on its flank. Two great wings lay folded at the sides, thickly plumaged in silver and icy blue. A bronzed wreath lay upon the avian brow above heterochromatic eyes, one deep purple and one shining gold, both gazing deep into her own. Long, elegant ears swept back from an avian visage expressed in stylised grace many times in murals and statues.

She was a merchant. She was good at reading people. But this creature… there was arrogance, yes. Power and confidence and playfulness and even kindness too. But that was just what he was displaying. She couldn’t tell a thing about what he was.

Emperor Goldeneye the First and Eternal, the Silver Summer and Lord and Master of the Empire of Seraphia, grinned at her. His beak pulled into a coy smile, and his voice was smooth and rich just as unknowable. “So good of you to join us, Leshana. We hope you slept well?”

He knew her name. The kitsune started, managing to wrest her muscles back into action. She knelt hurriedly, keeping her eyes lowered. “Y-your, your majesty. Um, I, y-yes.”

“We are delighted. Not bad for a little fox found with a broken neck, internal haemorrhaging, and nineteen fractures.” The strange creature set aside his papers, folding his claws before her. For the first time, Leshana noticed that he wasn’t alone. Sitting with his knees drawn up to his chin, against Goldeneye’s great fluffy chest, was Warden Aliquab. The lizard looked at her, quivering very faintly, his eyes full of pleading desperation. Leshana stared at him, helpless and confused, as the gryphon continued. “I healed you, of course. It’s a skill which I have learned with great difficulty, so I hope it’s appreciated. Now, on to business.” He ruffled his feathers, his smile widening. “In one way, it’s actually quite pleasing. Alsar has never had an escape in three hundred years of service. It’s been incredibly, boringly… ugh... competent. But in another way… this prison is my property, as are its inhabitants. And defying it is defying me.” The gryphons voice turned to ice and steel without even a pause, and Aliquab trembled, closing his eyes in feeble terror. “And no-one, no-one ever does that twice.”

Then the smile was back. “Now, sweet little fox, I need to know where they were headed. Obviously I could pluck the details out of your head, but sifting through all the memories is rather boring work. So, where?”
Leshana swallowed, her brain thankfully kicking into autopilot through terror. “They… they were planning to head away from Alphasiron, y-your majesty. Escape capture. Then they’d circle round towards the nearby settlements, try to blend in with them. That’s why they… they needed… supplies…”

Leshana remembered. She hunched over, keening weakly with horror at the memory. Kaskar had… he had been going to…

“A hunter was he?” The gryphon had plucked the details straight from her head. “Preying on my citizens? What a despicable creature. He’ll get worse than death this time, rest assured.” He spoke with a total lack of irony, and only chuckled when Leshana failed to stop herself from thinking this. “Don’t worry, my dear. A lot of people think that. Yes, I do dine almost exclusively upon my subjects,” Aliquab whimpered very quietly, “but that doesn’t mean they can do the same. You are all equal to my stomach, and none of you should be raised above another without fair process.”

“I… I see.”

“You don’t, you just don’t want to be eaten.” The gryphon smirked playfully, his tail twisting. “Yes, you did take part in the escape. Aided them too. But it doesn’t look like you would have really gained from it…” He blinked, and again Leshana felt the vastness of his strange, fragmented soul. “Ohh. And now it seems that you’re innocent?”

She gasped despite herself. Finally, to hear someone say it out loud. Stay calm. Stay steady. “I… there is no hiding the truth from y-you, your m-majesty.”

“Which of my judges sent you down? They’ll need a talk after this. I, and only I, am above the law, Leshana. This is ridiculous.” Goldeneye flicked his long ears with frustration. “Well, nothing for it. I’ve already chosen most of my meals for today, and there’s no reason to have you rotting away here with no good reason. You’re free.”

The kitsune opened her mouth and closed it again. That was it? All this terror and it was so suddenly over? Finally she managed to mumble a weak “R… Really?”

The Emperor waved a claw. “Well, you will be. I’ll get the paperwork done by this afternoon. Blasted bureaucracy... anyway, just go get packed up and you’ll leave on the evening supply carriage. I promise it.” He ruffled a wing coyly. “And you’ll have a wonderful tale to tell your fellow merchants. Minus Carsen, that is. Now go on. And worship me sometime. Your soul is rather adorable.” His eyes winked. “Your little spectacles doubly so.”

The traitor’s name made her jump again. Everything seemed to be oversaturated and gleaming. Goldeneye’s feathers were the softest, sleekest silver Leshana had ever known. Or maybe she was just able to see the world’s colour again. She pushed her spectacles back up her nose with an embarrassed flush, bowing again. “You will not regret this, your Majesty. Th-thank you. Thank y-you so much.”

The Emperor didn’t answer, already disinterested as he lowered his beak to murmur something to the presumably ex-Warden, who trembled. Even now, Leshana understood that he had not acted out of mercy or kindness but simple amusement. She left quickly, stepping out into the sunlight as if she had just emerged from three months of night. Free! Free! After all this the universe finally showed her what she knew to be true: in the end, it would work out.

Leshana almost skipped back to her quarters, ignoring the baleful stares of her now ex-cellmates, and was packed in ten minutes flat. No souvenirs. All she wanted was to leave this hellish chapter far behind. A few short hours of waiting and she’d be on her way back to her alife.

Once again, the waiting became difficult. She’d been granted exemption from work that day, so Leshana sat on her cot and watched the bright sun climb higher in the sky, her tails twisting with anticipation. Time passed appallingly slowly

When the sun hung directly overhead and she was certain she was going mad, a guard knocked on the bars. Leshana started. She’d finally been close to dozing off. “Oi!” he snapped. “Get moving! All prisoners to the main square!”

“Oh, um… I’m, I’m not a prisoner. Not anymore. I was… I will be pardoned, you see.” Leshana smiled politely. The guard, a blocky, red-furred muskrat, glowered at her through the bars.

“Dunno what we’re supposed to do with you, then. If you’re still a prisoner right I’d say bleedin’ well get going. It’s the Emperor himself. You do not wanna pull an absence today, kitsune girl.”

He left, leaving her fuming at “kitsune girl”. But still, she had absolutely mindnumbingly nothing else to do. And the monstrous gryphon had not pardoned her yet… best she be a good prisoner until she finally didn’t have to be a prisoner at all.. Leshana sighed, leaving her pack behind, and trudged off one last time to the main square. The sun beat down on streets utterly deserted, beneath the crisscrossing shade of the upper bridges. It was rather unnerving.

The entire prison population filled the square. A sea of heads, shifting in impatience and confusion. They were hemmed in by lines of guards and Immortals, surrounding the central platform completely. Leya squirmed in at the back and craned her head to see. Nothing on the platform. What were they here for?

A glint caught her eye, a sparkle of white in the sky just beneath the boiling sun. A ball of fire was streaking down towards them, perfectly vertical and eye-wateringly fast. The crowd saw it, and reacted as crowds do, slowly and confusedly, the air filling with the rumble of fearful voices and shuffling feet as people tried to get out of the way, pressing into others, the panic rose, and the entire thing could almost have become a riot-

The fireball landed with a roar of burning air and a noisy splintering sound on the stone platform, dissipating in an instead as heat washed over the crowd, replaced by the click of cooling rock. Suddenly everyone was quiet. Slow as death itself, Emperor Goldeneye straightened up from the crouch he had landed in and surveyed his property.

“Do I have your attention?” he said softly. The rich tones carried through the entire square. No-one dared speak.

The gryphon smiled. “Excellent. Prisoners of Alsar, you are here because life is a changeable thing, and I know that better than anyone. That is why your crimes are paid with hard labour and incarceration, rather than a slow, lingering death. I believe you can be of use to my Empire again, even if you have strayed from the path once.”

“But no-one ever defies me twice. Those who do not submit to me in mind and soul can serve me in only one way.” He was stalking around the dais, displaying to full effect the sheer size and power of his form. He’d been carrying something, a sealed bronze pot the size of a small table, which glowed a little with residual heat. “And I think you know what that way is. Yesterday this prison defied me again. Two escapees dared to try and take back their lives, now mine by divine right. They will not get far. But some of you may not believe me. Or maybe the lure of freedom will be too much.”

He returned to the centre, ears ramrod straight. “You do that, little prisoners, and you condemn not just yourselves but this very prison. And today I am going to punish the prison for its defiance.”

There was a moment of confused, terrified silence.Goldeneye rolled his mismatched eyes. “No, obviously not all of you. That sort of renders the whole point of prison a bit pointless, doesn’t it? Come on. No, what I am going to do is pick from this contained one piece of parchment. There are over five thousand pieces, one for each prisoner in my possession. And if you’re chosen, then I don't care what your crime is. You... will... die.”

He caressed the words like a lover.

“You will come to me, and I will swallow you whole.” Goldeneye laughed aloud, feeling the psychic ripple of the words pour through his prey. “Oh, believe me, it’s no rumour or propaganda. I really do eat like that. No-one enters my belly already dead… and no-one leaves it alive. You, poor, poor chosen prisoner, will slide down my gullet - I’m told it could almost be a pleasant trip if it wasn’t so one-way - and slowly - oh, I like to take my time administering my justice, so very slowly - you shall enter my stomach.” Suddenly, the gryphon’s proud stance seemed to be deliberately emphasising the soft, slim pale blue of his underbelly, showing it off to every horrified eye. “Digestion will occur, as is only natural. You will, still, be alive for almost all of it until you are little more than a brain, floating in liquefied flesh and agony. Only after that will I give you oblivion. And to everyone who counts themselves lucky to escape… until the squirms have ceased, not a single creature leaves this square. Watch well and remember, this is the price for freedom. You are mine, every one of you. Mine forever.”

He flashed a dazzling smile, padding smoothly to the pot, and raised a claw over it. He giggled cruelly, holding the position for a few seconds, sweeping his terrible eyes over the crowd. Life and death was in his talons.

There was nothing but stunned, fearful silence. Leshana felt certain that five thousand people had never been so quiet. The Emperor's ears twitched sensuously, as if he was listening to the hush itself.

He plucked a single scrap of parchment from the bowl, and looked at it. The population held their breath.

Goldeneye's eyes widened. He gave a little snort of what could have been amusement or regret or both. That hooked beak parted, and spoke a name.

At this point, dear reader, there is hardly any point in writing the name spoken. You know who’s name it was.

No...

Leshana's entire being seemed to have become frozen in time. Her body could not move, and more, her mind could not function. She was still standing there, her ears still filled with the gryphon's silky tones as he said it.

A moment passed.

There was a moment of horrible dysjunction as she realised that he had said her name again. It was even smoother this time. It was playful.

"Well? You entered this lottery, little fox. Come up and claim your prize." Goldeneye purred the words, now looking straight at her, along with a growing number of prisoners. There were three hundred feet between them and yet he spoke like a lover. She managed to regain control of her lips.

"But I...I was..."

"Leshana. Come up here."

Swallowed... digested... death... agony...

"Don't disobey your owner, little fox. Remember what I said about people who defy me a second time." The crowd was watching her in silence.

Her legs suddenly took a step forwards, without her brain being involved in the activity at all. Leshana started, and Goldeneye laughed again.

"Don't worry. Plenty of people need my help walking when they know what's coming." The kitsune took another step, and now she could feel the monstrous alien influence of the gryphon, pulling her towards him. His mind brushed over her motor functions, ripping them from her and puppeteering her to keep walking even as her breath quickened and she began to shake with unbearable adrenaline - a fight or flight response which could do neither.

“P-please…” she mumbled, her lithe form transfixed by the thousands of eyes now watching her slow walk. Some held lewd, cruel amusement. Most just held relief. Very, very few seemed to have the slightest bit of pity, and that was far outmatched by fear. Goldeneye stood two hundred feet away now, his eyes not leaving her face.

“I’m delighted, really,” he crooned. “Now that I look at you like that… what a treat you’ll be. Soft and slender… and two tails, oh, I should taste your species more often. Vulpine tails tickle my throat perfectly.”

Leshana barely managed to whimper, so terrifying was it to hear. But she was still walking towards him. One hundred paces.

He licked his beak, tongue thick and pointed and glistening wet. Her mind was fleeing in circles, round and round.

Fifty paces. Ten. Five.

She placed a foot on the first step. Goldeneye extended a cruel claw towards her, as if to help her up. She had never been so close to the Emperor before. He was gigantic, a statuesque mountain of sleek silver and blue.

“But… I… I… I was pardoned…” she said, weakly. “I shouldn’t be here. You, you told me! Why was I even on the list? W-w-why? I… I s-shouldn’t be here…”

The god-gryphon cocked his head, looking down at her. "Oh, I know. Leshana… I am so sorry, my darling. I'm afraid I was planning on signing your release forms immediately after this little demonstration was over. I’m a busy deity, after all." He laughed, still almost too soft and tender to be cruel. "Honestly, little thing, it never even crossed my mind that you’d be here. To me you were already free. And then… well, even I have to give in to chance sometimes. Especially when it serves me so well." He inhaled, greedily, and Leshana realised he was breathing in her scent.

A pulse of thought, and Goldeneye reached up with her hand and took his claw, pulling her onto the dais. A sea of faces surrounded them, and Goldeneye gave his shaking, helpless prey a little twirl, showing her off.

“Alsar Prison, each and every one of you belongs to me. Remember how this could have been you… and could still be.”

He pushed her to the centre of the dais, and Leshana staggered as his mind left her at last. Without the gryphon’s talons in her brain she could barely stand, wave after wave of fear and dread crashing over her and driving her almost to her knees.

Goldeneye leant over her shaking, swaying form, breathing deep again. His beak and those eyes seemed to fill the whole world. Even though she felt the delight it caused, Leshana held on to the smooth bone. She stared at him, begging with every part of her.

“P… please… this… this isn’t right…”

She began to cry, still looking at him. Goldeneye smiled, and as she looked into his eyes his tongue lapped at her neck. “I know.” He whispered. “It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?”

Leshana had privately wondered, from what she had heard of him, if Seraphia’s ruler was insane or simply cold-hearted and cruel. But he was neither. The strange gryphon’s eyes possessed a sentience so utterly alien to her own that ideas of sanity and empathy were as relevant as colour was to music. His Divine Majesty Emperor Goldeneye the First and Eternal was simply… above her.

There was no justice, nothing which was right or wrong. A universe where this thing was god didn’t care for either. She was going to die screaming through horrible coincidence and nothing else and the world would simply let it happen.

The kitsune gave a small, feeble squeak, trying to give some word which tried to convey her renewed, horrified understanding of the universe. Goldeneye nodded slowly, for he of course heard her.

“Welcome to my world.” he purred. “Now suffer for me.”

His beak opened, and Leshana tried to turn and run, but before she had taken a step her head and shoulders were engulfed in hot, wet darkness. Flesh gripped at her from all sides, drenched in thick, sticky liquids which in a second covered her just as completely. Leshana screamed a high, wordless cry of terror sourced down in her deepest genes: a cornered animal’s scream, sentience an unnecessary obstacle when all that mattered was survival. She tried frantically to pull back and out of the gryphon’s beak, but it simply squeezed, and suddenly the silkily smooth flesh was holding her with a grip of iron.

“Nnn!” she shrieked, thrashing claustrophobically in the utter darkness. “Nnnno! No, please!” But the gryphons tongue offered no words of mercy, only a wet, abrasive series of licks which seemed to probe every possible crevice on her muzzle, making her splutter and cough at the oppressive heat until she realised that the sharp edges were sliding slickly deeper over her arms and chest. Goldeneye’s mouth moulded in a dripping, sweltering embrace around her curvaceous form, gently but firmly lifting her feet from the ground. The sense of vertigo was horrendous, Leshana’s paws pedalling at nothing, tails lashing, entire body contorting with every choked scream.

Goldeneye smirked. In reality the kitsune’s toes were less than six inches from the ground. He lifted her a little higher, still slurping her body deeper with the power of his maw alone, and continued his slow, leisured tasting. No-one was going anywhere.

The god-gryphon flicked an iridescent eyeball to his audience. No more muted fear. Whispers of shock and disgust ran through the crowd, fear arcing across their minds like paint strokes on a canvas. He smirked, and jerked his head in a deliberately exaggerated movement, locking his beak around the kitsune’s slender belly. Leshana’s head slammed into the back of his throat, right in front of the dark, endless gullet. She screamed, the sound producing a pleasant tickling in his maw and very little else.

Her hips were now being tickled by the beak. It was really, genuinely happening. Leshana lashed her tails in great panicky arcs, wailing in discomfort as her head was forced by the rest of her body into the tight, formfitting tunnel of Goldeneye’s throat. “Please!” she screamed, and got a mouthful of saliva for her trouble. “Urgh… p-p-please! I’ll g-give you a-anything! I-I’ll… I’ll… I’ll do anyth-thing!”

Come now, little fox, came the gryphon’s voice, pressing straight into her mind like a branding iron so that Leshana’s eyes began watering and her squirms redoubled. We’ve established that I’m god, by right of power. Even with so much of your mind on fire with instinct and fear, you have enough logic to recognise that no-one needs to give anything to me. I take it. He lifted her higher, and higher, so that her body was about level in the terrible sweltering darkness, and gravity was inevitable, easing her body inch by inch into the wet suckling gullet. Goldeneye hadn’t even swallowed yet.

“But… but…” she tried to protest, and could find no more words, kicking as Goldeneye’s tongue lapped ticklishly against her navel. What more could possibly work?

Don’t worry, sweet, it’s never easy. Hope is a painful thing to lose. That’s why I’m here with you.

And he swallowed. The entire universe around Leshana came to life and motion, a great wave of crushing muscle shifting over her from chest to head and pulling it ten inches into the darkness. She gasped for breath, winded by the monstrous power, and with no more begging to do, simply screamed.

Goldeneye sat on massive haunches, ruffling his wings contentedly, and stroked the kitsune’s ankle with a talon. He preferred to do this part with eyes closed, every part of his considerable being focused on the sensations from inside, but every now and then he roamed his gaze over the silent crowds. Several had turned away, and with casual mental tugs he swivelled them straight back round. The whispering he didn’t mind, however. Panic was more infectious when it could spread orally.

And speaking of that…

He swallowed again, slower this time, his prey sinking into a delightful rippling bulge in the hollow of his throat, and shook his head, both to even out the distension and to display it to his watchers. Such a sweet taste. The gryphon flicked his tongue up and to the places between Leshana’s legs, pushing her deeper inside and purring softly at the taste, as well as the redoubled wriggling.

Such a treat. You’ll last so long in there.

The kitsune whimpered, her throat hurting by now. Her head was buzzing with thoughts too vast to take in. “In… t-there…”

She felt the tongue finally leave her, and Goldeneye gave another agonising swallow, pressing the breath from her lungs and making her see stars in the darkness as her ribcage creaked. I’d say it’s not as bad as you’d imagine… but it is. It’s worse. Keep squirming for now. Such a good little thing. Keep squirming. He lapped at her ankles, raising his head and giving another slow, rolling swallow. Her paws and tails slipped inside the beak, and with a casual snap, carrying somehow through the layers of flesh and feathers, Leshana heard the gryphon’s beak shut.

If anything, the utter darkness she was sliding into became more complete. Goldeneye raised his to the skies, his throat moving in slow, rhythmic half-swallows which eased his prey further and further to the back of his throat. In a semiconscious way, the kitsune sensed the line that would be crossed when she went from maw to gullet. She would no longer exist outside of the gryphon’s immense, terrifying body. She would turn from living creature to twitching, sinking bulge.

Goldeneye lapped hungrily at her ankles, taking all the pleasure he could before she was gone. Any more words? he purred. There are none which will do anything.

And he was right. Leshana mouthed helpless pleas in the sweltering black, a hundred phrases running through her head which each would do nothing. With her brain paralysed, her mouth came out with the protest which had run through her entire being for two months of misery and nearly half an hour now of utter horror.“This… this isn’t… r-right...”

And like that, you have nothing more to say. Just scream now, food. Goldeneye winked to the shifting, fearful subjects around him, and swallowed her whole.

He wasn’t toying any more. This was a true swallow, powerful and devastating and cruel. Leshana’s squirms were barely felt as the muscle around her twisted and rippled and pulled her all the way. The visceral machinery of the gryphon’s body engulfed her in an instant, dragging her slowly and inexorably down, down into the suffocating pitch-black hell. She choked on her screams, barely able to move beneath the sheer compression, feeling her bones grinding against each other. There was a little snap somewhere in her chest and suddenly her mouth tasted of blood as well as the beast’s saliva. The kitsune gave tiny, gurgling sobs, and still she sank, passing Goldeneye’s slow-thundering heart.

The gryphon shuddered pleasurably, his entire body wrapped around the twitching, fluttering mass in his throat. For a moment, he allowed himself to close his mind’s eyes, ignoring the shuddering horror all around him, and focused totally inwards. Leshana’s suffering, Leshana’s pain and torment, and then his own pleasure. The perfect unequal exchange.

He felt her settle deep within his ribcage, such a sweet, gluttonous weight, held her there, and then continued the rolling motion of his throat to send her to her final destination. As the kitsune twitched and shook in her despair, Goldeneye opened his eyes again, slowly licking his beak. The crowd was restless now, many members shaking and shrinking back. Hushed voices trembled with awe and fear. He smirked. Little lives finally coming to understand their position on the food chain. It was a good day.

It was hell. Leshana felt her ears, so firmly compressed and squeezed, break through into open air. She gasped in relief in the utter darkness, and then in discomfort. The air was thick, humid, and almost painfully hot, and the alchemical, acidic scent was so strong she could taste it. Her shoulders and arms were pushed free of Goldeneye’s gullet and she instinctively clawed out in front, trying to stop herself from falling straight on her face.They just managed to touched a soft, slimy wall of flesh.

It would just about be large enough for her to curl up in. She squealed in panic as she began to fall again and frantically waved her hands below. Instantly they were submerged to the elbows in a pool of thick, churning liquid. This was… no…

She screamed as Goldeneye slowly ejected her, submerging her headfirst into the brimming, growing lake of digestive fluids. The taste was hideous, and the hot acids felt hideous against her flesh. And they hadn’t even begun to burn.

Digest… no… no… no…

She sprawled in a packed, tangled mass in the gryphon’s guts, covered head to toe in acids and gods only knew what else.

Naughty. Blasphemy in the very embrace of your deity?

Leshana managed to surface, gasping for breath. She was horribly cramped, and the pocket of fresh, vile air was so small that she had to press her muzzle against the dripping ceiling to get at it. Already the heat was sapping her strength, and with it her sanity. There had to be a way out. There had to be something she could do. There had to be. Please…

No. Just suffering. The gryphon shifted his position subtly, standing more majestically, more proudly, and displaying his smooth, soft stomach to everyone. He closed his eyes, a smile of perfect bliss suffusing his features, and with a silent, muffled squelch, that belly sagged. Beneath the massive brawn of the gryphon’s body, it looked insignificant. And the fact that the fox looked so little hanging beneath her emperor’s body made it worse, so that the plump bulge was gruesomely distended, all at once.bulging and shifting as the kitsune slipped into her new home.

There was an audible murmur of horror, running around all five thousand. Goldeneye opened his eyes, spine undulating with sinuous pleasure. And Leshana finally began to scream. A faint handprint appeared on his stomach, grasping frantically, and then the weak imprint of Leshana’s face, rendered skull like with the intensity she pressed it against the hellish walls of his gut. The blind eye sockets shook. She was screaming.

The crowd snapped. Outright screaming broke the imposed silence, the mass of prisoners surging en masse away from the monstrous, gluttonous beast. It was a stampede. Those at the very back saw the Immortals level their spears, merciless and perfect, and tried to pull back, but the vast crowd behind them was thundering on in blind panic, and the screams of horror became pained as they fell and were mercilessly trampled. And then, just as the spears were about to sink into horribly yielding flesh:

STOP.

Even Leshana, gasping and whimpering deep inside his guts, froze in her wriggling. Even the Immortals, so stalwart and unyielding, staggered. Goldeneye’s mental power fell over the prisoners like a hundred tonnes of bricks, overriding their emotions, their movements, their consciousnesses themselves. In an instant the entire square was frozen.

The gryphon smirked, eyes narrowed and faintly glowing deep, deep violet as he directed the devastating power. Slowly, five thousand people turned round and filed back into place, shaking and in many cases crying.

Goldeneye sat down, rolling onto his flank and allowing his shifting, heavy stomach to spill out from between his legs. He began, birdlike, to lick his talons, idly preening himself as the squirming became tangibly more urgent.

“Don’t you remember? Until the squirms have ceased, not a single creature leaves this square. Did you think that was a command, little ones? It was a statement of fact. Keep watching. All of you.”

He paused to stroke a talon over the rippling bulge, letting loose an audible, cascading gurgle from deep within. Once more the kitsune’s handprint appeared from inside. The gryphon sighed pleasantly, and lay back, enjoying the sunshine, probing Leshana’s mind. The fun part was about to start…

***

It began as a prickling on her skin. Leshana, already oversensitized on the heat and the wetness and the dreadful air, barely noticed, continuing to try to force her way back into the gryphon’s firmly closed gullet. The muscles were nigh unshiftable. She felt a shifting, as if the monstrous predator had sat down, and in the moment of distraction realised that the sweltering climate hadn’t been hot enough to sting until a moment ago.

It had begun. Leshana gave a tiny, tiny whimper of fear, followed by a louder whimper of pain as the prickling increased, and kept going. She paused in her squirms to kneel, bent almost double, and rub at her tails. They had always been sensitive.

The sensation of flesh on flesh was so painful that she cried aloud, jerking her hand away. Worse, with it came a full handful of her fur. The kitsune screamed in horror, kicking out at the churning walls all around her and inadvertently chafing the rest of herself. It was like an instant, full body laceration. Leshana went under the gurgling sea of acids in her thrashing and came up spluttering and yelling. The pain only deepened as the minutes ticked by, and her muscles began to burn with tiredness as well as the exposed patches of raw, bloody - oh gods, her tongue and her eyes were on fire now, but she could still taste her own blood - flesh. But the agony peaked again, and again, and she couldn’t stop. She screamed, and screamed. Her muscles were red-raw.

One hour. Goldeneye’s words hummed inside the kitsune’s shattered head. Not going well so far, is it?

“P-please!” she yelled, cowering away from the cruel, cruel voice. One hour? That was all? When she had been in here for an eternity of pain and terror? Surely not… surely...

“P-please, y-you can’t… you can’t…”

She knew she was wrong. He could. That was all. And yet she also knew that her squirming was useless, but still she wriggled and writhed and kicked against the tight, crushing walls as the gryphon left her soul to watch her agony as a spectator once more.

Goldeneye cast an eye over his audience, still telepathically mesmerised by his squirming stomach. He shifted around to present it to another side of the helpless crowd, extended a wing, and began to preen the feathers. The air hummed with misery and sadistic glee.

Time passed. Years? Maybe. Leshana was not able to sweat any more. When her legs rubbed against each other it was like a fiery brand, and she felt no fur, but slick, fibrous muscle and globs of melted flesh. Her fur had liquefied, her body a bloody mass of meat. Already her circulation was tainted with acid, beginning to boil her from the inside out. It was quite remarkable really - to have every single nerve in body her screaming, all at once. Not that she could comprehend that. The pain had ceased to have words a long, long, long time ago.

The sun’s setting, little fox. Do you think you’ll last the night?

Leshana’s tongue was a slimy lump of pain in her mouth. Even her teeth were starting to slowly soften. She could not speak beyond screaming, and she would have been blinded had the gryphon’s gut not devoured all light anyway. She cringed away from Goldeneye’s touch… and then, in desperation, pushed towards it instead. The kitsune poured all her pain and suffering into the Emperor’s soul, all her despair, all her innocence. Maybe he hadn’t understood how wrong this was, how much she burned. Maybe there was still hope.

She was mad. Some part of her knew that she was mad and wrong. She broke down, weeping bloody tears as one of her tails worked its way to the bone.

And Goldeneye did not even treat the madness kindly. His stomach, so tight and massaging, jerked suddenly. Leshana shrieked incoherently, swallowing another mouthful of molten acid. Only when the spasm did she realise. He was laughing, out loud. The sound echoed in her ears before the drums started to liquefy.

Goldeneye looked up at the confusion all around him. “Oh, don’t worry.” he purred, licking his beak again. “Her hope finally died completely. There’ll be no more pleas. Honestly, it was more satisfying than funny, really. Maybe you had to be there.”

He curled up more comfortably as the sun set, ignoring the groans as people’s feet began to ache. They would watch all the way through the cold desert night: Goldeneye and his special kitsune were quite comfortably warm. She was burning so nicely, in fact.

He closed his eyes - not to sleep but to watch her better in his mind’s eyes - and licked his beak contentedly. So much pain…

The night passed. Leshana was no longer sane. Her mind dug into itself, like a never-ending scream which bit deeper with every fresh spike of agony.

She heard the snap as one, then the other of her vertebrae snapped, and her tails fell off. The loss hit her harder than the endless hellish agony. Her tails… so precious, so much a part of her. They had been her comfort blankets, her excitable pets, her fluffy sidekicks. Gone. Snatched away. She found the bony, sticky tendrils which were all that was left in the mire of acid and melted flesh and clutched them to her, spluttering digestive fluids, still kicking and squirming - no longer to get out, but simply out of reflex.

Time passed in eternity, and she could count her rib bones one by one. She was blind and deaf and still writhing and screaming, and yet she still felt pain. How was this possible?

The remains-of-a fox knelt, hunched and broken, in her predator’s belly, and retched, kicking out against the walls once more, and fell back. Her muscles were liquefying. Every movement made her dizzy with exhaustion. But the agony was still there, and so she could not stop wriggling against the crushing, massaging flesh.

Her mind broke further, and she realised she couldn’t remember who she was anymore. She was misery personified. No, that was still an identity. She was part of Goldeneye. His name she remembered. She was nothing but a layer on his stomach, waiting to be made perfect like the rest of him.

Hours passed, still. If Goldeneye had talked to her she could not remember. Her squirming was weak now, and she had to gasp for spluttery, leaking breaths with every wriggle. Still she went on, sobbing silently at the pain. And finally a coldness started to spread through her, overcoming even the agony of her monstrous master’s guts.

Despite everything, despite her madness, the fox formerly called Leshana’s mind fled from death. NO it wailed, writhing frantically as she grew still. PLEASE, NO! THIS ISN’T… THIS ISN’T.

There was a word meaning “what should happen”. But she couldn’t remember it. She couldn’t remember anything. Her soul was like her body: nothing.

Leshana’s last words were a tiny, spluttering whimper. Goldeneye didn’t even notice them until her felt her fluttering, abused heart finally grow still. Her spirit faded into absolute oblivion.

The gryphon prodded his bulging, still belly, and gave a slow, satisfied moan. It was mid-morning, two days later. Several hundred prisoners were close to collapse, kept on the feet by only the gryphon’s cruel telepathy. All were shattered and broken. No more resistance, no more fear. Only utter submission. If he had commanded then to form a line before his gullet they would do it without hesitation.

Goldeneye rose, letting his churning stomach sway beneath him, and smiled. “Let that be a warning, citizens,” he said, voice soft with weary pleasure. “You’re mine. That’s the only real law in this empire. I’ll see you next time some poor, poor fool tries to break it, eh?”

He blew a kiss, carrying with it the scent of Leshana’s last breath, and took off into the sky, releasing his mental control. To his delight, nearly two thirds of the crowd collapsed instantly, from tireness, hunger, and terror. No more rebellions at this prison. Perhaps he should do it more often?

For now, he had escapees to hunt, an official either corrupt enough to be bribed or stupid enough to be deceived to… deal with, and an empire the size of a continent to run. The Emperor’s work was never done.

But of course, his play was unending. He tasted Leshana again, giving a soft belch and coughing up her prison collar and spectacles. The glasses were cracked by the potent power of his digestive tract, and he dropped them lazily, but the collar… oh, delicious. The leather was stained and frayed, but unbroken, and the clasp was still locked shut. Mortals were such fun!


The Subjective Nature of Justice, and Also Deliciousness
By Goldeneye
A commission for Aliclan

The Empire of Seraphia had to be recognised for what it was, argued the scholar Parocles in his dissertation Deum Natuman: an entirely new system of government. To merely describe it as an tyranny, or a theocracy, was to miss out on the unique nature of the tyrant, or the religion. In the long and somewhat brutal history of the world, many similar civilisations had risen and fallen (and a lot of them quite recently to this new one), but they had been ruled over by simple men and women with mere political power - a flimsy, intangible thing. Instead, the esteemed scholar claimed, Seraphia must be recognised as a new form of dictatorship, for it was one which the head of state not only held absolute political power, but absolute power in every other regard.

He called it a deiocracy. One nation under one, extremely active, god.

There were several major differences in this god’s politics as a result of the immense power he wielded. The Emperor did not need to worry about heirs to carry on his line, as he was immortal and would not give up control of his empire until the sun fell from the sky. Intrigue at court to control the decisions of his Divinity was nigh impossible, as he saw everyone’s ulterior motives sitting in their minds plain as day. The same with spies - although at least two dozen had to vanish into the god-being’s mighty form before the other nations got the message - and with corruption. International diplomacy became rather more difficult, since the Emperor’s patience was generally fairly short, but he didn’t seem to mind the various short-lived wars which sprung up as a result, ending inevitably with an expanded empire and an expanded stomach pressing against the straps of the his magnificent battle plate.

However, in many cases things went on as they would normally. The Emperor was far too busy to concern himself with the day-to-day running of his palace, or with keeping his Empire’s ever-growing population fed, housed and safe. But he did not tolerate failure by the ranks of civil servants who took on the responsibility. In his eyes, he explained playfully, all were equal, rich or poor, male or female or more, noble or peasant: for all were but nothing next to him. Anyone who upset this order would be reminded of where they stood in very, very definite terms.

As a result of this, as Wreathed Judge Milo Grey stepped out of the litter into the hot desert sun, blinking at the sudden light, he found he was shivering slightly. His official robes, silver silk trimmed with leaves of bronze, would normally feel light enough to allow him to withstand the heat, but today the flowing material seemed to hang on him like iron chains. He managed to keep his dignity, at least, standing calm and sombre but for a nervous twitch of the tail. Milo was a feline, a housecat with fur the deep navy of the night sky and bright, round eyes of an even bluer hue. He was twenty seven years of age, and looked even younger, a slight, youthful figure leading to many officials to mistake him for an usher or underling. He’d grown used to it by now, even laughed at it.

Right now he didn’t feel very much like laughing, so instead he swallowed and began walking up the steps. The Imperial Palace loomed above, an edifice which reflected its master in every way. It was quite possibly the largest building on the planet, a sprawling, spiralling array of towers, bridges and cathedral-like halls which somehow retained a kind of elegant symmetry. It wasn’t totally clear how it had been built. The days of Goldeneye’s ascension to his eternal throne hadn’t been that long ago but already they were half-shrouded by myths. Not surprising considering their subject matter.

Up the wide, wide steps for a half a hundred feet, feeling the silent gazes of the Immortals, strange, merciless figures in all-enclosing bronze armour, flanking each end of each step as they watched him. Towards the threshold of the great open bronze doors, depicting in relief two vast Emperors standing tall on hind legs, claws spread regally, and here he was. The open archway led straight to the Imperial Palace’s entrance Atrium. It was the largest room he had ever stood in in his life, an expanse of pale smooth stone polished to perfect smoothness and spreading out for a hundred feet in every direction. And this was merely the entrance hall.

He stood in the doorway, shivering a little, and checked the summons for the dozenth time. Yes, it definitely required him to go in via the front door. The analytical part of his mind noted that this was part of a simple intimidation tactic: to overwhelm him with a sense of the Emperor’s great power and wealth. The rest of his mind conceded, apprehensively, that it was working very, very well.

But he was an Wreathed Judge, chosen to represent his Divinity’s unyielding will. He had followed his duties and given fairness and justice to all. He had never so much as dreamed of taking bribes or performing favouring anyone, regardless of status or power. He had no reason whatsoever to be afraid, surely.

And yet he was. Milo had never met the Emperor, but it was clear from what was known of him that he did not tolerate any failings to live up to standard.

He swallowed, composed himself, and entered.

Milo’s placement had been in the courthouse towards the east, in the merchant’s quarter. He’d trained in the Imperial University, and received his wreath from the hands of an Immortal, rather than the Emperor himself. He’d never actually seen inside the palace yet, and so this was… quite an experience. A hall cut from glass-smooth sandy stone, flooded with sunlight from golden windows three hundred paces high. Balconies lined the walls, and pillars of bronze as thick as three men were tall supported the arching, cathedral-like roof. And this was just the entrance hall.

The cat’s big blue eyes followed the pillar to the ceiling, goggling at their sheer scale. Far above, a mural depicted a boiling mass of fire streaking down towards the viewer, with the faintest indications of leonine shape amidst the flames. The weight of the Emperor’s power hung over their heads.

Milo gazed up at it for almost a minute before he realised he was being spoken to. He jumped slightly at the quiet cough, tearing his eyes away to see a duo of palace attendants standing at his side: a slender female lizard of some species he didn’t recognise and an dark-feathered, male osprey. Both wore little but simple silk loincloths and leather collars, marking them out as property of the Emperor which was currently being used by him personally, rather than simply property, like Milo and every other inhabitant of Seraphia, which had been trusted to take care of itself for his pleasure. Fairly little was left to the imagination, and Milo restrained his flush as he spoke to them again. “I… I’m sorry?”

“You’re Wreathed Judge Milo Grau, yes?” the osprey repeated, smiling a little at the sides of his beak. “We’re to bring you to the Emperor’s personal receiving chambe-”

He froze, and his smile vanished instantly. The lizard beside him swallowed and straightened noticeably, obviously aware of the meaning of this even if Milo was not. The pause lasted only a second, and then whatever it was had gone. The bird shook his feathers a little and smiled again, his sharp yellow eyes betraying a trace of fear. “Sorry, sir. Right this way.”

They turned and set off, walking towards one of the smaller doors at the side, and Milo followed, determinedly keeping his head held high. Internally, meanwhile, he tried to calm the fear churning inside. Personal receiving chambers? Personal? The summons hadn’t mentioned him actually meeting with the Emperor himself!

It must just be a term, surely. He’d be meeting with a secretary or similar. Nothing would warrant actually meeting the Emperor. Even if he had been accused of murdering half the jury or something, he’d be dealt with by administration, not the head of state.

He dismissed the thoughts, or tried to, as the two slaves ahead led him down some stairs, along a series of seemingly endless corridors, and to a large set of bronze doors guarded, as ever, by two silent Immortals. They waited for a few minutes, during which Milo tried to smooth the fur on his ears and clean his whiskers - embarrassingly animalistic behaviour, but he wanted to look as neat as he possibly could - and then the osprey gave another slight intake of breath, and nodded. He could go in now.

The doors creaked open and Milo took a breath and slipped in, to face destiny. Stairs upwards, into somewhere filled with light. He squinted and stumbled up the steps, cat eyes unused to such sudden, blinding brightness. And then...

And then…

A chuckle ran around the gallery as the feline’s mouth fell slightly open, his mask of judicial calm lost in the bewildering, terrifying realisation of where he really was. A hall so vast it made the entrance look like a broom closet, lined not with pillars but with shining silver and bronze statues of the Emperor himself, almost a thousand feet tall and standing rampant to bear the weight of the ceiling far, far above. He stood in the centre of an avenue fifty paces across, paved with what appeared to be genuine gold. On either side, between the vast feline hindpaws of the mighty statues, an array of marble seats lined the sides. Barely one in ten was filled, and yet there were still more than a hundred pairs of eyes watching him. He recognised high ranking officials, foreign diplomats, a good few creatures which he didn’t even recognise the species of. The Emperor’s Royal Court, eyes all fixed unmercifully upon him.

The other inhabitant of the room waited, quite patiently, for Milo to turn to see him. He sat sprawled comfortably upon the specially adapted throne, which was more a raised dais with armrests of beaten gold. Compared to the sheer size of this room and everything in it, any ruler should have seemed dwarfed by his decorations, compensating for their own weakness with the oversized depictions.

But not this one. Emperor Goldeneye, the Silver Summer, the First and Eternal, somehow carried a sheer presence which outshone any statue. It was as if you were seeing a star in the night sky, and though it seemed of comprehendible size and magnitude the truth was you simply weren’t looking at it properly, for in reality it was vast beyond words. The gryphon lounged elegantly on his great flank, watching his new arrival unblinkingly. Even several hundred feet away, Milo could already tell that the god-gryphon would have stood nearly three times his height, and far, far longer and wider. Sleek, leonine hindquarters merged with a chest bound with flying muscles to power the cloak of silver feathered wings folded snugly against his side, and then avian forelegs leading to grey-scaled claws, cruelly taloned and strong enough to tear stone. His eyes, one purple and one gold as the sun, narrowed just a little in amusement, and he called out to the stunned feline in a voice which carried easily across the hall.

“Milo Grey. Wreathed Judge, ordained to act with the authority of your owner and Emperor… welcome to my court. I’ve rather been looking forward to meeting you.”

Behind Milo, the hidden door, allowing him to walk straight into the middle of the throne room without even realising slid slowly closed again. The click echoed in the silence which had fallen.

Emperor Goldeneye watched for a few more seconds with a slow, spreading smile before he spoke again. “You may approach. Unless you need some help walking?”

Not a single feather moved, but suddenly Milo’s legs were no longer Milo’s. He started, giving a small mew as, without his own thoughts, his body took one step forward, then another, drawing him closer to the Emperor’s divine presence. Telepathic control. The final and surest proof, Goldeneye had proclaimed at his coronation many years ago, of his unquestionable ownership of all things. His raw strength alone was enough to force others to do his will or face certain, painful death, but with this power the choice was removed completely. All were made his. The experience was nothing short of terrifying, and when, an instant later, he was released again, Milo nearly fell over, his dignified mask cracking sharply. The Emperor smirked.

But he had done nothing wrong and he would not be intimidated. Milo swallowed, and straightened his back. “N-no, your majesty. I’m fine.” Carefully, he began to walk down the long avenue, aware at every step of the many eyes on him - although he didn’t dare break the gaze of the two which lay straight ahead.

The journey seemed to take a long time, and the Emperor didn’t seem to blink much. He simply watched, smiling slightly, as Milo drew to the edge of the raised golden dais and bowed to his knees. There was a moment of tense silence. Milo broke it, and immediately regretted it.

“Your… your majesty?”

The Emperor looked at him, and this time far more intensely. His gaze had an almost physical weight to it, far stronger than the many other eyes of the court. He smiled. “Ah, yes. The matter at hand. Tell me, Wreathed Judge Milo Grey, do you remember the case you presided over at eleven of the clock in the morning, upon the third day of the month of Feathersong?”

Milo did, and judging from the sudden, slithering sensation in his skull, the Emperor knew that he did. “... of course, your… your majesty…” he said, slowly. “Defendant was one Leshana Kitsune, a foreign citizen accused of breaking the terms of her trader’s license by-”

“That’s enough.” Goldeneye silenced him again. “Unusual surname. I must visit her kind sometime… anyway. Did you notice anything unusual about the case, little Milo?” His voice had become quieter, with a certain silky edge which was extremely unnerving.

“Unusual? I… um…” Desperately he wracked his brains. “She… she claimed innocence, but that’s, that’s nothing new. We investigated her claim of being set up by a rival merchant, and found no evidence of any wrongdoing on his part. All that was left was the sentencing. As per your laws, your majesty… five years hard labour. Alsar Prison, I believe.”

The Emperor nodded. “I see. All according to the rule of law, as set out by me, was it?”

“Y… yes, your majesty.” Milo swallowed, resisting the urge to flatten his large ears against his skull.

“With the authority vested upon you to act in my name.”

“Yes.”

The gryphon blinked once, with reptilian slowness. And then suddenly his great beak spread into a wide, benevolent smile.

“Well then, there’s nothing more to do here, is there? I had reason to believe that Miss Leshana was unfairly imprisoned, and wanted to make sure that there was no corruption amongst the ranks of my subordinates. But you’re clearly an honest servant of the Empire. Thank you kindly for your time, Judge Grey. You can go now.”

There was a moment of silence, and then the ranks of courtiers exploded into hushed whispers and murmurs, evidently as surprised as Milo was. He stood, barely, his legs feeling like wet sand beneath him as he stammered out words. “You… what.... you… really?”

“Of course!” The gryphon’s voice was as silky and comforting as the finest feather bed. “I can’t ask any more than what you gave me, can I? To expect my judges to be able to see the truth as I do would be simply ridiculous. Run along, good servant. I’ll compensate you for your time.”

“I… I… see? Th-thank you.” He managed to take one step, then another, back towards the doors and freedom and safety to live his life. “Thank you so much y-your majesty. Thank you. Thank you.” Milo’s eyes were glazed, and he blinked back the tears of relief as he stumbled away, bowing three times over in his haste. Suddenly his robes felt as light and free as air. He remembered reading testimony from prisoners unexpectedly pardoned, and how much brighter the world had seemed, intoxicated by the joy of relief.

And then from behind him came another word.

“Hold on.”

Milo froze. The murmuring from the galleries silenced. For a moment, he thought that he was just surprised, but no, he couldn’t move at all. Goldeneye’s malign influence controlled his very limbs. From behind him, he felt the floor quiver as the emperor stepped down off his throne and began to pad towards him.

“Silly me. So sorry, Milo, but I just remembered something important. Yes, you had nothing but the best of intentions when you sentenced little Leshana. Yes, the fact that she was innocent is something that it’d be ridiculous to expect you to know. Yes, you are blameless.”

Milo felt hot breath on the back of his neck. His muscles trembled against the Emperor’s iron mental hold. Goldeneye’s voice came from just behind him.

“But I. Don’t. Care.”

With a shock of casual power, he was released, falling to his knees. The murmuring ranks were silent, and Milo tried to scramble up as Goldeneye slowly circled him. The cat’s trembling limbs caught in his robes, and he staggered and fell again. His hands flailed, and suddenly, with a brush of air and speed, Goldeneye’s beak was there to grab onto. The great shimmering eyes locked with Milo’s. Up close, it felt like the gryphon-creature was looking at him through more dimensions than he should have been able to.

The trembles slowly died, Milo’s fear overwhelmed by a new kind of paralytic, choking terror which left him limp, dependent on the beak for support. He could barely breathe, could not comprehend anything but the Emperor’s bejeweled, alien eyes.

Goldeneye chuckled softly, not blinking. His breath seeped through the cat’s robes and left his fur ruffled and hot. “I have to say, little kitten, you look far better like this. Weak and quivery. Just because I’ve given you authority doesn’t mean I wanted you to have dignity.”

“I… w… what do y-you want?” Milo could not tear himself away. “I… If she was innocent, can’t you just pardon her? Your… your majesty?”

The gryphon rolled his eyes. “Of course I could. I did, in fact, as soon as I found it.”

“You d-did? Then I don’t understand the-”

“And then,” Goldeneye continued, “later that same day in fact, I ate her alive.”

Milo opened his mouth, and couldn’t really seem to find any words to put in it. He gave a small noise which made the Emperor’s eyes glitter with amusement.

“It wasn’t even planned. Her name just came up at a public event, and… well, she squirmed for days, but even that wasn’t as delicious as the cruel irony of it. The real world has a wonderful habit of accommodating me, really. I’ve actually theorised that my sheer weight of power actually distorts the fabric of reality around my whims, making things simply go my way even when outside of my considerable control… but that’s not related. The point is, this isn’t about making sure everyone gets fair treatment. It’s about me and all of you subjects of mine. It’s about my possessions.”

“I… I don’t…” Milo’s voice finally returned a bit more solidly, albeit still in a weak, bewildered croak. “I don’t understand what you want me for. Please, If, if I… I was wrong… it wasn’t intentional! I can’t see minds, I can’t command the resources of, of an empire! Your laws, your laws say that I can’t be punished for acting as best I could! Surely I… I can have a-at least a second, a second chance...”

Goldeneye flicked his ears lazily, watching him. The cat felt a bit more of his natural acumen returning to him, and he spoke a little stronger.

“I… I mean… legally, in this case we ought to get the defendant released for her innocence. But… that’s not really possible. You, you knew she was innocent when you… when you… er…”

The gryphon raised an eyeridge.

“Anyway,” Milo said, “you’re not interested in her wellbeing, it… it appears. So I just… I don’t understand why you’re so… so angry with me. Your majesty. I swear, I, I did nothing wrong by your laws and methods. I… I was wrong, but… that’s not a crime, is it? Is it? Maybe… maybe you’re above the law - I mean, maybe you have… unique status… but… you can’t claim I deserve to be punished for this! S-surely! Or at least, that I shouldn’t be instantly… that I should have a s-second chance for it!”

Goldeneye watched. Then he laughed again, soft and hot and washing over Milo with each deep, rumbling chuckle. Like waves against a sandy beach the feline’s composure and confidence was simply washed away by the second.

The gryphon lifted his head up and away, sending Milo toppling to the ground. “This is,” he said loudly, “actually quite a common delusion for those in Milo’s position, everyone.”

Who… who is he talking to? Weakly, through the dread, Milo remembered the courtiers watching from the galleries. He parted his lips, trying to speak, but all that came out was a kittenish mew of fear.

“I find it’s especially popular amongst those high enough to have some authority, but low enough that they don’t interact with me at all. They start to misunderstand the purpose of the law which they uphold in my name. Thinking it’s in the name of justice and fairness. In the name of good. That I am somehow… “benevolent” in my tyranny.”

Distantly, Milo heard the sound of a few voices in mocking laughter.

“Perhaps we should educate him. Milo Gray, I ask that you keep my laws so that you might keep my empire in order, so that my subjects - my possessions - are kept in the best possible state. I do not allow slavery because only I have the right to own anyone - or rather, everyone. I despise corruption because only I have the right to control and destroy the lives of anyone for my own gain. And because my laws are only there to keep you all ripe and tender for me, I don’t care about following them myself in the slightest. I’m not simply above the law, Milo. I am the only reason that the law exists.”

Milo tried to mumble something, but his words were not even ignored, simply not recognised as existing.

“Is this unfair? Is it unreasonable? Is it against my own laws? Oh, yes. It is. But I liked Leshana, both before and after she slid down my gullet so delightfully. And I would have wanted to meet her when her life wasn’t already so full of suffering inflicted by someone else. My prey is mine, and hurting them is mine.” He spoke the word with a burning, religious fervour. “All of it mine.”

“This… this isn’t right, though. P-please, your majesty, I’m sorry, I… I can’t… I just wanted to… to help the people of this world… please...”

“The people of this world do not deserve help. They deserve only to make as good a meal for me as they can. That’s what you are, little kitten. Helping to season them.” Goldeneye leant down, hooking a talon under the hem of the judge’s silk robe. “But equally, you are part of the menu.”

He ripped the robe open, tearing it straight through with barely a shred of resistance. Milo whimpered, trying to defend his soft slender body from the terrible knife-edge, but it had no interest in his flesh, just his garments. His smallclothes were in rags as well, his body naked and revealed, like a fruit freshly peeled of its rind. The gryphon towered over him, his presence like physical pressure on the little, shaking cat’s soul. Milo was trying so, so hard not to think of the very obvious.

“You’re… you’re nnn… n-not going to…”

“Not saying it?” The gryphon laughed softly. “I will then. I’m going to devour you. Swallow you whole. Every inch. By now, it seems like most of the planet knows about Seraphia and its predatory Emperor… but not a single morsel seems prepared for the actual sensations of it. You’ve probably sentenced a fair few to the death penalty in your time - or “lunch”, as I call it - so I’ll be delighted to be able to give you a first hand experience.”

Every word struck him down to the bone. Milo gave the weakest, feeblest moan he had ever heard, a sound which could barely come from a living thing. He tried to rise, tried to avert his eyes from Goldeneye’s merciless stare, but his body would not respond. The gryphon drew closer, his nares flaring as he drew a deep breath and took in gallons of the feline’s scent. His eyes seemed to physically glimmer with hunger. Milo couldn’t bear to watch. He managed to wrench his eyes shut. Goldeneye said something, but he was beyond hearing.

...but rather than sudden wet, all-enclosing darkness, he felt the thick bony surface of the gryphon’s beak nudging him towards getting up. His eyes fluttered open, locking again with the Emperor’s as if drawn by some mad magnet. Goldeneye smiled lazily.

“Well? You’re dismissed, I said.”

“W...what?”

“Little kitten, I had to rearrange a diplomatic ceremony, three signings of legislation, and a meeting with my architects just to have this five minute meeting with you at such short notice. Do you think I have time to eat you properly right now?” Goldeneye chuckled, nosing his prey back fully onto their feet. “Fair enough, I could do it now. It’d take less than a second. But where’s the fun in wasting all your taste like that? No. Milo, I want you to go to my quarters and wait there until I finally finish all this damn Empire-running business and get the chance to properly enjoy my lunch.”

Milo blinked. “You… you’re going to… what?”

“Come on.” Goldeneye clicked his talons, the sound clacking oddly, and out of nowhere the two slaves of before seemed to have drawn up behind him. The osprey and the lizard. He jumped, and backed away - straight into Goldeneye’s soft expanse of chestfeathers. The gryphon giggled.

“Don’t worry about it. Give him a loincloth… but nothing else. He looks so delectable like that. Milo, I’ll be along soon enough. And relax, sweetling... it’s not like you have somewhere to get to.”

He thrust Milo forwards and began to walk back to his throne, giving the trembling cat a last teasing caress with the fluffy tip of his tail.

“You have the rest of your life, after all.”

***

For all his flamboyancy and casual disregard of all laws of decency, morality, and on many occasions physics, the Emperor was actually a fairly private person. He did not generally hold the traditional feasts and banquets of the Royal Seraphian tradition, although that was probably because no-one was very keen to attend a meal with him. He would often vanish completely for days on end, and in some cases entire weeks or months, only returning every few days from out of thin air - literally - for a few minutes to settle vital matters of state and remind his empire of his rule by devouring the nearest unlucky individual. So to see exactly what lay inside his personal chambers was probably supposed to be a rare and glorious privilege.

Milo did not feel this way. He had not spoken much to the two slaves as they escorted him to the Emperor’s quarters. The lizard girl had placed a hand on his shoulder in what he thought was a silent, helpless gesture of solidarity, and mercifully, one of them had given him a loincloth. It was as far from clothing as clothing could be, but at least he wasn’t totally naked.

He tried to appreciate the kindness of strangers, but found he couldn’t think of much at all beyond what was happening right now. It was ridiculous. It was wrong. It was completely insane.

Well, the Emperor had never claimed to be otherwise.

That was the problem. That was where everything Milo stood for, everything he had spent his life learning to argue for, everything he was, simply fell down like a house built on sand. Goldeneye just didn’t care. He was not right, he was not fair, he was not good. But he was the god-gryphon Emperor of an empire expanding over its second continent, and that meant he had decided… this.

Milo sat down against the wall, hugging his knees miserably. He sat opposite a strange tapestry, displaying a stylised rendition of a dozen figures he knew nothing of. A creature like the Emperor himself, but in black, a white wolf, or maybe fox, a bird and a mouse, another bird entwined with some kind of snake in deep ocean blue, a silver wolf and rat, one character - or was it two? the boundaries seemed too blurred - in black and white. They seemed locked in some weird dance which might have been fighting or amorous affection. It seemed a lot like the Emperor himself, in fact - inscrutable, unexplainable and completely distant to his suffering.

A few minutes ticked by.

This was insane.

Now he was repeating things he already knew.

Milo stood up, beginning to pace the room. Come on then, he pounded into his brain. You can come up with an argument for anything, can’t you! You’re a damn Wreathed Judge! Think! THINK! There has to be something to say. There has to be.. some thing! Logically in an infinite universe, there must exist some combination of words and action to reach the truth in the situation. To let you go free, or just get a second chance, even. There has to be.

But, he argued, first of all this isn’t a decision in your hands. You’re not the judge here. Nor the jury. Nor the execu… well, anyway. And secondly… every judicial decision you’ve made you’ve based upon the law of the land. Law which applies to you, to the accused, to the witnesses, to the prisons, to the entire Empire. To everyone.

Save one.

I’m not simply above the law, Milo. I am the only reason that the law exists.

That was it, then? More than a decade of study, work and passionate perseverance - almost half his life - was simply to do… that? Not to give fairness to the world, not to protect the innocent and punish the guilty, no, his life had simply been a case of keeping the Emperor’s “possessions” in line so he could enjoy them at his leisure?

He came to another room, staring at what appeared to be a bed, strewn with thick pillows and blankets - but the ocean of feathers was about the size of a small garden. No. That couldn’t be right. Having power did not make Goldeneye right. Justice was an idea, and nothing, not godly strength or tyrannical rule or telepathic ability, could destroy an idea.

That made him feel a little better, but then he realised that he was still going to be swallowed alive, and he felt even worse. Should he be crying, maybe? He didn’t feel like crying. He felt far, far too scared for crying. Crying was useless, his body was reasoning. What he needed was a way out of this horrific, fatal situation. It was up to Milo’s mind to provide the solution. And oh gods oh gods he couldn’t think of anything.

He’d come to a balcony window, the blast of sunlight on the creamy stone stinging his eyes. On the left lay the palace gardens, walled off to the general public, a lush oasis of exotic green in the hot desert sun. On the right lay what looked like to be a delivery area for carts and merchant caravans, and then an open gate out to the city. He could see the shining forms of two Immortals flanking the space, resolute and unmoving.

You could leap onto that wall.

The drop was barely twenty feet. Milo was young, and as agile as any cat, and the Immortals might be guarding the gates, but they weren’t likely to look at the tops of the walls. If he just balanced there when he landed, then crawled along to a safe place to get down, he’d be in the city. Away. Safe.

Safe from the mind of a telepath? He stared at it, at the freedom so close, and so distant. Come on. How far would he have to run to stop the Emperor from finding him without lifting a claw?

Oh, and what would Goldeneye do do if he did find him? Eat him? What a horrific fate! Much better to stay here and just suffer the current ordeal, which was… oh yes, being eaten. What had he got to lose by trying something, anything, that had even the slightest chance of success? How could this get worse?

Another part of Milo said something quietly, so quietly that he barely heard it, and had to focus consciously on the unease before he heard it properly. It said it again.

He could make it worse.

The feline leaned against the wall of the balcony, his limbs beginning to shake uncontrollably as the truth of that sentence began, wave-like, to break over him. Of course he could. He could take longer to die. He could hurt more. He could come back just to die again. He could simply never expire at all, living out an endless existence in the deepest, hottest, darkest corner of the gryphon’s rapacious digestive tract. Or other things, things outside of sane comprehension. The Emperor’s true nature had a thousand theories and a million rumours, and his only certainty was that he was powerful enough to subjugate and control any living creature on this world he had claimed, beyond all hope of resistance. Who know what he would do?

But it was right there in front of him. And as it was, all his life held right now was the certainty of pain and death. How much he received might vary, but the end would be the same. Whereas with flight, there was a chance of life. Maybe small. Maybe not at all. But maybe, something up there might be kind to him. This was the chance.

Oh, gods and demons.

He stared at the top of the wall below, frozen in an agony of indecision, as the distant Imperial Bell struck, sonorous and echoing, to mark the hour. It struck again an hour later and he was still there, lims locked against the wall, mind locked in an endless cycle of fear and helplessness. The sun grew higher in the sky, and Milo’s fur soaked it up as he breathed, almost meditatively and argued against himself.

Another hour passed, Milo stayed where he was. He was a judge, after all. He was used to careful deliberation. But usually he had no emotional investment beyond wanting to do the right thing. This time, the punishment would be horrific. It was the greatest challenge of his career.

Another distant series of bells, and then another. He realised at last that his throat was almost cracked with the dry fear boiling inside him, and tore his mind away from the agony of choice to see if he could find a jug of water or some other drink inside. Milo took a few steadying breaths, settling his thoughts - if only temporarily - and turned to go back inside.

The Emperor was sprawled lazily in the doorway, watching him with intense interest.

“Oh, come on, don’t go without making a decision.”

Milo’s muscles might as well have been wound steel wire for all he was able to move. He gave a feeble noise which he could barely hear.

Goldeneye sighed softly. “I was enjoying that. Was rather hoping you’d try it, in fact. Why else do you think I have this balcony?”

Milo tried to say something, but his throat was so dry that he couldn’t even rasp a word if he’d been able to think of any. It was as if every second he had spent along with his thoughts had let the fear feed on them, and suddenly he was more scared than he had ever imagined existing. The enormity of the terror itself frightened and shocked him.

Because he knew what was going to happen.

The gryphon breathed in, very slowly, watching him without blinking. A smile lingered around the edges of his beak, and it was clear that he could practically taste the emotions. They stayed like that for a minute, maybe more, utterly frozen. The sounds of the city hummed in the distance.

Milo managed to break it first, but only with the most massive effort he could imagine. “Please…”

Those mismatched eyes sparkled again, and Goldeneye stood up, padding a few steps forward and sitting down again, next to the feline, back against the balcony wall. Milo, stood fully, barely came up to the lower edge of his beak. He tried again, not daring to step away but cowering from that monstrous, hot, feather presence. “Please… I… I’ll do whatever you wish me to to make it right. I was wrong. I’m sorry. I’ll… I swear, name it and I’ll do it. Just give me… give me a second chance... please. Please. I… I don’t...”

He trailed off. Goldeneye was ignoring him, looking instead out over the spreading skyline. “You know,” he said softly. “I never really planned on becoming serious about this “empire” business.”

Milo closed his mouth, his train of thought so loaded with adrenaline that the comment derailed him completely. “Um,” he said, rather weakly. The Emperor chuckled.

“Your world was the first, see. I came out of the space between worlds in a blaze of molten fiery energy, and I could barely figure out how to actually have a body. I was weak, I was confused and honestly, I was about as intelligent as a large insect. But your minds are just naturally intelligent. They fit properly, and you don’t even have to try. I took the first little creature to come across me and I nearly bled him dry using him to make my mind work. I learned there were more of you, and all I could think of was being alive. So I came to Alphasiron and I felt so, so many minds, and I started to become me. And that meant I started to become hungry.”

He clasped a claw around the little feline, hugging him into the forest of silky heat on his chest. Milo struggled fitfully, trying to get his head out to breath, but it was as if he was barely there.

“I want to experience you. Every part of every one of you to ever exist anywhere. I want to make you mine so much, in every way I can. So I decided right then that I was going to wipe the world out. Every one of you, taken, crushed, eaten, whatever it took to feel your souls properly, in an orgy of greed and spiritual gluttony. Made mine.”

Milo had stopped squirming. He felt the Emperor breathing, huge and slow, against him.

“So to start with that, of course, I devoured the city’s pitiful ruling class and parliament and declared myself emperor. That’s a story for another time, time which you little Milo do not have, but anyway I never intended to let a single sapient being on this planet live out more than a year after I took it for my own. But then… you called me Emperor, god-gryphon, Lord and Master. And I developed a new personality trait, a delightful little thing called ego. And oh, it was so much fun. To just see you fall over yourselves to beg and kiss my toes, just to be allowed to serve me so that you wouldn’t squirm for me instead. But it was more than that. I knew most of you didn’t believe it, but oh, when it comes down to it, you’d do anything to survive, huh? You’d give me your life so that I wouldn’t take it away. And that, I realised, is power. True power. I know you think I’m a monster, Milo. Not an Emperor, not a God-king. Just an vile beast who happens to be the most powerful abomination in this universe and most others. And I agree. So I make you tell me I’m your deity, your perfect ruler, because I know you’re lying, and you’re lying because I own you not out of some intangible “divine right” or “true royal nature” or some other mortal stupidity. I own you because I have power over you, power I can use without even trying. Power is the truth of the universe, Milo. Not gods, not emperors, not right and justice and truth. Just power. And I have it. And I have you.”

He finally realised his unwilling listener, and Milo staggered back, almost falling over the edge of the wall. Goldeneye’s long tail was there to catch him, nudging him back to balance. The Emperor giggled, standing up again. “So the point is, little cat… no, this isn’t right. You weren’t wrong. This goes against all laws of decency and fairness. And I’m not claiming otherwise. I’m just claiming you.” He caressed a long, cruel talon along the curve of the feline’s blue belly. “You can stop acting like you want to serve me out of awe or respect. You want to serve me because if you don’t give me everything in the world to sate my hunger to dominate you, I’ll swallow you alive and take my pleasure. You want to serve me, Milo, because I am power, and either I take you or you give you to me. You see?”

“I… I… I see.” And he did. He leant against the wall, and finally the fear coiled and cooled into something else. “You are… y-you are a monster.”

The gryphon’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, yes.”

“I… I hate you.”

Goldeneye took a step forward, his head leaning down, his body shifting into a slinking, leonine stance. “Oh... you do, don’t you?”

“And I-I won’t… I won’t beg for you. You’re wrong. There’s… there’s more than power. I served something… something else, called fairness. Justice. And… and you think you can destroy all these lives and… and just ignore it?”

The gryphon listened with a smile. “Yes. Because I can.”

“No. There’s…” he found himself backing away despite his anger, “there’s more. There’s more to life than the mercy of stronger creatures.”

“That’s true. I haven’t got any.”

“You… you think you have power, so that makes everything else meaningless, but… that’s just because it works out for you.”

Goldeneye shrugged, his shoulders rippling. He had backed the feline up against the balcony wall again. “No, silly. You just think otherwise because that works out for you. And you know what else?”

Milo gave a weak, kittenish snarl of defiance, leaning out over the balcony as the gryphon’s beak drew nearer. Goldeneye’s tongue slipped around the edges of his beak, wet and pink and soft.

“You were wrong about something else. You are going to beg. Because I want it. And I am all that matters.”

He looked at Milo, and blinked once.

And the anger vanished, replaced a hundred, thousand, million times over, with terror so vast that it clouded Milo’s vision, it filled his ears, it took hold of his very muscles. He gave a yell of primal, blinded fear which crashed and burned straight into a wracking, weeping sob, and tried to scramble away from the monster at any and all costs. Oh gods. Oh gods. No. No. No. No.

He was right up against the balcony wall, and he wasn’t even aware of the shift in gravity as his flailings toppled him over it, the warm smooth stone suddenly replaced with air and weightlessness. Milo gasped and choked in horror as he felt himself beginning to fall.

And as his vision cleared in the shock and he looked downwards, he saw Goldeneye, fast as an arrow, sat on the wall twenty feet below, his eyes laughing, his beak wide, wide open. The cat squealed with horror, twisting in the air as he fell, snatching desperately for the lip of the balcony above him, a grip which he never found. He landed, on his feet, cat-like, in just the sweet spot of Goldeneye’s open beak.

The gryphon’s maw split before the weight like a parting sea of pink, hungry flesh. In an instant, so fast he couldn’t even register the slippery transition, Milo was buried up to his knees in hot, clenching gullet. If he hadn’t been bending his legs as he entered, he might have slid in all the way, giving the monstrous “Emperor” a meal without having to even swallow.

Milo gave a whimper of overwhelmed dread, wobbling a little. The way the gryphon’s beak was pointed at the sky, he was effectively standing with his feet very, very tightly squeezed together, and balance was painfully difficult. He windmilled his arms desperately, toes squirming in the hot, tight embrace in a frantic attempt to stay upright, and Goldeneye’s throat rippled in laughter. It came out as a wet, bubbling gurgle. He flexed his neck, just a few inches, and was rewarded with renewed waving and twitching as the feline whined with terror. A long, thick tongue entwined with Milo’s legs, somehow squeezing its mass between his clamped-together thighs to properly embrace the flavour. The cat felt it lapping over his fur, drenching it completely in saliva. Tasting him.

He looked down and saw Goldeneye’s eyes, golden and purple alike, narrowed in pleasure and almost rolled up into his skull as he focused on the flavours slurped from his prey’s blue fur. In the haze of horror and misery, a spark of his anger rekindled at that. The gryphon wasn’t just murdering him, he was enjoying it enormously.

“Go… to… the h-hells…” he stuttered, trying to pull a leg free of the squeezing, pulsing, greedy flesh. Goldeneye’s eyes refocused, and he raised an eyebrow at his prey.

Didn’t you know, little kitten? I’m the First and Eternal. The gryphon’s voice coiled inside his skull, soft and teasing. It hadn’t even touched his ears. Goldeneye had his mouth full, so he simply spoke telepathically. Milo whined, shaking all over at the terrible alien consciousness hovering loathsomely close to his own. He could sense the enormity and the shattered wrongness of it. Goldeneye was worse than a monster. He was an abomination against the very idea of a living thing, and it hurt to sense him.

Death isn’t coming for me, and hell will wait. I’m going nowhere, save maybe to find a new slave to massage the softening bulge in my belly once this is done. And with that, he swallowed. The flesh around Milo’s legs was suddenly solid and muscular, swelling open and rippling up his body in an explosive spasm of pure predatory greed. It was a strange massage, over in a moment but still loud and wet and crushing any twitching resistance by Milo’s own weak mortal muscles to absolute nothingness. His legs were claimed, held in hot, heavy, all-encompassing flesh. His tail lashed against the roof of the gryphon’s maw, and Goldeneye began to purr through his nares, an odd sound coming from an avian creature.

The anger struggled feebly, but as little ripples and slurps inched the encompassing flesh up over Milo’s hips, it was fear and anguish which flooded over it. Milo’s snarls of rage and struggle faded to whimpers, to moans, to slow, rising sobs. He clutched at the edges of the gryphon’s open beak, trying to push himself out, but his limbs were shaking too much and besides that throat was stronger than his entire body. Goldeneye smirked, and lowered his head so that the feline would be nearly falling out of his beak without the devastating grip of his muscles. He stood perfectly balanced on the wall, paws - big and heavy enough to spread over both sides - lined up neatly while the gryphon worked his meal slowly down his gullet. All this appeared to Milo, upside down, as he twisted and squirmed helplessly in the sinking flesh, staring for a moment under the Emperor’s soft-feathered chest. He whimpered, catching sight of a soft, slightly heavy underbelly hanging silently between Goldeneye’s hind legs. That was where he was going. It almost seemed to call out to him with its ravenous, rapacious hunger.

Milo squealed with horror, pulling himself back up and bucking desperately against Goldeneye’s slurping tongue. His tail flicked wildly, bending painfully at the base as the wet flesh slowly claimed his hips and read. And in a small part of his head not consumed with terror, he realised that the gryphon was right.

“Please…”

Facing towards the ground, Milo couldn’t see the Emperor’s eyes from his increasingly confined position. And yet he felt certain that they were laughing at him. Every part of the cool, collected machine of logic and reason he had trained his mind into told him that there was nothing to do. There was not a set of words or actions in all the cosmos which could hope to save him from the gluttonous suckling of that fleshy throat. And yet he begged.

“Please, I… I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I swear I’ll… I’ll do anything for you, just… oh, g-g-gods, no, please, just stop, stop you c-can’t… you can’t do this…”

Nothing if not consistent, aren’t you? Goldeneye purred, his physical voice coming as simply a obscene, growling moan of pleasure at his prey’s wriggles and squirms. But I’m watching your mind, Milo. It’s delicious. And it knows that it’s wrong. I can do this. Nothing will stop me, because I have that power. But still you cling to it, because you want to be something else in life, other than a sinking bulge in my throat and nothing more ever again. Wanting things only makes them happen when you’re stronger than reality, little kitten. And now all I want is to taste you and slurp you down. Every last inch.

He swallowed again. The heat rose, claiming Milo’s stomach. His arms were starting to fold up towards his head, pushed by the edges of the gryphon’s beak. Most of him was by now inside the clenching, pulsing throat, and most of the rest of him was in the mouth, the air hot and humid and every squirm he gave knocking against soft, hot flesh. Goldeneye’s tongue snacked up his chest and neck and slathered itself against his face, smothering him in a greedy attempt to lap up every one of his tears. The gryphon gave another purring moan of delight, tasting every inch he could. Saliva was running into Milo’s eyes now. He was completely drenched, exhaustedly hot, and almost hyperventilating from terror.

“Nnnn!” he whimpered, gasping for breath as another gulp squeezed his diaphragm and drove the air from his flimsy lungs. “Nn-no, please, please, I… I d-didn’t, I didn’t mean… please, I swear I’ll d-do anything. Just give me... a… second… chance... Nnno, no, no… no… oh, gods, oh gods no…”

My point is proved. Goldeneye swallowed again, and Milo’s arms squeezed against his head, pressed together by the tight confines of the gryphon’s maw - but they were nothing to the unbearable pressure and heat which was pummeling the rest of his body into twitching, dripping submission. And now I claim what is mine and has always been. His tongue renewed its hungry affections on the cat’s face, pausing occasionally to entwine with his arms and slurp over them as well. Milo’s vision was now framed by a pair of fleshy jaws and the edges of the Emperor’s beak. Saliva began to drip into his eyes, but he couldn’t move his arms enough to wipe it off. Every movement he made seemed to let him slide a bit closer to the point of no return. His pleas died in his throat, his body seeming to lock up as the terror peaked once again. He was paralysed, a tiny mewing in the back of his throat the closest he could come to crying. “No… no… no…”

Goldeneye gave his neck a slow, rolling shake, letting the muscles of his throat grind and squeeze over every inch of quivering feline filling them. “Mmm…” he said physically, the sound coming out rather muffled from the blockage. You feel so good. The fact is, Milo, there’s nothing you could do, nothing on this planet or off it, which comes close to giving me as much pleasure as this. You were made to be swallowed. It’s the fulfilment of your whole life. The gryphon gave a half-swallow, not to take his meal down but simply to ripple his throat over it, crushing every muscle in Milo’s body simultaneously. Hold on a second. He delicately pivoted his gigantic bulk on top of the wall, balancing with graceful, measured ease, and turned around, facing now towards the city. Never let it be said I’m not a thoughtful owner, after all. I’ll give you a nice view.

Milo cringed at every word, unable to tell if he was crying or if it was just the rivulets of saliva pouring down his face. “No…” he whimpered, pouring every piece of misery into that one tiny word. “Please… just… I’m sorry… Just… give me...”

A second chance? That is the way of the law, isn’t it? People change, and can be redeemed. Their sins can be absolved. But my hunger, however… my belly, Milo, will never stop craving you. And I see no reason to deny it.

“Plea-”

And Goldeneye swallowed.

His body was sealed totally, the beak snapping shut in front of his face and plunging him into total darkness a half-second before the muscular gullet rose up and submerged his head in sweltering darkness. Milo’s word was choked off, his final scream not even audible as his lungs were squeezed until the pitch black was full of stars. Goldeneye’s body dominated him completely, absorbing even his twitches and quivers as it crammed him down into it. He felt his paws squeezing deeper, his body propelled with rippling spasms down, down, down into the depths of the gryphon’s body. He couldn’t move more than his eyelids and fingers, everything else utterly enslaved to the Emperor’s digestive tract.

“Nn…” he managed to splutter, but amidst the distant gurgles and the slow thunder of his heart, Goldeneye might not have even heard it.

Milo’s body was slowly bent as he slid deeper into the gryphon, curving to the line of Goldeneye’s throat as it twisted to horizontal and neared his belly. The feline’s flexible spine protested a little, and his ragged breaths gave way to a moan of pain and despair. The dark flesh squeezed in on him from all sides, and the open air a few feet away through flesh and fat and feathers might as well have been another universe. He had never felt so alone, so doomed.

Still want a second chance, little kitten? Goldeneye said, his voice completely casual. Milo’s paws broke into open air, wriggling with relief. The heat was almost painful, and he knew instantly what he was sliding into. The gryphon’s immense, engulfing body quivered with laughter. Oh, it is. Can you feel how much it wants to meet you? You know, from the way you squirm I could see you being useful now. But it’s too late. Nothing leaves my body alive.

Slowly and tortuously, Milo was slurped out into space as he had entered: painfully and miserably. He collapsed in the pit of Goldeneye’s stomach with a slosh, gasping at the hot, viscous liquid almost filling it completely. The stinging began instantly. Evidently the gryphon’s belly truly was waiting for him.

Milo surfaced from the pool gasping, spitting out globs of acrid fluid, and tried to push against the walls around him, mad, claustrophobic terror lending him fresh strength. But his body was exhausted with terror already, and the crushing heat had sapped it even more. And besides, there was no way out. The valve which had spewed him into this chemical furnace was sealed tight again.

The cat collapsed, barely managing to keep his head above the surging acids. Now he was starting to hurt. His skin felt raw, his midnight blue fur chafing against his very flesh. Milo leant against the squeezing, churning curve of the gryphon’s belly and wept. He tried to speak, to beg for just a moment of respite to prove his worth, but nothing came.

Defeated already? That’s fine, little thing. Once again, I predict you’ll still beg before the end. And squirm, too. Wriggle for your life. Goldeneye’s stomach sloshed back and forth, a rhythmic motion which Milo realised came from him walking. He knelt, groaning, and screamed a bubbling moan as his skin began to blister and melt. The agony pitched and rolled in time with the gryphon’s bloated belly, and once Goldeneye’s stomach began to squeeze in on him and crush the fluids into his bloodied skin, it felt even worse. Milo, sure enough, began to squirm, at first to try and get parts of his form out of the searing lake of horror, then simply to somehow escape the pain itself, and magically purge the fiery flames running through every cell in his body by sheer effort of frantic squirming. Now he tasted copper as well as stinging acid. The broken kitten screamed and sobbed, unable to comprehend this level of sheer pain, every cell pricked by a billion tiny red-hot swords.

Time passed. How long? All he knew was misery. He realised after a few screaming seconds that he hadn’t even noticed his sinking below the acid. His lungs were burning simply from the acidic fumes, not from asphyxiation. Goldeneye wasn’t letting him die before he squirmed all he could. Before he proved the gryphon right and begged.

Milo slumped in the pit of the gryphon’s belly, feeling his bones creak as the flesh squeezed him and crushed. Please… he thought, with no breath for words. You’re right. You’re right. Just let me die now. Let it end. Please. You’ve taken everything, now just… oh, it hurts, it hurts… please let me die.

Goldeneye caressed his mind, a tendril of thought propping it back to sanity just to appreciate its own agony. Awww, he purred. Didn’t take long, did it? See, Milo, I’m just not interested in “letting” you do anything. Your will doesn’t exist to me. Just “making” you do what I desire is what I’m into. And I’m going to make you mine.

He twisted something deep within Milo, and burned away his soul with the new heights of torment. The cat screamed until he didn’t know he was making sound or simply hearing the roar inside his skull. Slowly, searingly, he died.

The end came hot and burning, not cold, and it did not cease the pain. He wept with his last acid-filled breath, twitching. Milo tried to say something final, something worthy of his life. But all he could hear was his own pain.

He slumped, and the darkness beyond darkness claimed him. Another meal, another life. Another slave to the Emperor’s justice. And hunger.






But Goldeneye ‘s greatest pleasure was in the beautiful spirals of anguish he could create. He was a true sadist, and sadism demands not death, but domination. Death puts an end to that, and why should it?

Milo opened his eyes not in any afterlife, but in the sunlit air of the Emperor’s private quarters. He retched, choking out the memory of acid and agony, and fell to his knees, shaking all over. His body still should be burning, but his hands were clean and smooth-furred, his limbs unblemished. He was alive. He was alive? “W… what… what? What?”

A voice answered him, a terrible, dark purring voice which he would have preferred the tones of a demon to. “Oh, little kitten. Didn’t you say you wanted a second chance?”

The cat raised his head, still panting, and saw the gryphon’s eyes once again. Goldeneye smiled mercilessly, and raised one of his immense hind legs. His stomach spilled out over it, heavy and plump, distended with the still, churning mass of some poor soul sacrificed to it. No, he realised, still reeling at his own life. Not some poor soul. The poor soul of this body was knelt there, staring at the softening bulge.

The gryphon nodded, slowly, a sadistic smile spreading slowly over his beak. “Yes. This is your second chance, little kitten. I was feeling generous, and you gave me a wonderful massage. So welcome to your new duties. No more judgework, I’m afraid.”

Milo stared at him. He felt, suddenly, the tight, gripping leather of a collar around his neck. The Emperor smiled wider.

“First order of duty, slave, give my belly some love. It’s digesting a wonderful little feline possession of mine, and it would adore a good massage. Get to it. Your only purpose is to serve me, after all.”

Goldeneye smiled as the trembling feline hesitated, started to cry, and took a step towards his sloshing gut. It was a good day.

Goldeneye 2016.
Voracious Gryphon Overlord of the portal, sadist, and writer.Beware the Goldeneye.

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Re: My soft vore tales: Terror, furries, despair, drama

Postby TheGuyWhoKnows » Fri Jul 08, 2016 6:46 pm

The latest two stories of mine are almost a two-parter, really. In the first, a kitsune merchant named Leshana is travelling to Alphasiron, the capital city of the strange Seraphian empire, famed for its mysterious, incredibly powerful ruler, the monstrous Emperor Goldeneye the First and Eternal. But she’s just here to trade. The world is safe for people who aren’t actually doing anything bad, because it is ultimately a fair and just universe. Right?

Wrong. Accused of a crime she did not commit by a financial rival, Leshana is taken to the inescapable Alsar Prison to serve her time. And really, her bad luck has barely started

Goldeneye’s empire, this time to be a terrible tourist attraction for :userLeshana: who is the delectable fox.

In the second, Goldeneye decides to give his own form of "justice", in this case to the judge who declared the poor vulpine guilty. Milo is not corrupt or greedy, simply unfortunately wrong. Very unfortunately wrong.

They can be read here - http://aryion.com/g4/view/329948 - and here - http://aryion.com/g4/view/351333. I'll also post them below, but go to the page for proper italics and such. Hope you enjoy!

Crime and Cruel and Unusual Punishment
By Goldeneye
A commission for Leshana

“But wait, please! I’m not - you can’t - this, this isn’t right!”

The guard with the key managed to indicate, through sheer force of silence, just how monumentally uninterested he was in the rightness, or otherwise, of the situation.

“Please!” Leshana grappled for the thin cloth of the lanky kangaroo’s desert robe, her small hands outstretched. “That bastard Carsen, he paid the jury off! I-I, I want to appeal!”

He continued to ignore her entirely, shaking off her grasping paws, and began to walk away.

“I’m a trader! I can pay you, I promise, j-just get a message to my partners. They’re lodging at Whitefeather Way, they can-”

The cart, little more than a large iron cage on wheels drawn by feral camels, jolted into movement and she was knocked off her feet, yelping as she hit the ground. The outskirts of Seraphia’s capital, Alphasiron, began to slowly rumble past, the pale stone of the buildings starting to give way to the lonely heat of the desert. Leshana desperately tried to find someone else to help her, answer her, give her a way out, but only saw the weary, glum gazes of her fellow prisoners. The two guards driving the cart were Immortals, tall and strong, clad in heavy bronze armour despite the sweltering sun with the Emperor’s sigil standing proud on every plate. They were a lost cause, automata-like beings who wouldn’t even acknowledge your existence unless you were breaking the law. They would be no help in the slightest.

She curled up the rumbling wooden floor, trying to think, wrapping her two tails around her knees. The soft, fluffy feeling calmed her and helped her think. She’d only gained her second tail a few years ago, and still found it odd sometimes. Leshana was two hundred and ten, which put her in young adulthood for a kitsune. Her fur was soft orange, pure white on her belly and throat and at the tips of her tail. She wore small lenses in a wire frame on her hazel eyes, a new invention from Palutia nicknamed “spectacles”, very useful for correcting the slight blur in her vision. Short but fairly curvaceous, beautiful in a wide-eyed innocent sort of way… and very aware that prison was not the best habitat for someone like that. It had all gone horribly, horribly wrong. This was insane. There had to, had to be some way out.

“They won’t be interested either,” growled a male voice from across the rumbling floor. Leshana looked up, thankful that her spectacles hid her glistening eyes. A brawny crocodile nodded at her from the other side, leaning against the hot iron bars of the cage. “The guards at Alsar Prison. I’ve been there before. They’ve heard it all. You can offer them the Emperor’s treasuries and they won’t lift a finger to help you. Face it, foxy,” he scratched at his bare, powerful chest, the scales making a rough grating noise. “you’re stuck here.”

“But…” Leshana tried very hard to stop her lip quivering. “Look, I d-didn’t do it! Carsen just wanted me out of the way! He must have bribed gods know how many-”

“Woah.” A voluptuous gazelle sitting next to her, clad in the silk veils of a professional courtesan, kicked at her leg. The hoof stung. “Not so loud, honey.” She motioned towards the two Immortals sitting at the front of the cart. “There’s only one god here, you know.”

“Yes, I know, I know, the Emperor. Sorry...” Leshana had heard of Seraphia’s “Emperor”. Most of the planet had by now. Merchants like her had to keep a special tab open for that strange, horrifically powerful creature, to make sure they didn’t send a wagonload of goods to a city which had been attacked, defeated and devoured the week before. “But anyone can see it couldn’t have been me! I just need a review of the case…”

“You’re not getting one.” said the gazelle flatly. “Thanks to Our Lord And Master,” she kept her voice carefully neutral, “the Seraphian Empire now covers two continents. Fastest expansion in history. The bureaucracy is barely keeping up. They’re not spending more court time on you. Like ‘e said, you’re stuck here.”

Leshana said nothing, clenching her fists helplessly. The crocodile reached over, placing a large, clawed hand on her leg.

“Stick with us, foxy. We’ve done this before,” He grinned, exposing a large number of sharp teeth. “You’ll need some friends in there. The whore next to you is Jezeval. I’m Kaskar. What’s your name?”

Jezeval gave a quiet snort next to her. The kitsune swallowed back her fear and dread and raised her eyes to look at him.

“I-... I’m Leshana.”

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Five years wasn’t the rest of her life. And when she got out, she and her partners would make sure Carsen’s ugly avian face never smirked again. If there was any justice in the world.

***
Alsar had been a prison camp for a long time, even before the Emperor fell from the sky in a blaze of flame and desire. It was in effect a small fortified town, except that it had been fortified for assault from the inside as well. Tall, sweeping walls rose up over the lonely desert sands, the battlements accessible only by the bridges which lay crisscrossing the rooftops, allowing the guards to observe their charges from above. The only way to get from below to above was via crane lifts, controlled, of course, from the bridges.

The buildings of the complex were in the traditional Seraphian style, pale stone with designs in faded colour, strong and flat-roofed. It was perhaps the morning break or similar, as prisoners seemed to be fairly free to move around the “streets”, always under the watchful eye of a guard or the impassive bronze helm of an Immortal. The sun beat down overhead, unrelenting and cruel, and competition for shaded spaces was fierce. As Leshana and her new friends entered the prison, she was greeted with the sight of a savage brawl between four prisoners, yells of pain and exertion ringing over the half-hearted cheers of a few onlookers. As the cart rolled past, an Immortal entered the fray, her wide bladed spear tossed aside. Moving with dextrous, unnatural swiftness, the bronze clad figure broke a bellowing rams arm, threw him into his opponent so hard they both hit the opposite wall, floored an eagle before he could even react to her, and grabbed the fleeing lynx who had apparently started it all by his throat, lifting him off the ground. The Immortal gave no warnings to the other, groaning figures, simply striding off and dragging her helpless prey behind her, casually picking up her spear on the way.

Leshana was left open-mouthed, but the other inhabitants displayed only weary resignation. A few friends of the broken men and women helped them to their feet, leading them away to whatever passed for medical attention in this godsforsaken place. The cart rumbled on.

They were led out, manacled, at the edge of a massive square in the centre, easily big enough to hold the entire prison population. Kazkar and Jezeval stepped out ahead of Leshana, stretching and joking amongst themselves as if this was just the end of a long journey home - although they too went silent when the Immortals stepped down from the driver’s bench.

Leshana looked around, the stone hot and dry beneath her bare paws, and curled her tails around her legs. There was a raised stone dais in the middle of the square, perhaps once used to execute prisoners whose crimes were too heinous.

She was wondering if it still happened when the doors ahead opened and another Immortal appeared, leading a tall, sinuous lizard with scales the colour of the shining forest and an expression of even more disinterest and disdain than the guard who’d locked her up in the first place.

“Good morning,” he said coldly, his accent pure Seraphian. “I am Warden Aliquab. In the name of His Divine Majesty, Emperor Goldeneye the First and Eternal, I now legally own your lives. If I decide you are to be punished, in any way, I have the right of it and I guarantee you I have the means for it.”

His eyes roamed over them, staying on Leshana’s body for longer than the kitsune would have liked. She flushed, glaring at him. The lizard smiled thinly. “I advise that you do not give me or any of the guards here a reason to decide that you should be punished. There are various rules in this new home of yours, but they all boil down to three main ideas. Firstly, don’t try anything with your fellow filth-sacks. No stealing, no fighting, no raping or killing. Secondly, and this one is easier: obey your superiors at all times. Any command given by any one of us is not to be questioned or hesitated about, it is to be performed. And finally, not that you could anyway, but do not attempt to escape. We have had zero successful escapees since the Silver Summer claimed this prison upon His ascension to the throne, and that is not going to change.” Aliquab clapped his hands together. “As long as everyone here obeys those rules, I will not have to see your pretty little faces once during your stay here, and everyone will be happy. Understand?”

They nodded. Kaskar looked bored, Jezeval amused. Leshana tried to look sincerely afraid, which was thankfully not hard.

“Good. Now get them out of my sight.”

***

They were given simple desert robes and leather collars which rubbed against the fur of Leshana’s neck, tagged with their name, number and the ever-present crest of the damned Emperor. Sure enough, the relaxed atmosphere when they entered had just been a break, and before the middle of the afternoon Leshana had been assigned to Gang 162, a group of some dozen individuals - various species all short and slim like her, unsuited to heavy lifting - who were currently engaged in weaving cloth on a large, surprisingly advanced loom in one of the innumerable buildings, under the cold empty eye-holes of an Immortal. The work was hard and long, but survivable. Her fingers ached by the time the sun sank over the horizon, and there was no way to signal the passing of minutes until the sonorous toll of a bell rang out over the prison and freed them from the work.

She found Kaskar and Jezeval that evening at the kitchens, hunched in a corner talking quietly, and made her way over to them, carrying a bowl of tagine with grains and some sort of meat. The two looked up stonily, and Leshana hesitated and eyed the empty space next to the crocodile politely.

Kaskar grunted assent, and Jezeval scowled at him, but Leshana sat down, rubbing her sore fingers. “So, um, how was the first day?”

“Ask me again after I do it seven thousand more times,” muttered the gazelle bitterly. “This is cruel and unusual punishment.”

Seven thousand days was nearly twenty years, Leshana calculated. “Well, what did you do? Were you framed as well, or…”

She wilted under Jezeval’s angry glare. “S… sorry. I don’t mean to pry.”

“And you won’t need to,” Kaskar said, scraping his bowl clean. “We’re going to let you in on a secret, foxy. We’re getting out of here.”

“You… you mean…” the kitsune leaned close. “You’re… you’re escaping?”

She could only dare to mouth the last word. Kaskar rolled his eyes.

“We are. You’re coming too, foxy.”

There was a noisy clatter from across the table as Jezeval attacked her vegetables ferociously, glaring into the bowl. Kaskar ignored her.

“We’re... mostly united on this. You’re innocent, and you don’t belong in here. So we’re taking you with us when we go.”

“But… but… how?” Leshana pushed aside her conflicting thoughts. “Isn’t it too dangerous? There are walls, and the bridges above us, and gods, these freakish Immortals, whatever in the Hells they are, and-”

“Yes, I know it’s not exactly easy!” Kaskar snapped. “I know that. We won’t be ready to go for a few weeks at least.”

“Make that a month,” Jezeval said testily. “Getting caught is not an option here. Seraphia doesn’t take kindly to people who get found.”

“Fine! A month! Look, the point is we’re not staying here a second longer than we have to!” Kaskar glared at the antelope. “And that goes for all three of us, understand?”

“Is… is there a problem with me coming?” Leshana asked timidly. “I mean, you, you barely know me, and you just said you had to be especially careful. So why… why are you giving me the chance?”

The crocodile looked at her, suddenly lost for words. “Well,” he muttered, “you... you, uh-”

Jezeval groaned. “For the Emperor’s sake. Kaskar couldn’t bear the thought of someone so clearly innocent suffering with these hardened criminals. You deserve to be free. Of course he’s too much a hard old beast to say it out loud, but he’s got soft insides.”

Leshana peered at Kaskar’s scaly outside, which grunted in irritation and embarrassed assent. He didn’t smile, but that might be just because teeth like that didn’t look good in a smile.

“I… Well, thank you. Thank you so much. I promise I won’t let you down.”

The two inmates exchanged glances. “Good. Now, we have some of the plan so far, and you’re going to have to help. First of all...”

***
The days blurred into one another.

Or rather, they should have done, Leshana reflected sourly as she trudged out of the loom halls into the soft evening heat. Why couldn’t she become absorbed in her new life and forget everything until the escape was ready? Instead, every hour and minute was spent waiting for the next bell to ring, every meal spent exchanging glances and significant coughs with Jezeval and Kaskar (they shouldn’t be seen together too much, lest someone become suspicious). She’d been given a few assignments herself, mainly just observing the guards’ positions at certain times of day and when they were changed. It wasn’t much, but she had to admit it fitted her low experience level. The antelope and crocodile were handling the heavier missions.

Not for the first time, she wondered about them. Jezeval and Kaskar had so far refused to tell her anything personal of themselves, or even whether those were their real names. And what crimes had they committed to end up in here? Neither of them had ever claimed they were innocent.

Then again, helping her escape at such personal risk was a pretty major act of kindness. Despite their refusal to trust her - probably justified - the two were good people underneath. She’d be willing to look past whatever misdemeanours they’d committed.

The kitsune twirled her tails wearily as she exhausted her train of thought, heading towards the mess halls for the evening meal. Time would pass, and if this country’s feathered god really was a god, and a merciful one, she’d be free eventually.

“...and it is by his mercy that you reside here rather than in the pits of the Hells where you would meet your end. All flesh and souls alike are to be rendered unto him as he sees fit, and yet he has chosen to allow you the chance to take the rudder of your own lives once again even after you have steered them into the path of devastation.”

There weren’t usually any preachers on the grounds. Apparently Emperor Goldeneye didn’t go into ritualised worship that much. Leshana drifted towards the gathering crowd beneath the official, a stout patridge in the gold-edged robes of Seraphia’s considerable bureaucracy who stood on one of the guard bridges above them. What was he actually talking about?

“And yet his Divinity is like no other so-called “deity”, for he walks the earth with those who are his property. He is your god as much as you are his possession, and he would see all of you secure in your rightful place in this universe.” Finally she seemed to be getting to some sort of point. “His Divinity will visit unto this prison upon the morrow, to see the state in which his wayward followers are kept and to judge them for himself.” The avian sniffed, looking down at the rabble beneath her. “His word is law and his deeds are will made manifest, and without even a glance he can read your soul in its entirety. They had best be pure souls or you will find his mercy suddenly coming to an end.”

She continued, speaking about confessionals to be held and rites to be done, but Leshana was not listening. She stumbled away from the crowd, tails twisting around her ankles and head whirling.

The Emperor was a telepath. Everyone knew that, though few seemed very clear on exactly how it worked. What was certain was that he’d be able to see her conspiracy to escape clear as day in her mind.

But on the other hand, he’d see her innocence, how she was framed for a crime she had never committed. How she was only trying to sneak out unfairly because she had been locked in unfairly. His word is law. He could free her without the slightest effort. But would he?

Another thought spun into her brain. Kaskar and Jezeval - probably not innocent, and actively plotting to escape. The Emperor would know, and unlike Leshana they’d have no mitigating circumstances. They’d be dead unless they escaped tonight. She couldn’t let that happen. But they weren’t ready! They couldn’t smuggle three out tonight

The kitsune leant against a wall, flicking her hazel eyes across the twilight. Either she stayed here and hoped for mercy, or she tried to escape and hoped for success. Neither option seemed wonderful. Not for the first time, she was struck with the bitter unfairness of all her situation, the hot helplessness burning in her chest.

No. Think about Kaskar and Jezeval! They had no choice at all but to attempt escape. She was lucky by comparison. Whether she stayed or went, they had to be warned.

She hurried off into the gathering gloom, breathing hard with exertion and anxiety. They weren’t in the mess hall, nor in the corner of the main grounds where they’d meet and discuss plans. They weren’t at the site where Kaskar’s strength had been employed to help build a new block of cells, or where Jezeval had worked as a cook. Finally, she tried to recall the cells they inhabited. Third building from the square of execution, seventeenth and eighteenth cells - somehow they’d managed to stay together. And there they were through an arched doorway, huddled in a corner, speaking in low, urgent whispers. Leshana hurried towards them

“...how the hell are we going to get her past them as well?” Kaskar muttered, his bass rumble carrying across the hall. They must have heard already. Leshana slowed to a halt, her large ears twitching curiously. For a second, she hung back.

“I don’t know!” hissed the gazelle. “This is like last time. You’re the reason we’re bringing the bitch so it’s your bloody problem!”

“If we get caught it’s our problem, Jezeval. And right now you can shut up about that, alright? We have bigger problems.”

“No, listen. Just because you never got used to eating vegetables, you want to jeopardise both of our lives? Listen, we have to leave her behind.”

“We are not leaving her behind! That’s desert out there for a hundred miles. We will not be able to carry supplies for the whole damn trip! So we’re taking the self-carrying supplies, alright?”

“This is just because you like how she looks. I said this, I said there are dozens of morons in this godforsaken place who’d jump at the chance at escape and also have the experience to not probably cock it up! But no, she looks tasty, she’s what the goddamn predator wants, so here comes Kaskar’s Kitsune!”

She was so stunned that she didn’t even gasp, simply standing in the doorway with her mouth open, so quiet and so still that Kaskar and Jezeval didn’t even notice her. It might have saved her life.

Then a noise came from outside, some brawl or argument. Who knows what it was? Perhaps just the universe tripping her up once again.

Kaskar looked up, and saw the kitsune standing there. He froze, as did Jezeval. No-one spoke for a moment.

Then Leshana said, quietly, “You were… you were going to… to eat me.”

Kaskar ran his clawed fingers over his scaly skull. “No..no, no, no...” he groaned, more to himself than to her.

“You’ve, you’ve done it before, and you were just going to let me tag along until you got hungry.”

Jezeval clenched her fists.

“Is that why you’re here? Is that what you did? They never found the bodies so they couldn’t charge you with murder? You, you utter, utter-”

“SHUT THE HELLS UP!” Jezeval roared, charging into her. She was six inches taller and who knew how many pounds heavier than the small slender fox, and before Leshana could react she had been barreled into the walls. Her vision sparked, her head exploding in bright fireworks of pain. The gazelle smashed her fist into her gut, sending her choking and reeling, and as the kitsune doubled over Jezeval drove her hoof into Leshana’s knee, which snapped gorily.

The kitsune gave a gargled scream of agony, a tattered heap of soft fur on the floor, and Jezeval gave her another kick. “Someone will have heard. We’ve gotta get out, right now. Emperor’s Claws, what a mess.”

She snatched up a pack, or at least a brown blur picked up a paler brown blur. Leshana’s eyes were glazed with pain and tears. She had hoped so much…

“Kaskar, come on. We’ll just have to ration things, okay?”

The crocodile stood over her. Leshana tried to crawl away from him, making a small whining noise.

“What a waste of good meat,” he snarled, and stamped on her neck with horrible strength. And everything went black.

***
The blackness twisted. Like a deepsea leviathan, something larger than she could imagine moved beneath the surface, brushing against her tiny mind here and there. And slowly, she rose.

She did not hurt any more, Leshana realised as she filled her body again. Her bones were unbroken, her muscles no longer bruised. She lay on a silken sheet, bright sunlight pouring in from the arched window.

It had been a dream. All of it. She had slept too late at Whitefeather Way and awoken from a dreadful nightmare. She slid out of bed, tails curling around her knees, and stumbled over to the window, taking great, heavy breaths.

Outside lay Alsar’s great square, with the executioning dais in the middle.The air was heavy and hot, but far too silent for this time of day. She was still here. The world was not fair but cruel.

Leshana felt her knees shaking, as if they remembered being broken. What in the name of the gods was going on? She spun around, tails awhirl, heartbeat back to the usual fearful tempo. There was the luxurious bed, far finer than the rough cots she’d slept on before. Rich furnishings in Seraphian style. Even a suit of bronze armour standing next to the door.

The suit moved. Leshana yelped in alarm. It was an Immortal, so silent and so still that she hadn’t even recognised it before. “Gods! I… uh, sorry. I didn’t...”

The Immortal ignored her, raising its shining arm and pointing to an open doorway. Its great spear stood ramrod straight in its other hand.

“I… alright.” She went through, hesitantly, eyeing the creature behind her. It did not move to follow, at least.

This seemed to be some sort of guest quarters for Alsar. Even the corridor was finely furnished, and she glimpsed other rich rooms on her way down. On ground level was a larger dining hall, with benches and tables currently pushed to the sides. It was occupied.

Leshana froze. The occupant looked up from a dossier they were reading, clasped in one gigantic claw like a doll’s book, and fixed her with a bright, mismatched gaze.

There was no mistaking the massive frame, eyes higher than her own even though the creature was quadrupedal, even though it was lying on its flank. Two great wings lay folded at the sides, thickly plumaged in silver and icy blue. A bronzed wreath lay upon the avian brow above heterochromatic eyes, one deep purple and one shining gold, both gazing deep into her own. Long, elegant ears swept back from an avian visage expressed in stylised grace many times in murals and statues.

She was a merchant. She was good at reading people. But this creature… there was arrogance, yes. Power and confidence and playfulness and even kindness too. But that was just what he was displaying. She couldn’t tell a thing about what he was.

Emperor Goldeneye the First and Eternal, the Silver Summer and Lord and Master of the Empire of Seraphia, grinned at her. His beak pulled into a coy smile, and his voice was smooth and rich just as unknowable. “So good of you to join us, Leshana. We hope you slept well?”

He knew her name. The kitsune started, managing to wrest her muscles back into action. She knelt hurriedly, keeping her eyes lowered. “Y-your, your majesty. Um, I, y-yes.”

“We are delighted. Not bad for a little fox found with a broken neck, internal haemorrhaging, and nineteen fractures.” The strange creature set aside his papers, folding his claws before her. For the first time, Leshana noticed that he wasn’t alone. Sitting with his knees drawn up to his chin, against Goldeneye’s great fluffy chest, was Warden Aliquab. The lizard looked at her, quivering very faintly, his eyes full of pleading desperation. Leshana stared at him, helpless and confused, as the gryphon continued. “I healed you, of course. It’s a skill which I have learned with great difficulty, so I hope it’s appreciated. Now, on to business.” He ruffled his feathers, his smile widening. “In one way, it’s actually quite pleasing. Alsar has never had an escape in three hundred years of service. It’s been incredibly, boringly… ugh... competent. But in another way… this prison is my property, as are its inhabitants. And defying it is defying me.” The gryphons voice turned to ice and steel without even a pause, and Aliquab trembled, closing his eyes in feeble terror. “And no-one, no-one ever does that twice.”

Then the smile was back. “Now, sweet little fox, I need to know where they were headed. Obviously I could pluck the details out of your head, but sifting through all the memories is rather boring work. So, where?”
Leshana swallowed, her brain thankfully kicking into autopilot through terror. “They… they were planning to head away from Alphasiron, y-your majesty. Escape capture. Then they’d circle round towards the nearby settlements, try to blend in with them. That’s why they… they needed… supplies…”

Leshana remembered. She hunched over, keening weakly with horror at the memory. Kaskar had… he had been going to…

“A hunter was he?” The gryphon had plucked the details straight from her head. “Preying on my citizens? What a despicable creature. He’ll get worse than death this time, rest assured.” He spoke with a total lack of irony, and only chuckled when Leshana failed to stop herself from thinking this. “Don’t worry, my dear. A lot of people think that. Yes, I do dine almost exclusively upon my subjects,” Aliquab whimpered very quietly, “but that doesn’t mean they can do the same. You are all equal to my stomach, and none of you should be raised above another without fair process.”

“I… I see.”

“You don’t, you just don’t want to be eaten.” The gryphon smirked playfully, his tail twisting. “Yes, you did take part in the escape. Aided them too. But it doesn’t look like you would have really gained from it…” He blinked, and again Leshana felt the vastness of his strange, fragmented soul. “Ohh. And now it seems that you’re innocent?”

She gasped despite herself. Finally, to hear someone say it out loud. Stay calm. Stay steady. “I… there is no hiding the truth from y-you, your m-majesty.”

“Which of my judges sent you down? They’ll need a talk after this. I, and only I, am above the law, Leshana. This is ridiculous.” Goldeneye flicked his long ears with frustration. “Well, nothing for it. I’ve already chosen most of my meals for today, and there’s no reason to have you rotting away here with no good reason. You’re free.”

The kitsune opened her mouth and closed it again. That was it? All this terror and it was so suddenly over? Finally she managed to mumble a weak “R… Really?”

The Emperor waved a claw. “Well, you will be. I’ll get the paperwork done by this afternoon. Blasted bureaucracy... anyway, just go get packed up and you’ll leave on the evening supply carriage. I promise it.” He ruffled a wing coyly. “And you’ll have a wonderful tale to tell your fellow merchants. Minus Carsen, that is. Now go on. And worship me sometime. Your soul is rather adorable.” His eyes winked. “Your little spectacles doubly so.”

The traitor’s name made her jump again. Everything seemed to be oversaturated and gleaming. Goldeneye’s feathers were the softest, sleekest silver Leshana had ever known. Or maybe she was just able to see the world’s colour again. She pushed her spectacles back up her nose with an embarrassed flush, bowing again. “You will not regret this, your Majesty. Th-thank you. Thank y-you so much.”

The Emperor didn’t answer, already disinterested as he lowered his beak to murmur something to the presumably ex-Warden, who trembled. Even now, Leshana understood that he had not acted out of mercy or kindness but simple amusement. She left quickly, stepping out into the sunlight as if she had just emerged from three months of night. Free! Free! After all this the universe finally showed her what she knew to be true: in the end, it would work out.

Leshana almost skipped back to her quarters, ignoring the baleful stares of her now ex-cellmates, and was packed in ten minutes flat. No souvenirs. All she wanted was to leave this hellish chapter far behind. A few short hours of waiting and she’d be on her way back to her alife.

Once again, the waiting became difficult. She’d been granted exemption from work that day, so Leshana sat on her cot and watched the bright sun climb higher in the sky, her tails twisting with anticipation. Time passed appallingly slowly

When the sun hung directly overhead and she was certain she was going mad, a guard knocked on the bars. Leshana started. She’d finally been close to dozing off. “Oi!” he snapped. “Get moving! All prisoners to the main square!”

“Oh, um… I’m, I’m not a prisoner. Not anymore. I was… I will be pardoned, you see.” Leshana smiled politely. The guard, a blocky, red-furred muskrat, glowered at her through the bars.

“Dunno what we’re supposed to do with you, then. If you’re still a prisoner right I’d say bleedin’ well get going. It’s the Emperor himself. You do not wanna pull an absence today, kitsune girl.”

He left, leaving her fuming at “kitsune girl”. But still, she had absolutely mindnumbingly nothing else to do. And the monstrous gryphon had not pardoned her yet… best she be a good prisoner until she finally didn’t have to be a prisoner at all.. Leshana sighed, leaving her pack behind, and trudged off one last time to the main square. The sun beat down on streets utterly deserted, beneath the crisscrossing shade of the upper bridges. It was rather unnerving.

The entire prison population filled the square. A sea of heads, shifting in impatience and confusion. They were hemmed in by lines of guards and Immortals, surrounding the central platform completely. Leya squirmed in at the back and craned her head to see. Nothing on the platform. What were they here for?

A glint caught her eye, a sparkle of white in the sky just beneath the boiling sun. A ball of fire was streaking down towards them, perfectly vertical and eye-wateringly fast. The crowd saw it, and reacted as crowds do, slowly and confusedly, the air filling with the rumble of fearful voices and shuffling feet as people tried to get out of the way, pressing into others, the panic rose, and the entire thing could almost have become a riot-

The fireball landed with a roar of burning air and a noisy splintering sound on the stone platform, dissipating in an instead as heat washed over the crowd, replaced by the click of cooling rock. Suddenly everyone was quiet. Slow as death itself, Emperor Goldeneye straightened up from the crouch he had landed in and surveyed his property.

“Do I have your attention?” he said softly. The rich tones carried through the entire square. No-one dared speak.

The gryphon smiled. “Excellent. Prisoners of Alsar, you are here because life is a changeable thing, and I know that better than anyone. That is why your crimes are paid with hard labour and incarceration, rather than a slow, lingering death. I believe you can be of use to my Empire again, even if you have strayed from the path once.”

“But no-one ever defies me twice. Those who do not submit to me in mind and soul can serve me in only one way.” He was stalking around the dais, displaying to full effect the sheer size and power of his form. He’d been carrying something, a sealed bronze pot the size of a small table, which glowed a little with residual heat. “And I think you know what that way is. Yesterday this prison defied me again. Two escapees dared to try and take back their lives, now mine by divine right. They will not get far. But some of you may not believe me. Or maybe the lure of freedom will be too much.”

He returned to the centre, ears ramrod straight. “You do that, little prisoners, and you condemn not just yourselves but this very prison. And today I am going to punish the prison for its defiance.”

There was a moment of confused, terrified silence.Goldeneye rolled his mismatched eyes. “No, obviously not all of you. That sort of renders the whole point of prison a bit pointless, doesn’t it? Come on. No, what I am going to do is pick from this contained one piece of parchment. There are over five thousand pieces, one for each prisoner in my possession. And if you’re chosen, then I don't care what your crime is. You... will... die.”

He caressed the words like a lover.

“You will come to me, and I will swallow you whole.” Goldeneye laughed aloud, feeling the psychic ripple of the words pour through his prey. “Oh, believe me, it’s no rumour or propaganda. I really do eat like that. No-one enters my belly already dead… and no-one leaves it alive. You, poor, poor chosen prisoner, will slide down my gullet - I’m told it could almost be a pleasant trip if it wasn’t so one-way - and slowly - oh, I like to take my time administering my justice, so very slowly - you shall enter my stomach.” Suddenly, the gryphon’s proud stance seemed to be deliberately emphasising the soft, slim pale blue of his underbelly, showing it off to every horrified eye. “Digestion will occur, as is only natural. You will, still, be alive for almost all of it until you are little more than a brain, floating in liquefied flesh and agony. Only after that will I give you oblivion. And to everyone who counts themselves lucky to escape… until the squirms have ceased, not a single creature leaves this square. Watch well and remember, this is the price for freedom. You are mine, every one of you. Mine forever.”

He flashed a dazzling smile, padding smoothly to the pot, and raised a claw over it. He giggled cruelly, holding the position for a few seconds, sweeping his terrible eyes over the crowd. Life and death was in his talons.

There was nothing but stunned, fearful silence. Leshana felt certain that five thousand people had never been so quiet. The Emperor's ears twitched sensuously, as if he was listening to the hush itself.

He plucked a single scrap of parchment from the bowl, and looked at it. The population held their breath.

Goldeneye's eyes widened. He gave a little snort of what could have been amusement or regret or both. That hooked beak parted, and spoke a name.

At this point, dear reader, there is hardly any point in writing the name spoken. You know who’s name it was.

No...

Leshana's entire being seemed to have become frozen in time. Her body could not move, and more, her mind could not function. She was still standing there, her ears still filled with the gryphon's silky tones as he said it.

A moment passed.

There was a moment of horrible dysjunction as she realised that he had said her name again. It was even smoother this time. It was playful.

"Well? You entered this lottery, little fox. Come up and claim your prize." Goldeneye purred the words, now looking straight at her, along with a growing number of prisoners. There were three hundred feet between them and yet he spoke like a lover. She managed to regain control of her lips.

"But I...I was..."

"Leshana. Come up here."

Swallowed... digested... death... agony...

"Don't disobey your owner, little fox. Remember what I said about people who defy me a second time." The crowd was watching her in silence.

Her legs suddenly took a step forwards, without her brain being involved in the activity at all. Leshana started, and Goldeneye laughed again.

"Don't worry. Plenty of people need my help walking when they know what's coming." The kitsune took another step, and now she could feel the monstrous alien influence of the gryphon, pulling her towards him. His mind brushed over her motor functions, ripping them from her and puppeteering her to keep walking even as her breath quickened and she began to shake with unbearable adrenaline - a fight or flight response which could do neither.

“P-please…” she mumbled, her lithe form transfixed by the thousands of eyes now watching her slow walk. Some held lewd, cruel amusement. Most just held relief. Very, very few seemed to have the slightest bit of pity, and that was far outmatched by fear. Goldeneye stood two hundred feet away now, his eyes not leaving her face.

“I’m delighted, really,” he crooned. “Now that I look at you like that… what a treat you’ll be. Soft and slender… and two tails, oh, I should taste your species more often. Vulpine tails tickle my throat perfectly.”

Leshana barely managed to whimper, so terrifying was it to hear. But she was still walking towards him. One hundred paces.

He licked his beak, tongue thick and pointed and glistening wet. Her mind was fleeing in circles, round and round.

Fifty paces. Ten. Five.

She placed a foot on the first step. Goldeneye extended a cruel claw towards her, as if to help her up. She had never been so close to the Emperor before. He was gigantic, a statuesque mountain of sleek silver and blue.

“But… I… I… I was pardoned…” she said, weakly. “I shouldn’t be here. You, you told me! Why was I even on the list? W-w-why? I… I s-shouldn’t be here…”

The god-gryphon cocked his head, looking down at her. "Oh, I know. Leshana… I am so sorry, my darling. I'm afraid I was planning on signing your release forms immediately after this little demonstration was over. I’m a busy deity, after all." He laughed, still almost too soft and tender to be cruel. "Honestly, little thing, it never even crossed my mind that you’d be here. To me you were already free. And then… well, even I have to give in to chance sometimes. Especially when it serves me so well." He inhaled, greedily, and Leshana realised he was breathing in her scent.

A pulse of thought, and Goldeneye reached up with her hand and took his claw, pulling her onto the dais. A sea of faces surrounded them, and Goldeneye gave his shaking, helpless prey a little twirl, showing her off.

“Alsar Prison, each and every one of you belongs to me. Remember how this could have been you… and could still be.”

He pushed her to the centre of the dais, and Leshana staggered as his mind left her at last. Without the gryphon’s talons in her brain she could barely stand, wave after wave of fear and dread crashing over her and driving her almost to her knees.

Goldeneye leant over her shaking, swaying form, breathing deep again. His beak and those eyes seemed to fill the whole world. Even though she felt the delight it caused, Leshana held on to the smooth bone. She stared at him, begging with every part of her.

“P… please… this… this isn’t right…”

She began to cry, still looking at him. Goldeneye smiled, and as she looked into his eyes his tongue lapped at her neck. “I know.” He whispered. “It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?”

Leshana had privately wondered, from what she had heard of him, if Seraphia’s ruler was insane or simply cold-hearted and cruel. But he was neither. The strange gryphon’s eyes possessed a sentience so utterly alien to her own that ideas of sanity and empathy were as relevant as colour was to music. His Divine Majesty Emperor Goldeneye the First and Eternal was simply… above her.

There was no justice, nothing which was right or wrong. A universe where this thing was god didn’t care for either. She was going to die screaming through horrible coincidence and nothing else and the world would simply let it happen.

The kitsune gave a small, feeble squeak, trying to give some word which tried to convey her renewed, horrified understanding of the universe. Goldeneye nodded slowly, for he of course heard her.

“Welcome to my world.” he purred. “Now suffer for me.”

His beak opened, and Leshana tried to turn and run, but before she had taken a step her head and shoulders were engulfed in hot, wet darkness. Flesh gripped at her from all sides, drenched in thick, sticky liquids which in a second covered her just as completely. Leshana screamed a high, wordless cry of terror sourced down in her deepest genes: a cornered animal’s scream, sentience an unnecessary obstacle when all that mattered was survival. She tried frantically to pull back and out of the gryphon’s beak, but it simply squeezed, and suddenly the silkily smooth flesh was holding her with a grip of iron.

“Nnn!” she shrieked, thrashing claustrophobically in the utter darkness. “Nnnno! No, please!” But the gryphons tongue offered no words of mercy, only a wet, abrasive series of licks which seemed to probe every possible crevice on her muzzle, making her splutter and cough at the oppressive heat until she realised that the sharp edges were sliding slickly deeper over her arms and chest. Goldeneye’s mouth moulded in a dripping, sweltering embrace around her curvaceous form, gently but firmly lifting her feet from the ground. The sense of vertigo was horrendous, Leshana’s paws pedalling at nothing, tails lashing, entire body contorting with every choked scream.

Goldeneye smirked. In reality the kitsune’s toes were less than six inches from the ground. He lifted her a little higher, still slurping her body deeper with the power of his maw alone, and continued his slow, leisured tasting. No-one was going anywhere.

The god-gryphon flicked an iridescent eyeball to his audience. No more muted fear. Whispers of shock and disgust ran through the crowd, fear arcing across their minds like paint strokes on a canvas. He smirked, and jerked his head in a deliberately exaggerated movement, locking his beak around the kitsune’s slender belly. Leshana’s head slammed into the back of his throat, right in front of the dark, endless gullet. She screamed, the sound producing a pleasant tickling in his maw and very little else.

Her hips were now being tickled by the beak. It was really, genuinely happening. Leshana lashed her tails in great panicky arcs, wailing in discomfort as her head was forced by the rest of her body into the tight, formfitting tunnel of Goldeneye’s throat. “Please!” she screamed, and got a mouthful of saliva for her trouble. “Urgh… p-p-please! I’ll g-give you a-anything! I-I’ll… I’ll… I’ll do anyth-thing!”

Come now, little fox, came the gryphon’s voice, pressing straight into her mind like a branding iron so that Leshana’s eyes began watering and her squirms redoubled. We’ve established that I’m god, by right of power. Even with so much of your mind on fire with instinct and fear, you have enough logic to recognise that no-one needs to give anything to me. I take it. He lifted her higher, and higher, so that her body was about level in the terrible sweltering darkness, and gravity was inevitable, easing her body inch by inch into the wet suckling gullet. Goldeneye hadn’t even swallowed yet.

“But… but…” she tried to protest, and could find no more words, kicking as Goldeneye’s tongue lapped ticklishly against her navel. What more could possibly work?

Don’t worry, sweet, it’s never easy. Hope is a painful thing to lose. That’s why I’m here with you.

And he swallowed. The entire universe around Leshana came to life and motion, a great wave of crushing muscle shifting over her from chest to head and pulling it ten inches into the darkness. She gasped for breath, winded by the monstrous power, and with no more begging to do, simply screamed.

Goldeneye sat on massive haunches, ruffling his wings contentedly, and stroked the kitsune’s ankle with a talon. He preferred to do this part with eyes closed, every part of his considerable being focused on the sensations from inside, but every now and then he roamed his gaze over the silent crowds. Several had turned away, and with casual mental tugs he swivelled them straight back round. The whispering he didn’t mind, however. Panic was more infectious when it could spread orally.

And speaking of that…

He swallowed again, slower this time, his prey sinking into a delightful rippling bulge in the hollow of his throat, and shook his head, both to even out the distension and to display it to his watchers. Such a sweet taste. The gryphon flicked his tongue up and to the places between Leshana’s legs, pushing her deeper inside and purring softly at the taste, as well as the redoubled wriggling.

Such a treat. You’ll last so long in there.

The kitsune whimpered, her throat hurting by now. Her head was buzzing with thoughts too vast to take in. “In… t-there…”

She felt the tongue finally leave her, and Goldeneye gave another agonising swallow, pressing the breath from her lungs and making her see stars in the darkness as her ribcage creaked. I’d say it’s not as bad as you’d imagine… but it is. It’s worse. Keep squirming for now. Such a good little thing. Keep squirming. He lapped at her ankles, raising his head and giving another slow, rolling swallow. Her paws and tails slipped inside the beak, and with a casual snap, carrying somehow through the layers of flesh and feathers, Leshana heard the gryphon’s beak shut.

If anything, the utter darkness she was sliding into became more complete. Goldeneye raised his to the skies, his throat moving in slow, rhythmic half-swallows which eased his prey further and further to the back of his throat. In a semiconscious way, the kitsune sensed the line that would be crossed when she went from maw to gullet. She would no longer exist outside of the gryphon’s immense, terrifying body. She would turn from living creature to twitching, sinking bulge.

Goldeneye lapped hungrily at her ankles, taking all the pleasure he could before she was gone. Any more words? he purred. There are none which will do anything.

And he was right. Leshana mouthed helpless pleas in the sweltering black, a hundred phrases running through her head which each would do nothing. With her brain paralysed, her mouth came out with the protest which had run through her entire being for two months of misery and nearly half an hour now of utter horror.“This… this isn’t… r-right...”

And like that, you have nothing more to say. Just scream now, food. Goldeneye winked to the shifting, fearful subjects around him, and swallowed her whole.

He wasn’t toying any more. This was a true swallow, powerful and devastating and cruel. Leshana’s squirms were barely felt as the muscle around her twisted and rippled and pulled her all the way. The visceral machinery of the gryphon’s body engulfed her in an instant, dragging her slowly and inexorably down, down into the suffocating pitch-black hell. She choked on her screams, barely able to move beneath the sheer compression, feeling her bones grinding against each other. There was a little snap somewhere in her chest and suddenly her mouth tasted of blood as well as the beast’s saliva. The kitsune gave tiny, gurgling sobs, and still she sank, passing Goldeneye’s slow-thundering heart.

The gryphon shuddered pleasurably, his entire body wrapped around the twitching, fluttering mass in his throat. For a moment, he allowed himself to close his mind’s eyes, ignoring the shuddering horror all around him, and focused totally inwards. Leshana’s suffering, Leshana’s pain and torment, and then his own pleasure. The perfect unequal exchange.

He felt her settle deep within his ribcage, such a sweet, gluttonous weight, held her there, and then continued the rolling motion of his throat to send her to her final destination. As the kitsune twitched and shook in her despair, Goldeneye opened his eyes again, slowly licking his beak. The crowd was restless now, many members shaking and shrinking back. Hushed voices trembled with awe and fear. He smirked. Little lives finally coming to understand their position on the food chain. It was a good day.

It was hell. Leshana felt her ears, so firmly compressed and squeezed, break through into open air. She gasped in relief in the utter darkness, and then in discomfort. The air was thick, humid, and almost painfully hot, and the alchemical, acidic scent was so strong she could taste it. Her shoulders and arms were pushed free of Goldeneye’s gullet and she instinctively clawed out in front, trying to stop herself from falling straight on her face.They just managed to touched a soft, slimy wall of flesh.

It would just about be large enough for her to curl up in. She squealed in panic as she began to fall again and frantically waved her hands below. Instantly they were submerged to the elbows in a pool of thick, churning liquid. This was… no…

She screamed as Goldeneye slowly ejected her, submerging her headfirst into the brimming, growing lake of digestive fluids. The taste was hideous, and the hot acids felt hideous against her flesh. And they hadn’t even begun to burn.

Digest… no… no… no…

She sprawled in a packed, tangled mass in the gryphon’s guts, covered head to toe in acids and gods only knew what else.

Naughty. Blasphemy in the very embrace of your deity?

Leshana managed to surface, gasping for breath. She was horribly cramped, and the pocket of fresh, vile air was so small that she had to press her muzzle against the dripping ceiling to get at it. Already the heat was sapping her strength, and with it her sanity. There had to be a way out. There had to be something she could do. There had to be. Please…

No. Just suffering. The gryphon shifted his position subtly, standing more majestically, more proudly, and displaying his smooth, soft stomach to everyone. He closed his eyes, a smile of perfect bliss suffusing his features, and with a silent, muffled squelch, that belly sagged. Beneath the massive brawn of the gryphon’s body, it looked insignificant. And the fact that the fox looked so little hanging beneath her emperor’s body made it worse, so that the plump bulge was gruesomely distended, all at once.bulging and shifting as the kitsune slipped into her new home.

There was an audible murmur of horror, running around all five thousand. Goldeneye opened his eyes, spine undulating with sinuous pleasure. And Leshana finally began to scream. A faint handprint appeared on his stomach, grasping frantically, and then the weak imprint of Leshana’s face, rendered skull like with the intensity she pressed it against the hellish walls of his gut. The blind eye sockets shook. She was screaming.

The crowd snapped. Outright screaming broke the imposed silence, the mass of prisoners surging en masse away from the monstrous, gluttonous beast. It was a stampede. Those at the very back saw the Immortals level their spears, merciless and perfect, and tried to pull back, but the vast crowd behind them was thundering on in blind panic, and the screams of horror became pained as they fell and were mercilessly trampled. And then, just as the spears were about to sink into horribly yielding flesh:

STOP.

Even Leshana, gasping and whimpering deep inside his guts, froze in her wriggling. Even the Immortals, so stalwart and unyielding, staggered. Goldeneye’s mental power fell over the prisoners like a hundred tonnes of bricks, overriding their emotions, their movements, their consciousnesses themselves. In an instant the entire square was frozen.

The gryphon smirked, eyes narrowed and faintly glowing deep, deep violet as he directed the devastating power. Slowly, five thousand people turned round and filed back into place, shaking and in many cases crying.

Goldeneye sat down, rolling onto his flank and allowing his shifting, heavy stomach to spill out from between his legs. He began, birdlike, to lick his talons, idly preening himself as the squirming became tangibly more urgent.

“Don’t you remember? Until the squirms have ceased, not a single creature leaves this square. Did you think that was a command, little ones? It was a statement of fact. Keep watching. All of you.”

He paused to stroke a talon over the rippling bulge, letting loose an audible, cascading gurgle from deep within. Once more the kitsune’s handprint appeared from inside. The gryphon sighed pleasantly, and lay back, enjoying the sunshine, probing Leshana’s mind. The fun part was about to start…

***

It began as a prickling on her skin. Leshana, already oversensitized on the heat and the wetness and the dreadful air, barely noticed, continuing to try to force her way back into the gryphon’s firmly closed gullet. The muscles were nigh unshiftable. She felt a shifting, as if the monstrous predator had sat down, and in the moment of distraction realised that the sweltering climate hadn’t been hot enough to sting until a moment ago.

It had begun. Leshana gave a tiny, tiny whimper of fear, followed by a louder whimper of pain as the prickling increased, and kept going. She paused in her squirms to kneel, bent almost double, and rub at her tails. They had always been sensitive.

The sensation of flesh on flesh was so painful that she cried aloud, jerking her hand away. Worse, with it came a full handful of her fur. The kitsune screamed in horror, kicking out at the churning walls all around her and inadvertently chafing the rest of herself. It was like an instant, full body laceration. Leshana went under the gurgling sea of acids in her thrashing and came up spluttering and yelling. The pain only deepened as the minutes ticked by, and her muscles began to burn with tiredness as well as the exposed patches of raw, bloody - oh gods, her tongue and her eyes were on fire now, but she could still taste her own blood - flesh. But the agony peaked again, and again, and she couldn’t stop. She screamed, and screamed. Her muscles were red-raw.

One hour. Goldeneye’s words hummed inside the kitsune’s shattered head. Not going well so far, is it?

“P-please!” she yelled, cowering away from the cruel, cruel voice. One hour? That was all? When she had been in here for an eternity of pain and terror? Surely not… surely...

“P-please, y-you can’t… you can’t…”

She knew she was wrong. He could. That was all. And yet she also knew that her squirming was useless, but still she wriggled and writhed and kicked against the tight, crushing walls as the gryphon left her soul to watch her agony as a spectator once more.

Goldeneye cast an eye over his audience, still telepathically mesmerised by his squirming stomach. He shifted around to present it to another side of the helpless crowd, extended a wing, and began to preen the feathers. The air hummed with misery and sadistic glee.

Time passed. Years? Maybe. Leshana was not able to sweat any more. When her legs rubbed against each other it was like a fiery brand, and she felt no fur, but slick, fibrous muscle and globs of melted flesh. Her fur had liquefied, her body a bloody mass of meat. Already her circulation was tainted with acid, beginning to boil her from the inside out. It was quite remarkable really - to have every single nerve in body her screaming, all at once. Not that she could comprehend that. The pain had ceased to have words a long, long, long time ago.

The sun’s setting, little fox. Do you think you’ll last the night?

Leshana’s tongue was a slimy lump of pain in her mouth. Even her teeth were starting to slowly soften. She could not speak beyond screaming, and she would have been blinded had the gryphon’s gut not devoured all light anyway. She cringed away from Goldeneye’s touch… and then, in desperation, pushed towards it instead. The kitsune poured all her pain and suffering into the Emperor’s soul, all her despair, all her innocence. Maybe he hadn’t understood how wrong this was, how much she burned. Maybe there was still hope.

She was mad. Some part of her knew that she was mad and wrong. She broke down, weeping bloody tears as one of her tails worked its way to the bone.

And Goldeneye did not even treat the madness kindly. His stomach, so tight and massaging, jerked suddenly. Leshana shrieked incoherently, swallowing another mouthful of molten acid. Only when the spasm did she realise. He was laughing, out loud. The sound echoed in her ears before the drums started to liquefy.

Goldeneye looked up at the confusion all around him. “Oh, don’t worry.” he purred, licking his beak again. “Her hope finally died completely. There’ll be no more pleas. Honestly, it was more satisfying than funny, really. Maybe you had to be there.”

He curled up more comfortably as the sun set, ignoring the groans as people’s feet began to ache. They would watch all the way through the cold desert night: Goldeneye and his special kitsune were quite comfortably warm. She was burning so nicely, in fact.

He closed his eyes - not to sleep but to watch her better in his mind’s eyes - and licked his beak contentedly. So much pain…

The night passed. Leshana was no longer sane. Her mind dug into itself, like a never-ending scream which bit deeper with every fresh spike of agony.

She heard the snap as one, then the other of her vertebrae snapped, and her tails fell off. The loss hit her harder than the endless hellish agony. Her tails… so precious, so much a part of her. They had been her comfort blankets, her excitable pets, her fluffy sidekicks. Gone. Snatched away. She found the bony, sticky tendrils which were all that was left in the mire of acid and melted flesh and clutched them to her, spluttering digestive fluids, still kicking and squirming - no longer to get out, but simply out of reflex.

Time passed in eternity, and she could count her rib bones one by one. She was blind and deaf and still writhing and screaming, and yet she still felt pain. How was this possible?

The remains-of-a fox knelt, hunched and broken, in her predator’s belly, and retched, kicking out against the walls once more, and fell back. Her muscles were liquefying. Every movement made her dizzy with exhaustion. But the agony was still there, and so she could not stop wriggling against the crushing, massaging flesh.

Her mind broke further, and she realised she couldn’t remember who she was anymore. She was misery personified. No, that was still an identity. She was part of Goldeneye. His name she remembered. She was nothing but a layer on his stomach, waiting to be made perfect like the rest of him.

Hours passed, still. If Goldeneye had talked to her she could not remember. Her squirming was weak now, and she had to gasp for spluttery, leaking breaths with every wriggle. Still she went on, sobbing silently at the pain. And finally a coldness started to spread through her, overcoming even the agony of her monstrous master’s guts.

Despite everything, despite her madness, the fox formerly called Leshana’s mind fled from death. NO it wailed, writhing frantically as she grew still. PLEASE, NO! THIS ISN’T… THIS ISN’T.

There was a word meaning “what should happen”. But she couldn’t remember it. She couldn’t remember anything. Her soul was like her body: nothing.

Leshana’s last words were a tiny, spluttering whimper. Goldeneye didn’t even notice them until her felt her fluttering, abused heart finally grow still. Her spirit faded into absolute oblivion.

The gryphon prodded his bulging, still belly, and gave a slow, satisfied moan. It was mid-morning, two days later. Several hundred prisoners were close to collapse, kept on the feet by only the gryphon’s cruel telepathy. All were shattered and broken. No more resistance, no more fear. Only utter submission. If he had commanded then to form a line before his gullet they would do it without hesitation.

Goldeneye rose, letting his churning stomach sway beneath him, and smiled. “Let that be a warning, citizens,” he said, voice soft with weary pleasure. “You’re mine. That’s the only real law in this empire. I’ll see you next time some poor, poor fool tries to break it, eh?”

He blew a kiss, carrying with it the scent of Leshana’s last breath, and took off into the sky, releasing his mental control. To his delight, nearly two thirds of the crowd collapsed instantly, from tireness, hunger, and terror. No more rebellions at this prison. Perhaps he should do it more often?

For now, he had escapees to hunt, an official either corrupt enough to be bribed or stupid enough to be deceived to… deal with, and an empire the size of a continent to run. The Emperor’s work was never done.

But of course, his play was unending. He tasted Leshana again, giving a soft belch and coughing up her prison collar and spectacles. The glasses were cracked by the potent power of his digestive tract, and he dropped them lazily, but the collar… oh, delicious. The leather was stained and frayed, but unbroken, and the clasp was still locked shut. Mortals were such fun!
Voracious Gryphon Overlord of the portal, sadist, and writer.Beware the Goldeneye.

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Location: Dancing amidst the terror-fevered inferno of your beautiful little mind. Exquisite...

Re: My soft vore tales: Terror, furries, despair, drama

Postby TheGuyWhoKnows » Fri Jul 08, 2016 6:48 pm

Aaaand the second. Read it here: http://aryion.com/g4/view/351333. Thanks again everyone! < 3

The Subjective Nature of Justice, and Also Deliciousness
By Goldeneye
A commission for Aliclan

The Empire of Seraphia had to be recognised for what it was, argued the scholar Parocles in his dissertation Deum Natuman: an entirely new system of government. To merely describe it as an tyranny, or a theocracy, was to miss out on the unique nature of the tyrant, or the religion. In the long and somewhat brutal history of the world, many similar civilisations had risen and fallen (and a lot of them quite recently to this new one), but they had been ruled over by simple men and women with mere political power - a flimsy, intangible thing. Instead, the esteemed scholar claimed, Seraphia must be recognised as a new form of dictatorship, for it was one which the head of state not only held absolute political power, but absolute power in every other regard.

He called it a deiocracy. One nation under one, extremely active, god.

There were several major differences in this god’s politics as a result of the immense power he wielded. The Emperor did not need to worry about heirs to carry on his line, as he was immortal and would not give up control of his empire until the sun fell from the sky. Intrigue at court to control the decisions of his Divinity was nigh impossible, as he saw everyone’s ulterior motives sitting in their minds plain as day. The same with spies - although at least two dozen had to vanish into the god-being’s mighty form before the other nations got the message - and with corruption. International diplomacy became rather more difficult, since the Emperor’s patience was generally fairly short, but he didn’t seem to mind the various short-lived wars which sprung up as a result, ending inevitably with an expanded empire and an expanded stomach pressing against the straps of the his magnificent battle plate.

However, in many cases things went on as they would normally. The Emperor was far too busy to concern himself with the day-to-day running of his palace, or with keeping his Empire’s ever-growing population fed, housed and safe. But he did not tolerate failure by the ranks of civil servants who took on the responsibility. In his eyes, he explained playfully, all were equal, rich or poor, male or female or more, noble or peasant: for all were but nothing next to him. Anyone who upset this order would be reminded of where they stood in very, very definite terms.

As a result of this, as Wreathed Judge Milo Grey stepped out of the litter into the hot desert sun, blinking at the sudden light, he found he was shivering slightly. His official robes, silver silk trimmed with leaves of bronze, would normally feel light enough to allow him to withstand the heat, but today the flowing material seemed to hang on him like iron chains. He managed to keep his dignity, at least, standing calm and sombre but for a nervous twitch of the tail. Milo was a feline, a housecat with fur the deep navy of the night sky and bright, round eyes of an even bluer hue. He was twenty seven years of age, and looked even younger, a slight, youthful figure leading to many officials to mistake him for an usher or underling. He’d grown used to it by now, even laughed at it.

Right now he didn’t feel very much like laughing, so instead he swallowed and began walking up the steps. The Imperial Palace loomed above, an edifice which reflected its master in every way. It was quite possibly the largest building on the planet, a sprawling, spiralling array of towers, bridges and cathedral-like halls which somehow retained a kind of elegant symmetry. It wasn’t totally clear how it had been built. The days of Goldeneye’s ascension to his eternal throne hadn’t been that long ago but already they were half-shrouded by myths. Not surprising considering their subject matter.

Up the wide, wide steps for a half a hundred feet, feeling the silent gazes of the Immortals, strange, merciless figures in all-enclosing bronze armour, flanking each end of each step as they watched him. Towards the threshold of the great open bronze doors, depicting in relief two vast Emperors standing tall on hind legs, claws spread regally, and here he was. The open archway led straight to the Imperial Palace’s entrance Atrium. It was the largest room he had ever stood in in his life, an expanse of pale smooth stone polished to perfect smoothness and spreading out for a hundred feet in every direction. And this was merely the entrance hall.

He stood in the doorway, shivering a little, and checked the summons for the dozenth time. Yes, it definitely required him to go in via the front door. The analytical part of his mind noted that this was part of a simple intimidation tactic: to overwhelm him with a sense of the Emperor’s great power and wealth. The rest of his mind conceded, apprehensively, that it was working very, very well.

But he was an Wreathed Judge, chosen to represent his Divinity’s unyielding will. He had followed his duties and given fairness and justice to all. He had never so much as dreamed of taking bribes or performing favouring anyone, regardless of status or power. He had no reason whatsoever to be afraid, surely.

And yet he was. Milo had never met the Emperor, but it was clear from what was known of him that he did not tolerate any failings to live up to standard.

He swallowed, composed himself, and entered.

Milo’s placement had been in the courthouse towards the east, in the merchant’s quarter. He’d trained in the Imperial University, and received his wreath from the hands of an Immortal, rather than the Emperor himself. He’d never actually seen inside the palace yet, and so this was… quite an experience. A hall cut from glass-smooth sandy stone, flooded with sunlight from golden windows three hundred paces high. Balconies lined the walls, and pillars of bronze as thick as three men were tall supported the arching, cathedral-like roof. And this was just the entrance hall.

The cat’s big blue eyes followed the pillar to the ceiling, goggling at their sheer scale. Far above, a mural depicted a boiling mass of fire streaking down towards the viewer, with the faintest indications of leonine shape amidst the flames. The weight of the Emperor’s power hung over their heads.

Milo gazed up at it for almost a minute before he realised he was being spoken to. He jumped slightly at the quiet cough, tearing his eyes away to see a duo of palace attendants standing at his side: a slender female lizard of some species he didn’t recognise and an dark-feathered, male osprey. Both wore little but simple silk loincloths and leather collars, marking them out as property of the Emperor which was currently being used by him personally, rather than simply property, like Milo and every other inhabitant of Seraphia, which had been trusted to take care of itself for his pleasure. Fairly little was left to the imagination, and Milo restrained his flush as he spoke to them again. “I… I’m sorry?”

“You’re Wreathed Judge Milo Grau, yes?” the osprey repeated, smiling a little at the sides of his beak. “We’re to bring you to the Emperor’s personal receiving chambe-”

He froze, and his smile vanished instantly. The lizard beside him swallowed and straightened noticeably, obviously aware of the meaning of this even if Milo was not. The pause lasted only a second, and then whatever it was had gone. The bird shook his feathers a little and smiled again, his sharp yellow eyes betraying a trace of fear. “Sorry, sir. Right this way.”

They turned and set off, walking towards one of the smaller doors at the side, and Milo followed, determinedly keeping his head held high. Internally, meanwhile, he tried to calm the fear churning inside. Personal receiving chambers? Personal? The summons hadn’t mentioned him actually meeting with the Emperor himself!

It must just be a term, surely. He’d be meeting with a secretary or similar. Nothing would warrant actually meeting the Emperor. Even if he had been accused of murdering half the jury or something, he’d be dealt with by administration, not the head of state.

He dismissed the thoughts, or tried to, as the two slaves ahead led him down some stairs, along a series of seemingly endless corridors, and to a large set of bronze doors guarded, as ever, by two silent Immortals. They waited for a few minutes, during which Milo tried to smooth the fur on his ears and clean his whiskers - embarrassingly animalistic behaviour, but he wanted to look as neat as he possibly could - and then the osprey gave another slight intake of breath, and nodded. He could go in now.

The doors creaked open and Milo took a breath and slipped in, to face destiny. Stairs upwards, into somewhere filled with light. He squinted and stumbled up the steps, cat eyes unused to such sudden, blinding brightness. And then...

And then…

A chuckle ran around the gallery as the feline’s mouth fell slightly open, his mask of judicial calm lost in the bewildering, terrifying realisation of where he really was. A hall so vast it made the entrance look like a broom closet, lined not with pillars but with shining silver and bronze statues of the Emperor himself, almost a thousand feet tall and standing rampant to bear the weight of the ceiling far, far above. He stood in the centre of an avenue fifty paces across, paved with what appeared to be genuine gold. On either side, between the vast feline hindpaws of the mighty statues, an array of marble seats lined the sides. Barely one in ten was filled, and yet there were still more than a hundred pairs of eyes watching him. He recognised high ranking officials, foreign diplomats, a good few creatures which he didn’t even recognise the species of. The Emperor’s Royal Court, eyes all fixed unmercifully upon him.

The other inhabitant of the room waited, quite patiently, for Milo to turn to see him. He sat sprawled comfortably upon the specially adapted throne, which was more a raised dais with armrests of beaten gold. Compared to the sheer size of this room and everything in it, any ruler should have seemed dwarfed by his decorations, compensating for their own weakness with the oversized depictions.

But not this one. Emperor Goldeneye, the Silver Summer, the First and Eternal, somehow carried a sheer presence which outshone any statue. It was as if you were seeing a star in the night sky, and though it seemed of comprehendible size and magnitude the truth was you simply weren’t looking at it properly, for in reality it was vast beyond words. The gryphon lounged elegantly on his great flank, watching his new arrival unblinkingly. Even several hundred feet away, Milo could already tell that the god-gryphon would have stood nearly three times his height, and far, far longer and wider. Sleek, leonine hindquarters merged with a chest bound with flying muscles to power the cloak of silver feathered wings folded snugly against his side, and then avian forelegs leading to grey-scaled claws, cruelly taloned and strong enough to tear stone. His eyes, one purple and one gold as the sun, narrowed just a little in amusement, and he called out to the stunned feline in a voice which carried easily across the hall.

“Milo Grey. Wreathed Judge, ordained to act with the authority of your owner and Emperor… welcome to my court. I’ve rather been looking forward to meeting you.”

Behind Milo, the hidden door, allowing him to walk straight into the middle of the throne room without even realising slid slowly closed again. The click echoed in the silence which had fallen.

Emperor Goldeneye watched for a few more seconds with a slow, spreading smile before he spoke again. “You may approach. Unless you need some help walking?”

Not a single feather moved, but suddenly Milo’s legs were no longer Milo’s. He started, giving a small mew as, without his own thoughts, his body took one step forward, then another, drawing him closer to the Emperor’s divine presence. Telepathic control. The final and surest proof, Goldeneye had proclaimed at his coronation many years ago, of his unquestionable ownership of all things. His raw strength alone was enough to force others to do his will or face certain, painful death, but with this power the choice was removed completely. All were made his. The experience was nothing short of terrifying, and when, an instant later, he was released again, Milo nearly fell over, his dignified mask cracking sharply. The Emperor smirked.

But he had done nothing wrong and he would not be intimidated. Milo swallowed, and straightened his back. “N-no, your majesty. I’m fine.” Carefully, he began to walk down the long avenue, aware at every step of the many eyes on him - although he didn’t dare break the gaze of the two which lay straight ahead.

The journey seemed to take a long time, and the Emperor didn’t seem to blink much. He simply watched, smiling slightly, as Milo drew to the edge of the raised golden dais and bowed to his knees. There was a moment of tense silence. Milo broke it, and immediately regretted it.

“Your… your majesty?”

The Emperor looked at him, and this time far more intensely. His gaze had an almost physical weight to it, far stronger than the many other eyes of the court. He smiled. “Ah, yes. The matter at hand. Tell me, Wreathed Judge Milo Grey, do you remember the case you presided over at eleven of the clock in the morning, upon the third day of the month of Feathersong?”

Milo did, and judging from the sudden, slithering sensation in his skull, the Emperor knew that he did. “... of course, your… your majesty…” he said, slowly. “Defendant was one Leshana Kitsune, a foreign citizen accused of breaking the terms of her trader’s license by-”

“That’s enough.” Goldeneye silenced him again. “Unusual surname. I must visit her kind sometime… anyway. Did you notice anything unusual about the case, little Milo?” His voice had become quieter, with a certain silky edge which was extremely unnerving.

“Unusual? I… um…” Desperately he wracked his brains. “She… she claimed innocence, but that’s, that’s nothing new. We investigated her claim of being set up by a rival merchant, and found no evidence of any wrongdoing on his part. All that was left was the sentencing. As per your laws, your majesty… five years hard labour. Alsar Prison, I believe.”

The Emperor nodded. “I see. All according to the rule of law, as set out by me, was it?”

“Y… yes, your majesty.” Milo swallowed, resisting the urge to flatten his large ears against his skull.

“With the authority vested upon you to act in my name.”

“Yes.”

The gryphon blinked once, with reptilian slowness. And then suddenly his great beak spread into a wide, benevolent smile.

“Well then, there’s nothing more to do here, is there? I had reason to believe that Miss Leshana was unfairly imprisoned, and wanted to make sure that there was no corruption amongst the ranks of my subordinates. But you’re clearly an honest servant of the Empire. Thank you kindly for your time, Judge Grey. You can go now.”

There was a moment of silence, and then the ranks of courtiers exploded into hushed whispers and murmurs, evidently as surprised as Milo was. He stood, barely, his legs feeling like wet sand beneath him as he stammered out words. “You… what.... you… really?”

“Of course!” The gryphon’s voice was as silky and comforting as the finest feather bed. “I can’t ask any more than what you gave me, can I? To expect my judges to be able to see the truth as I do would be simply ridiculous. Run along, good servant. I’ll compensate you for your time.”

“I… I… see? Th-thank you.” He managed to take one step, then another, back towards the doors and freedom and safety to live his life. “Thank you so much y-your majesty. Thank you. Thank you.” Milo’s eyes were glazed, and he blinked back the tears of relief as he stumbled away, bowing three times over in his haste. Suddenly his robes felt as light and free as air. He remembered reading testimony from prisoners unexpectedly pardoned, and how much brighter the world had seemed, intoxicated by the joy of relief.

And then from behind him came another word.

“Hold on.”

Milo froze. The murmuring from the galleries silenced. For a moment, he thought that he was just surprised, but no, he couldn’t move at all. Goldeneye’s malign influence controlled his very limbs. From behind him, he felt the floor quiver as the emperor stepped down off his throne and began to pad towards him.

“Silly me. So sorry, Milo, but I just remembered something important. Yes, you had nothing but the best of intentions when you sentenced little Leshana. Yes, the fact that she was innocent is something that it’d be ridiculous to expect you to know. Yes, you are blameless.”

Milo felt hot breath on the back of his neck. His muscles trembled against the Emperor’s iron mental hold. Goldeneye’s voice came from just behind him.

“But I. Don’t. Care.”

With a shock of casual power, he was released, falling to his knees. The murmuring ranks were silent, and Milo tried to scramble up as Goldeneye slowly circled him. The cat’s trembling limbs caught in his robes, and he staggered and fell again. His hands flailed, and suddenly, with a brush of air and speed, Goldeneye’s beak was there to grab onto. The great shimmering eyes locked with Milo’s. Up close, it felt like the gryphon-creature was looking at him through more dimensions than he should have been able to.

The trembles slowly died, Milo’s fear overwhelmed by a new kind of paralytic, choking terror which left him limp, dependent on the beak for support. He could barely breathe, could not comprehend anything but the Emperor’s bejeweled, alien eyes.

Goldeneye chuckled softly, not blinking. His breath seeped through the cat’s robes and left his fur ruffled and hot. “I have to say, little kitten, you look far better like this. Weak and quivery. Just because I’ve given you authority doesn’t mean I wanted you to have dignity.”

“I… w… what do y-you want?” Milo could not tear himself away. “I… If she was innocent, can’t you just pardon her? Your… your majesty?”

The gryphon rolled his eyes. “Of course I could. I did, in fact, as soon as I found it.”

“You d-did? Then I don’t understand the-”

“And then,” Goldeneye continued, “later that same day in fact, I ate her alive.”

Milo opened his mouth, and couldn’t really seem to find any words to put in it. He gave a small noise which made the Emperor’s eyes glitter with amusement.

“It wasn’t even planned. Her name just came up at a public event, and… well, she squirmed for days, but even that wasn’t as delicious as the cruel irony of it. The real world has a wonderful habit of accommodating me, really. I’ve actually theorised that my sheer weight of power actually distorts the fabric of reality around my whims, making things simply go my way even when outside of my considerable control… but that’s not related. The point is, this isn’t about making sure everyone gets fair treatment. It’s about me and all of you subjects of mine. It’s about my possessions.”

“I… I don’t…” Milo’s voice finally returned a bit more solidly, albeit still in a weak, bewildered croak. “I don’t understand what you want me for. Please, If, if I… I was wrong… it wasn’t intentional! I can’t see minds, I can’t command the resources of, of an empire! Your laws, your laws say that I can’t be punished for acting as best I could! Surely I… I can have a-at least a second, a second chance...”

Goldeneye flicked his ears lazily, watching him. The cat felt a bit more of his natural acumen returning to him, and he spoke a little stronger.

“I… I mean… legally, in this case we ought to get the defendant released for her innocence. But… that’s not really possible. You, you knew she was innocent when you… when you… er…”

The gryphon raised an eyeridge.

“Anyway,” Milo said, “you’re not interested in her wellbeing, it… it appears. So I just… I don’t understand why you’re so… so angry with me. Your majesty. I swear, I, I did nothing wrong by your laws and methods. I… I was wrong, but… that’s not a crime, is it? Is it? Maybe… maybe you’re above the law - I mean, maybe you have… unique status… but… you can’t claim I deserve to be punished for this! S-surely! Or at least, that I shouldn’t be instantly… that I should have a s-second chance for it!”

Goldeneye watched. Then he laughed again, soft and hot and washing over Milo with each deep, rumbling chuckle. Like waves against a sandy beach the feline’s composure and confidence was simply washed away by the second.

The gryphon lifted his head up and away, sending Milo toppling to the ground. “This is,” he said loudly, “actually quite a common delusion for those in Milo’s position, everyone.”

Who… who is he talking to? Weakly, through the dread, Milo remembered the courtiers watching from the galleries. He parted his lips, trying to speak, but all that came out was a kittenish mew of fear.

“I find it’s especially popular amongst those high enough to have some authority, but low enough that they don’t interact with me at all. They start to misunderstand the purpose of the law which they uphold in my name. Thinking it’s in the name of justice and fairness. In the name of good. That I am somehow… “benevolent” in my tyranny.”

Distantly, Milo heard the sound of a few voices in mocking laughter.

“Perhaps we should educate him. Milo Gray, I ask that you keep my laws so that you might keep my empire in order, so that my subjects - my possessions - are kept in the best possible state. I do not allow slavery because only I have the right to own anyone - or rather, everyone. I despise corruption because only I have the right to control and destroy the lives of anyone for my own gain. And because my laws are only there to keep you all ripe and tender for me, I don’t care about following them myself in the slightest. I’m not simply above the law, Milo. I am the only reason that the law exists.”

Milo tried to mumble something, but his words were not even ignored, simply not recognised as existing.

“Is this unfair? Is it unreasonable? Is it against my own laws? Oh, yes. It is. But I liked Leshana, both before and after she slid down my gullet so delightfully. And I would have wanted to meet her when her life wasn’t already so full of suffering inflicted by someone else. My prey is mine, and hurting them is mine.” He spoke the word with a burning, religious fervour. “All of it mine.”

“This… this isn’t right, though. P-please, your majesty, I’m sorry, I… I can’t… I just wanted to… to help the people of this world… please...”

“The people of this world do not deserve help. They deserve only to make as good a meal for me as they can. That’s what you are, little kitten. Helping to season them.” Goldeneye leant down, hooking a talon under the hem of the judge’s silk robe. “But equally, you are part of the menu.”

He ripped the robe open, tearing it straight through with barely a shred of resistance. Milo whimpered, trying to defend his soft slender body from the terrible knife-edge, but it had no interest in his flesh, just his garments. His smallclothes were in rags as well, his body naked and revealed, like a fruit freshly peeled of its rind. The gryphon towered over him, his presence like physical pressure on the little, shaking cat’s soul. Milo was trying so, so hard not to think of the very obvious.

“You’re… you’re nnn… n-not going to…”

“Not saying it?” The gryphon laughed softly. “I will then. I’m going to devour you. Swallow you whole. Every inch. By now, it seems like most of the planet knows about Seraphia and its predatory Emperor… but not a single morsel seems prepared for the actual sensations of it. You’ve probably sentenced a fair few to the death penalty in your time - or “lunch”, as I call it - so I’ll be delighted to be able to give you a first hand experience.”

Every word struck him down to the bone. Milo gave the weakest, feeblest moan he had ever heard, a sound which could barely come from a living thing. He tried to rise, tried to avert his eyes from Goldeneye’s merciless stare, but his body would not respond. The gryphon drew closer, his nares flaring as he drew a deep breath and took in gallons of the feline’s scent. His eyes seemed to physically glimmer with hunger. Milo couldn’t bear to watch. He managed to wrench his eyes shut. Goldeneye said something, but he was beyond hearing.

...but rather than sudden wet, all-enclosing darkness, he felt the thick bony surface of the gryphon’s beak nudging him towards getting up. His eyes fluttered open, locking again with the Emperor’s as if drawn by some mad magnet. Goldeneye smiled lazily.

“Well? You’re dismissed, I said.”

“W...what?”

“Little kitten, I had to rearrange a diplomatic ceremony, three signings of legislation, and a meeting with my architects just to have this five minute meeting with you at such short notice. Do you think I have time to eat you properly right now?” Goldeneye chuckled, nosing his prey back fully onto their feet. “Fair enough, I could do it now. It’d take less than a second. But where’s the fun in wasting all your taste like that? No. Milo, I want you to go to my quarters and wait there until I finally finish all this damn Empire-running business and get the chance to properly enjoy my lunch.”

Milo blinked. “You… you’re going to… what?”

“Come on.” Goldeneye clicked his talons, the sound clacking oddly, and out of nowhere the two slaves of before seemed to have drawn up behind him. The osprey and the lizard. He jumped, and backed away - straight into Goldeneye’s soft expanse of chestfeathers. The gryphon giggled.

“Don’t worry about it. Give him a loincloth… but nothing else. He looks so delectable like that. Milo, I’ll be along soon enough. And relax, sweetling... it’s not like you have somewhere to get to.”

He thrust Milo forwards and began to walk back to his throne, giving the trembling cat a last teasing caress with the fluffy tip of his tail.

“You have the rest of your life, after all.”

***

For all his flamboyancy and casual disregard of all laws of decency, morality, and on many occasions physics, the Emperor was actually a fairly private person. He did not generally hold the traditional feasts and banquets of the Royal Seraphian tradition, although that was probably because no-one was very keen to attend a meal with him. He would often vanish completely for days on end, and in some cases entire weeks or months, only returning every few days from out of thin air - literally - for a few minutes to settle vital matters of state and remind his empire of his rule by devouring the nearest unlucky individual. So to see exactly what lay inside his personal chambers was probably supposed to be a rare and glorious privilege.

Milo did not feel this way. He had not spoken much to the two slaves as they escorted him to the Emperor’s quarters. The lizard girl had placed a hand on his shoulder in what he thought was a silent, helpless gesture of solidarity, and mercifully, one of them had given him a loincloth. It was as far from clothing as clothing could be, but at least he wasn’t totally naked.

He tried to appreciate the kindness of strangers, but found he couldn’t think of much at all beyond what was happening right now. It was ridiculous. It was wrong. It was completely insane.

Well, the Emperor had never claimed to be otherwise.

That was the problem. That was where everything Milo stood for, everything he had spent his life learning to argue for, everything he was, simply fell down like a house built on sand. Goldeneye just didn’t care. He was not right, he was not fair, he was not good. But he was the god-gryphon Emperor of an empire expanding over its second continent, and that meant he had decided… this.

Milo sat down against the wall, hugging his knees miserably. He sat opposite a strange tapestry, displaying a stylised rendition of a dozen figures he knew nothing of. A creature like the Emperor himself, but in black, a white wolf, or maybe fox, a bird and a mouse, another bird entwined with some kind of snake in deep ocean blue, a silver wolf and rat, one character - or was it two? the boundaries seemed too blurred - in black and white. They seemed locked in some weird dance which might have been fighting or amorous affection. It seemed a lot like the Emperor himself, in fact - inscrutable, unexplainable and completely distant to his suffering.

A few minutes ticked by.

This was insane.

Now he was repeating things he already knew.

Milo stood up, beginning to pace the room. Come on then, he pounded into his brain. You can come up with an argument for anything, can’t you! You’re a damn Wreathed Judge! Think! THINK! There has to be something to say. There has to be.. some thing! Logically in an infinite universe, there must exist some combination of words and action to reach the truth in the situation. To let you go free, or just get a second chance, even. There has to be.

But, he argued, first of all this isn’t a decision in your hands. You’re not the judge here. Nor the jury. Nor the execu… well, anyway. And secondly… every judicial decision you’ve made you’ve based upon the law of the land. Law which applies to you, to the accused, to the witnesses, to the prisons, to the entire Empire. To everyone.

Save one.

I’m not simply above the law, Milo. I am the only reason that the law exists.

That was it, then? More than a decade of study, work and passionate perseverance - almost half his life - was simply to do… that? Not to give fairness to the world, not to protect the innocent and punish the guilty, no, his life had simply been a case of keeping the Emperor’s “possessions” in line so he could enjoy them at his leisure?

He came to another room, staring at what appeared to be a bed, strewn with thick pillows and blankets - but the ocean of feathers was about the size of a small garden. No. That couldn’t be right. Having power did not make Goldeneye right. Justice was an idea, and nothing, not godly strength or tyrannical rule or telepathic ability, could destroy an idea.

That made him feel a little better, but then he realised that he was still going to be swallowed alive, and he felt even worse. Should he be crying, maybe? He didn’t feel like crying. He felt far, far too scared for crying. Crying was useless, his body was reasoning. What he needed was a way out of this horrific, fatal situation. It was up to Milo’s mind to provide the solution. And oh gods oh gods he couldn’t think of anything.

He’d come to a balcony window, the blast of sunlight on the creamy stone stinging his eyes. On the left lay the palace gardens, walled off to the general public, a lush oasis of exotic green in the hot desert sun. On the right lay what looked like to be a delivery area for carts and merchant caravans, and then an open gate out to the city. He could see the shining forms of two Immortals flanking the space, resolute and unmoving.

You could leap onto that wall.

The drop was barely twenty feet. Milo was young, and as agile as any cat, and the Immortals might be guarding the gates, but they weren’t likely to look at the tops of the walls. If he just balanced there when he landed, then crawled along to a safe place to get down, he’d be in the city. Away. Safe.

Safe from the mind of a telepath? He stared at it, at the freedom so close, and so distant. Come on. How far would he have to run to stop the Emperor from finding him without lifting a claw?

Oh, and what would Goldeneye do do if he did find him? Eat him? What a horrific fate! Much better to stay here and just suffer the current ordeal, which was… oh yes, being eaten. What had he got to lose by trying something, anything, that had even the slightest chance of success? How could this get worse?

Another part of Milo said something quietly, so quietly that he barely heard it, and had to focus consciously on the unease before he heard it properly. It said it again.

He could make it worse.

The feline leaned against the wall of the balcony, his limbs beginning to shake uncontrollably as the truth of that sentence began, wave-like, to break over him. Of course he could. He could take longer to die. He could hurt more. He could come back just to die again. He could simply never expire at all, living out an endless existence in the deepest, hottest, darkest corner of the gryphon’s rapacious digestive tract. Or other things, things outside of sane comprehension. The Emperor’s true nature had a thousand theories and a million rumours, and his only certainty was that he was powerful enough to subjugate and control any living creature on this world he had claimed, beyond all hope of resistance. Who know what he would do?

But it was right there in front of him. And as it was, all his life held right now was the certainty of pain and death. How much he received might vary, but the end would be the same. Whereas with flight, there was a chance of life. Maybe small. Maybe not at all. But maybe, something up there might be kind to him. This was the chance.

Oh, gods and demons.

He stared at the top of the wall below, frozen in an agony of indecision, as the distant Imperial Bell struck, sonorous and echoing, to mark the hour. It struck again an hour later and he was still there, lims locked against the wall, mind locked in an endless cycle of fear and helplessness. The sun grew higher in the sky, and Milo’s fur soaked it up as he breathed, almost meditatively and argued against himself.

Another hour passed, Milo stayed where he was. He was a judge, after all. He was used to careful deliberation. But usually he had no emotional investment beyond wanting to do the right thing. This time, the punishment would be horrific. It was the greatest challenge of his career.

Another distant series of bells, and then another. He realised at last that his throat was almost cracked with the dry fear boiling inside him, and tore his mind away from the agony of choice to see if he could find a jug of water or some other drink inside. Milo took a few steadying breaths, settling his thoughts - if only temporarily - and turned to go back inside.

The Emperor was sprawled lazily in the doorway, watching him with intense interest.

“Oh, come on, don’t go without making a decision.”

Milo’s muscles might as well have been wound steel wire for all he was able to move. He gave a feeble noise which he could barely hear.

Goldeneye sighed softly. “I was enjoying that. Was rather hoping you’d try it, in fact. Why else do you think I have this balcony?”

Milo tried to say something, but his throat was so dry that he couldn’t even rasp a word if he’d been able to think of any. It was as if every second he had spent along with his thoughts had let the fear feed on them, and suddenly he was more scared than he had ever imagined existing. The enormity of the terror itself frightened and shocked him.

Because he knew what was going to happen.

The gryphon breathed in, very slowly, watching him without blinking. A smile lingered around the edges of his beak, and it was clear that he could practically taste the emotions. They stayed like that for a minute, maybe more, utterly frozen. The sounds of the city hummed in the distance.

Milo managed to break it first, but only with the most massive effort he could imagine. “Please…”

Those mismatched eyes sparkled again, and Goldeneye stood up, padding a few steps forward and sitting down again, next to the feline, back against the balcony wall. Milo, stood fully, barely came up to the lower edge of his beak. He tried again, not daring to step away but cowering from that monstrous, hot, feather presence. “Please… I… I’ll do whatever you wish me to to make it right. I was wrong. I’m sorry. I’ll… I swear, name it and I’ll do it. Just give me… give me a second chance... please. Please. I… I don’t...”

He trailed off. Goldeneye was ignoring him, looking instead out over the spreading skyline. “You know,” he said softly. “I never really planned on becoming serious about this “empire” business.”

Milo closed his mouth, his train of thought so loaded with adrenaline that the comment derailed him completely. “Um,” he said, rather weakly. The Emperor chuckled.

“Your world was the first, see. I came out of the space between worlds in a blaze of molten fiery energy, and I could barely figure out how to actually have a body. I was weak, I was confused and honestly, I was about as intelligent as a large insect. But your minds are just naturally intelligent. They fit properly, and you don’t even have to try. I took the first little creature to come across me and I nearly bled him dry using him to make my mind work. I learned there were more of you, and all I could think of was being alive. So I came to Alphasiron and I felt so, so many minds, and I started to become me. And that meant I started to become hungry.”

He clasped a claw around the little feline, hugging him into the forest of silky heat on his chest. Milo struggled fitfully, trying to get his head out to breath, but it was as if he was barely there.

“I want to experience you. Every part of every one of you to ever exist anywhere. I want to make you mine so much, in every way I can. So I decided right then that I was going to wipe the world out. Every one of you, taken, crushed, eaten, whatever it took to feel your souls properly, in an orgy of greed and spiritual gluttony. Made mine.”

Milo had stopped squirming. He felt the Emperor breathing, huge and slow, against him.

“So to start with that, of course, I devoured the city’s pitiful ruling class and parliament and declared myself emperor. That’s a story for another time, time which you little Milo do not have, but anyway I never intended to let a single sapient being on this planet live out more than a year after I took it for my own. But then… you called me Emperor, god-gryphon, Lord and Master. And I developed a new personality trait, a delightful little thing called ego. And oh, it was so much fun. To just see you fall over yourselves to beg and kiss my toes, just to be allowed to serve me so that you wouldn’t squirm for me instead. But it was more than that. I knew most of you didn’t believe it, but oh, when it comes down to it, you’d do anything to survive, huh? You’d give me your life so that I wouldn’t take it away. And that, I realised, is power. True power. I know you think I’m a monster, Milo. Not an Emperor, not a God-king. Just an vile beast who happens to be the most powerful abomination in this universe and most others. And I agree. So I make you tell me I’m your deity, your perfect ruler, because I know you’re lying, and you’re lying because I own you not out of some intangible “divine right” or “true royal nature” or some other mortal stupidity. I own you because I have power over you, power I can use without even trying. Power is the truth of the universe, Milo. Not gods, not emperors, not right and justice and truth. Just power. And I have it. And I have you.”

He finally realised his unwilling listener, and Milo staggered back, almost falling over the edge of the wall. Goldeneye’s long tail was there to catch him, nudging him back to balance. The Emperor giggled, standing up again. “So the point is, little cat… no, this isn’t right. You weren’t wrong. This goes against all laws of decency and fairness. And I’m not claiming otherwise. I’m just claiming you.” He caressed a long, cruel talon along the curve of the feline’s blue belly. “You can stop acting like you want to serve me out of awe or respect. You want to serve me because if you don’t give me everything in the world to sate my hunger to dominate you, I’ll swallow you alive and take my pleasure. You want to serve me, Milo, because I am power, and either I take you or you give you to me. You see?”

“I… I… I see.” And he did. He leant against the wall, and finally the fear coiled and cooled into something else. “You are… y-you are a monster.”

The gryphon’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, yes.”

“I… I hate you.”

Goldeneye took a step forward, his head leaning down, his body shifting into a slinking, leonine stance. “Oh... you do, don’t you?”

“And I-I won’t… I won’t beg for you. You’re wrong. There’s… there’s more than power. I served something… something else, called fairness. Justice. And… and you think you can destroy all these lives and… and just ignore it?”

The gryphon listened with a smile. “Yes. Because I can.”

“No. There’s…” he found himself backing away despite his anger, “there’s more. There’s more to life than the mercy of stronger creatures.”

“That’s true. I haven’t got any.”

“You… you think you have power, so that makes everything else meaningless, but… that’s just because it works out for you.”

Goldeneye shrugged, his shoulders rippling. He had backed the feline up against the balcony wall again. “No, silly. You just think otherwise because that works out for you. And you know what else?”

Milo gave a weak, kittenish snarl of defiance, leaning out over the balcony as the gryphon’s beak drew nearer. Goldeneye’s tongue slipped around the edges of his beak, wet and pink and soft.

“You were wrong about something else. You are going to beg. Because I want it. And I am all that matters.”

He looked at Milo, and blinked once.

And the anger vanished, replaced a hundred, thousand, million times over, with terror so vast that it clouded Milo’s vision, it filled his ears, it took hold of his very muscles. He gave a yell of primal, blinded fear which crashed and burned straight into a wracking, weeping sob, and tried to scramble away from the monster at any and all costs. Oh gods. Oh gods. No. No. No. No.

He was right up against the balcony wall, and he wasn’t even aware of the shift in gravity as his flailings toppled him over it, the warm smooth stone suddenly replaced with air and weightlessness. Milo gasped and choked in horror as he felt himself beginning to fall.

And as his vision cleared in the shock and he looked downwards, he saw Goldeneye, fast as an arrow, sat on the wall twenty feet below, his eyes laughing, his beak wide, wide open. The cat squealed with horror, twisting in the air as he fell, snatching desperately for the lip of the balcony above him, a grip which he never found. He landed, on his feet, cat-like, in just the sweet spot of Goldeneye’s open beak.

The gryphon’s maw split before the weight like a parting sea of pink, hungry flesh. In an instant, so fast he couldn’t even register the slippery transition, Milo was buried up to his knees in hot, clenching gullet. If he hadn’t been bending his legs as he entered, he might have slid in all the way, giving the monstrous “Emperor” a meal without having to even swallow.

Milo gave a whimper of overwhelmed dread, wobbling a little. The way the gryphon’s beak was pointed at the sky, he was effectively standing with his feet very, very tightly squeezed together, and balance was painfully difficult. He windmilled his arms desperately, toes squirming in the hot, tight embrace in a frantic attempt to stay upright, and Goldeneye’s throat rippled in laughter. It came out as a wet, bubbling gurgle. He flexed his neck, just a few inches, and was rewarded with renewed waving and twitching as the feline whined with terror. A long, thick tongue entwined with Milo’s legs, somehow squeezing its mass between his clamped-together thighs to properly embrace the flavour. The cat felt it lapping over his fur, drenching it completely in saliva. Tasting him.

He looked down and saw Goldeneye’s eyes, golden and purple alike, narrowed in pleasure and almost rolled up into his skull as he focused on the flavours slurped from his prey’s blue fur. In the haze of horror and misery, a spark of his anger rekindled at that. The gryphon wasn’t just murdering him, he was enjoying it enormously.

“Go… to… the h-hells…” he stuttered, trying to pull a leg free of the squeezing, pulsing, greedy flesh. Goldeneye’s eyes refocused, and he raised an eyebrow at his prey.

Didn’t you know, little kitten? I’m the First and Eternal. The gryphon’s voice coiled inside his skull, soft and teasing. It hadn’t even touched his ears. Goldeneye had his mouth full, so he simply spoke telepathically. Milo whined, shaking all over at the terrible alien consciousness hovering loathsomely close to his own. He could sense the enormity and the shattered wrongness of it. Goldeneye was worse than a monster. He was an abomination against the very idea of a living thing, and it hurt to sense him.

Death isn’t coming for me, and hell will wait. I’m going nowhere, save maybe to find a new slave to massage the softening bulge in my belly once this is done. And with that, he swallowed. The flesh around Milo’s legs was suddenly solid and muscular, swelling open and rippling up his body in an explosive spasm of pure predatory greed. It was a strange massage, over in a moment but still loud and wet and crushing any twitching resistance by Milo’s own weak mortal muscles to absolute nothingness. His legs were claimed, held in hot, heavy, all-encompassing flesh. His tail lashed against the roof of the gryphon’s maw, and Goldeneye began to purr through his nares, an odd sound coming from an avian creature.

The anger struggled feebly, but as little ripples and slurps inched the encompassing flesh up over Milo’s hips, it was fear and anguish which flooded over it. Milo’s snarls of rage and struggle faded to whimpers, to moans, to slow, rising sobs. He clutched at the edges of the gryphon’s open beak, trying to push himself out, but his limbs were shaking too much and besides that throat was stronger than his entire body. Goldeneye smirked, and lowered his head so that the feline would be nearly falling out of his beak without the devastating grip of his muscles. He stood perfectly balanced on the wall, paws - big and heavy enough to spread over both sides - lined up neatly while the gryphon worked his meal slowly down his gullet. All this appeared to Milo, upside down, as he twisted and squirmed helplessly in the sinking flesh, staring for a moment under the Emperor’s soft-feathered chest. He whimpered, catching sight of a soft, slightly heavy underbelly hanging silently between Goldeneye’s hind legs. That was where he was going. It almost seemed to call out to him with its ravenous, rapacious hunger.

Milo squealed with horror, pulling himself back up and bucking desperately against Goldeneye’s slurping tongue. His tail flicked wildly, bending painfully at the base as the wet flesh slowly claimed his hips and read. And in a small part of his head not consumed with terror, he realised that the gryphon was right.

“Please…”

Facing towards the ground, Milo couldn’t see the Emperor’s eyes from his increasingly confined position. And yet he felt certain that they were laughing at him. Every part of the cool, collected machine of logic and reason he had trained his mind into told him that there was nothing to do. There was not a set of words or actions in all the cosmos which could hope to save him from the gluttonous suckling of that fleshy throat. And yet he begged.

“Please, I… I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I swear I’ll… I’ll do anything for you, just… oh, g-g-gods, no, please, just stop, stop you c-can’t… you can’t do this…”

Nothing if not consistent, aren’t you? Goldeneye purred, his physical voice coming as simply a obscene, growling moan of pleasure at his prey’s wriggles and squirms. But I’m watching your mind, Milo. It’s delicious. And it knows that it’s wrong. I can do this. Nothing will stop me, because I have that power. But still you cling to it, because you want to be something else in life, other than a sinking bulge in my throat and nothing more ever again. Wanting things only makes them happen when you’re stronger than reality, little kitten. And now all I want is to taste you and slurp you down. Every last inch.

He swallowed again. The heat rose, claiming Milo’s stomach. His arms were starting to fold up towards his head, pushed by the edges of the gryphon’s beak. Most of him was by now inside the clenching, pulsing throat, and most of the rest of him was in the mouth, the air hot and humid and every squirm he gave knocking against soft, hot flesh. Goldeneye’s tongue snacked up his chest and neck and slathered itself against his face, smothering him in a greedy attempt to lap up every one of his tears. The gryphon gave another purring moan of delight, tasting every inch he could. Saliva was running into Milo’s eyes now. He was completely drenched, exhaustedly hot, and almost hyperventilating from terror.

“Nnnn!” he whimpered, gasping for breath as another gulp squeezed his diaphragm and drove the air from his flimsy lungs. “Nn-no, please, please, I… I d-didn’t, I didn’t mean… please, I swear I’ll d-do anything. Just give me... a… second… chance... Nnno, no, no… no… oh, gods, oh gods no…”

My point is proved. Goldeneye swallowed again, and Milo’s arms squeezed against his head, pressed together by the tight confines of the gryphon’s maw - but they were nothing to the unbearable pressure and heat which was pummeling the rest of his body into twitching, dripping submission. And now I claim what is mine and has always been. His tongue renewed its hungry affections on the cat’s face, pausing occasionally to entwine with his arms and slurp over them as well. Milo’s vision was now framed by a pair of fleshy jaws and the edges of the Emperor’s beak. Saliva began to drip into his eyes, but he couldn’t move his arms enough to wipe it off. Every movement he made seemed to let him slide a bit closer to the point of no return. His pleas died in his throat, his body seeming to lock up as the terror peaked once again. He was paralysed, a tiny mewing in the back of his throat the closest he could come to crying. “No… no… no…”

Goldeneye gave his neck a slow, rolling shake, letting the muscles of his throat grind and squeeze over every inch of quivering feline filling them. “Mmm…” he said physically, the sound coming out rather muffled from the blockage. You feel so good. The fact is, Milo, there’s nothing you could do, nothing on this planet or off it, which comes close to giving me as much pleasure as this. You were made to be swallowed. It’s the fulfilment of your whole life. The gryphon gave a half-swallow, not to take his meal down but simply to ripple his throat over it, crushing every muscle in Milo’s body simultaneously. Hold on a second. He delicately pivoted his gigantic bulk on top of the wall, balancing with graceful, measured ease, and turned around, facing now towards the city. Never let it be said I’m not a thoughtful owner, after all. I’ll give you a nice view.

Milo cringed at every word, unable to tell if he was crying or if it was just the rivulets of saliva pouring down his face. “No…” he whimpered, pouring every piece of misery into that one tiny word. “Please… just… I’m sorry… Just… give me...”

A second chance? That is the way of the law, isn’t it? People change, and can be redeemed. Their sins can be absolved. But my hunger, however… my belly, Milo, will never stop craving you. And I see no reason to deny it.

“Plea-”

And Goldeneye swallowed.

His body was sealed totally, the beak snapping shut in front of his face and plunging him into total darkness a half-second before the muscular gullet rose up and submerged his head in sweltering darkness. Milo’s word was choked off, his final scream not even audible as his lungs were squeezed until the pitch black was full of stars. Goldeneye’s body dominated him completely, absorbing even his twitches and quivers as it crammed him down into it. He felt his paws squeezing deeper, his body propelled with rippling spasms down, down, down into the depths of the gryphon’s body. He couldn’t move more than his eyelids and fingers, everything else utterly enslaved to the Emperor’s digestive tract.

“Nn…” he managed to splutter, but amidst the distant gurgles and the slow thunder of his heart, Goldeneye might not have even heard it.

Milo’s body was slowly bent as he slid deeper into the gryphon, curving to the line of Goldeneye’s throat as it twisted to horizontal and neared his belly. The feline’s flexible spine protested a little, and his ragged breaths gave way to a moan of pain and despair. The dark flesh squeezed in on him from all sides, and the open air a few feet away through flesh and fat and feathers might as well have been another universe. He had never felt so alone, so doomed.

Still want a second chance, little kitten? Goldeneye said, his voice completely casual. Milo’s paws broke into open air, wriggling with relief. The heat was almost painful, and he knew instantly what he was sliding into. The gryphon’s immense, engulfing body quivered with laughter. Oh, it is. Can you feel how much it wants to meet you? You know, from the way you squirm I could see you being useful now. But it’s too late. Nothing leaves my body alive.

Slowly and tortuously, Milo was slurped out into space as he had entered: painfully and miserably. He collapsed in the pit of Goldeneye’s stomach with a slosh, gasping at the hot, viscous liquid almost filling it completely. The stinging began instantly. Evidently the gryphon’s belly truly was waiting for him.

Milo surfaced from the pool gasping, spitting out globs of acrid fluid, and tried to push against the walls around him, mad, claustrophobic terror lending him fresh strength. But his body was exhausted with terror already, and the crushing heat had sapped it even more. And besides, there was no way out. The valve which had spewed him into this chemical furnace was sealed tight again.

The cat collapsed, barely managing to keep his head above the surging acids. Now he was starting to hurt. His skin felt raw, his midnight blue fur chafing against his very flesh. Milo leant against the squeezing, churning curve of the gryphon’s belly and wept. He tried to speak, to beg for just a moment of respite to prove his worth, but nothing came.

Defeated already? That’s fine, little thing. Once again, I predict you’ll still beg before the end. And squirm, too. Wriggle for your life. Goldeneye’s stomach sloshed back and forth, a rhythmic motion which Milo realised came from him walking. He knelt, groaning, and screamed a bubbling moan as his skin began to blister and melt. The agony pitched and rolled in time with the gryphon’s bloated belly, and once Goldeneye’s stomach began to squeeze in on him and crush the fluids into his bloodied skin, it felt even worse. Milo, sure enough, began to squirm, at first to try and get parts of his form out of the searing lake of horror, then simply to somehow escape the pain itself, and magically purge the fiery flames running through every cell in his body by sheer effort of frantic squirming. Now he tasted copper as well as stinging acid. The broken kitten screamed and sobbed, unable to comprehend this level of sheer pain, every cell pricked by a billion tiny red-hot swords.

Time passed. How long? All he knew was misery. He realised after a few screaming seconds that he hadn’t even noticed his sinking below the acid. His lungs were burning simply from the acidic fumes, not from asphyxiation. Goldeneye wasn’t letting him die before he squirmed all he could. Before he proved the gryphon right and begged.

Milo slumped in the pit of the gryphon’s belly, feeling his bones creak as the flesh squeezed him and crushed. Please… he thought, with no breath for words. You’re right. You’re right. Just let me die now. Let it end. Please. You’ve taken everything, now just… oh, it hurts, it hurts… please let me die.

Goldeneye caressed his mind, a tendril of thought propping it back to sanity just to appreciate its own agony. Awww, he purred. Didn’t take long, did it? See, Milo, I’m just not interested in “letting” you do anything. Your will doesn’t exist to me. Just “making” you do what I desire is what I’m into. And I’m going to make you mine.

He twisted something deep within Milo, and burned away his soul with the new heights of torment. The cat screamed until he didn’t know he was making sound or simply hearing the roar inside his skull. Slowly, searingly, he died.

The end came hot and burning, not cold, and it did not cease the pain. He wept with his last acid-filled breath, twitching. Milo tried to say something final, something worthy of his life. But all he could hear was his own pain.

He slumped, and the darkness beyond darkness claimed him. Another meal, another life. Another slave to the Emperor’s justice. And hunger.






But Goldeneye ‘s greatest pleasure was in the beautiful spirals of anguish he could create. He was a true sadist, and sadism demands not death, but domination. Death puts an end to that, and why should it?

Milo opened his eyes not in any afterlife, but in the sunlit air of the Emperor’s private quarters. He retched, choking out the memory of acid and agony, and fell to his knees, shaking all over. His body still should be burning, but his hands were clean and smooth-furred, his limbs unblemished. He was alive. He was alive? “W… what… what? What?”

A voice answered him, a terrible, dark purring voice which he would have preferred the tones of a demon to. “Oh, little kitten. Didn’t you say you wanted a second chance?”

The cat raised his head, still panting, and saw the gryphon’s eyes once again. Goldeneye smiled mercilessly, and raised one of his immense hind legs. His stomach spilled out over it, heavy and plump, distended with the still, churning mass of some poor soul sacrificed to it. No, he realised, still reeling at his own life. Not some poor soul. The poor soul of this body was knelt there, staring at the softening bulge.

The gryphon nodded, slowly, a sadistic smile spreading slowly over his beak. “Yes. This is your second chance, little kitten. I was feeling generous, and you gave me a wonderful massage. So welcome to your new duties. No more judgework, I’m afraid.”

Milo stared at him. He felt, suddenly, the tight, gripping leather of a collar around his neck. The Emperor smiled wider.

“First order of duty, slave, give my belly some love. It’s digesting a wonderful little feline possession of mine, and it would adore a good massage. Get to it. Your only purpose is to serve me, after all.”

Goldeneye smiled as the trembling feline hesitated, started to cry, and took a step towards his sloshing gut. It was a good day.
Voracious Gryphon Overlord of the portal, sadist, and writer.Beware the Goldeneye.

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Re: My soft vore tales: Terror, furries, despair, drama

Postby TheGuyWhoKnows » Fri Sep 09, 2016 9:48 pm

My first story, The Taste of Terror, was less than three thousand words long. But I have a diary entry from the time saying that I should maybe try and make them shorter in future.

The last chapter in Alex's misadventure numbered more than twenty thousand. It's pretty clear something has gone wrong.

So this little tale was an attempt to return, at least a bit, to that time of shorter, meatier stories. It features a new character who's been bouncing around me for a while. It's also definitely influenced by the non-vore things I've been writing, so it's a little... abstracty in some ways. The good shit is still there, oh yes. But if anything is a bit confusing, by all means ask me in the comments. These are strange creatures.

To my own delight, I managed to do this whole thing in one sitting. I hope it still passes muster for you. Thanks everyone. < 3

Contains:
Naga, snake, squirrel, rabbit, m/f, male predator, soft vore, oral vore, unwilling, fatal, cruelty, crushing, coils, breathplay

The original is here: http://aryion.com/g4/view/359473.

The Sunset Transition
By Goldeneye

She was born at dawn. She didn’t have a name.

In the first moment of her birth, she saw the sun glitter over the pacific as it crested it. She saw its shining glow drape itself over the African rainforest. She saw the chill lights of Moscow overwhelmed by wave after wave of gold and light.

Of course, these things did not happen at the same time. The sun doesn’t rise simultaneously on every side of the world, after all. But for her, it did. She existed outside of time, because she personified her own part of it.

She was Day. The dawn to the dusk. The waking up to the last light. Everything which happened in all the world in that time… was part of her.

As befitting a single piece of time, she was formed of everything in that twelve hours (or more, or less, it varied). She breathed with every breath of every living thing, burned with every emotion and thought. She swam in the Nile and climbed mountains in Tibet. She pushed through the earth and cruised high on thermal pillars of air. She read Proust and Steinbeck, at the same time as Clancy, King and an internet fanfiction about Sonic the Hedgehog. She experienced a trillion different lifetimes neither separately nor simultaneously. She lived more than any one creature could ever have done.

Perhaps that was the one small kindness which the universe granted her.

Day stabilised herself in one location and one time as she watched the sun set over the great red mass of Uluru, or Ayers Rock, in Australia. Technically, she had only existed for twelve hours. But to her, it felt like a century.

Now that she was more collected, and less an general mass of ideas and feelings, she could think more clearly. Day felt her soul-form resolving into a physical body, directed by her whims. She examined herself, smiling in pleasure at the pretty, clean lines of her limbs and body. A Sentient. Of course she would be. Their thoughts were so vivid, so blinding and complex. She stood, naked, female - because why not? - with fur the colour the colour of golden sunlight which cascaded beautifully down her elegant frame back. Her eyes were a pure, shining white. She might have been a squirrel, judging from the glorious tail, or perhaps a rabbit, from the long elegant ears. It wasn’t clear and it didn’t really matter. She was her. Day shook her head softly to feel it brush against her bare skin, walking a few steps into the future to sit down again a thousand miles away in the middle of the ocean, and watch the same sun setting from a different angle. What a life. What a creature she was. What a day this had been. She couldn’t wait to see what the next one would hold.

She smiled to herself, and that was when the strange plane of existence she inhabited spoke.

“Now, why would you think that?”

The sun hung exactly on the edge of the horizon as Day started, looking around herself. This voice had decided to be male, as much on a whim as she had chosen her gender. It was soft and sibilant, much deeper than her own, and… though size was of little importance to her, somehow far larger.

Was she not alone? Day brightened so much that she nearly outshone the sun. Now that she was being one person rather than billions, she might feel rather lonely. “Hello?” she said, as politely as she could. “I’m sorry, I thought I was… I was all there was. What do you mean, sorry, why would I think that?”

“You were thinking about what the next day would hold for you,” said the same voice, coming from everywhere around her. “You know what you are, aren’t you?”

Day frowned. “Um. I call myself Day, if you like. What’s your name?”

“You should be able to work it out in a moment, little day. Think about it. You are this day. Why would you think you’re the next one?”

“I… I’m not… but that doesn’t make any sense, surely.” Day stood up on the gently rippling waters, pulling herself together more firmly. “I mean, if I’m not tomorrow as well, then… well, who would be?”

The voice chuckled softly. “It’s alright. I understand. You’ve spent so much time living that you haven’t had a chance to think about what you are. It’s not uncommon, after all. If anything… I think it makes you sweeter.” It, or he, now seemed to circling around Day, voice coming from one direction after another, and yet she still couldn’t see anything. “But now we can slow down a little and enjoy things one at a time. Why do you think you only existed as of this morning?”

Day started to catch on. She was very, very far from stupid, but she was young and innocent, and rather naiive. “Who… if I’m… who was yesterday?”

“Good. Well done, little day. What do you think the answer is?”

It was already on her tongue. “Another... another me? Another Day? You… you don’t mean I’ll lose my memories, surely?” She clasped her hands to herself, horrified. To lose everything she had experienced so far, to have to begin anew without any of the wonderful sights she had once seen… no, surely, surely not. The universe would not create such wonder for her and then have her have to start again.

“No,” said the voice, tenderly, and yet Day did not feel entirely relieved. “You’ll keep these ones as long as you live. You’re not thinking the right way, dear, darling little day. Perhaps I can help.”

In the strange half-world they inhabited, he did not so much appear out of thin air as simply twist into it from a different perspective. All around Day, out of the aether, vast length after length of smooth, scaly flesh simply… moved into existence. It was more than half as thick as she was tall, gleaming faintly in the setting sunlight, and a deep midnight colour, so dark that she could not tell if it was blue or black. Along one side ran a softer, underbelly-like stretch of silver-white flesh, and on the opposite she could see a strange pattern of white dots, billions of them, glittering before her eyes as the gigantic thing shifted into being. They reminded her of memories she’d experienced, although she had never experienced them herself. After all, when the sun was up there were no stars.

First came a pointed tailtip, several dozen feet away, and then the endless slithering muscle, slowly revealing itself to be coiled in a perfect spiral, with herself at the exact centre. At first she turned round and round to watch it, and then she made herself dizzy and just stood, frightened and confused, as the thing endlessly unwound. It must have been a couple of hundred feet long. On the one hand, size did not mean anything on this realm of metaphor made flesh. On the other… Day had no clue how to do the same to her own form, and being so outsized was absolutely terrifying. And she was right in the middle of it.

She tried to pull herself closer as the coils slowly unwound, and spoke, voice quavering with the first, purest fear she had ever felt. “Who are you? What do you mean? What do you want?”

“By now, little day, you should have guessed the answer to all of those questions.” With a deliberate pause, the portion straight in front of her raised itself up and looked. In place of its head was a great bipedal snake’s torso, one which might have been eight feet tall if it had legs, with powerful, well-toned arms, and above it, a cobra’s head with a massive flared hood the same silvery glow as its underbelly. The colour, Day realised through her fear, reminded her of another memory, of the light shining from the moon when the sun was not there.

The creature smiled at her, and cocked his head a little to the side, clasping his hands in front of him. He towered over her. His eyes were large and elegant, and completely, totally black, so dark that they barely seemed to have substance at all. They were like holes into space, pools of pure darkness. Day remembered her own white eyes, and she knew who he was.

“You’re…” her mouth was suddenly dry. “You’re Night.”

Night smiled, winking one of his awful dark orbs off and on again. “Well done. You’re not alone in this world, little day, don’t worry. I’m here. That’s one question down.”

“I…” she looked around nervously, but there was nothing but coiled dark flesh surrounding her. “You’re scaring me. If… if you’re Night and I’m Day, we have no quarrel, surely? We have our own times. Our own domains. How are we even existing at the same time?”

Night extended a hand lazily towards the horizon, where the sun had begun to set, a few inches of the glowing orb already sinking down. “This is the transition time, where your kingdom and mine come together. I’m not nearly as dominant as I will be once it is fully night-time, but it’s enough.”

“Enough for what?”

“You can guess, little day.” Suddenly at Day’s back there was a wall of smooth dark flesh. It was not as cool as a snake’s might be, but rather pleasantly heated, for of course Night was no real snake or snake-person. She stumbled, angry now.

“Do you just want to push me around? Is this what I don’t remember from the past days? You taunting me like this?”

Night only smiled wider. The spiral was tightening, pulling around her. “Darling little day. Let me explain. You don’t remember anything from before today because you weren’t here before today.”

“Then who - who in all of space and time was, for crying out loud?”

“Day.” Night was right in front of her now, his body looming over her, and there was only scales at her back. She was trapped. “Do you want to know how many Days there have been?”

Day stared at him. “They… there’d be a new one?”

“Almost every twenty four hour period since the universe began.”

“But - and - what happens when my… mine ends?” She saw the sun sinking behind the towering naga, and trembled with fear. “Where do I go? And… where do you go when yours ends? Surely it’s the same for Nights as it is for Days?”

A hand reached out, caressing the side of her face. His touch was warm and gentle as a lover. “Yes, it is… and no, it isn’t. Those two questions have their answer in the same root, in fact.”

“And how do you know any of this? If you’re the new Night, then you’re younger than I am! How can you-”

“There you have it.” Night was now almost touching her, his body coiling inch by inch around her, both of them floating a few feet above the waves. “I’m not the new Night. I’m the old Night. I’m the same Night. I’m always… simply… Night.”

“Wh-” She was lifted off the ground, the expanse of sinuous striking in an instant, loop after loop of thick, heavy muscle pressing her into the reptile’s embrace. Her arms were caught, her legs were caught, her feet twitched above what they had decided to consider the floor. Every part of her was trapped in layers of dark, smooth, silky soft snake-flesh. Only her face remained outside, forced to look straight at Night’s dark eyes. His smile had not flickered as the personification of day herself tried to scream and could only manage a splutter. He was so strong. The muscular flesh held her so tight that her lungs creaked, expanding only by his permission. In contrast to her struggle, the naga-creature barely seemed to be noticing that she was resisting at all. His smile was constant.

“I’ve told the story, many, many times. Why don’t you guess instead? You’re nearly there.”

“Let… let me - uuunnnnggh!” The coils around her flexed and tightened again, squeezed her protest from her lungs. Night leant forwards, resting his arms on a mound of his own tail, watching her.

“Hush.”

Day swallowed, quivering in her cocoon of flesh, and tried to think. Just give him what she wants. “There’s… there’s supposed to be… one Day. And one Night. Forever.”

“Good.” The tail lessened its pressure, and she gasped for breath, slumping against his supporting flesh. Night stroked her fluffy ears playfully with a finger. “Go on.”

“But you… you k-kill us? You end us? That… surely, you…. How can you do that? How can you end a thing like us?” Like me?

Night nodded, slowly, savouring every word. “Well done. Because right now, you’re you. You’re not a vague, spread-out idea of a creature. You’re terrified, and that makes you clutch together into one individual, makes you bond into a single person. You naturally try to make yourself as small and focused as possible. It’s delicious, actually. I can kill you because you’re scared I’m going to kill you.”

“You… you’re going to…” she squirmed frantically, trying to pull out and he responded with a crushing flex which took her breath all away and sapped her utterly. Day’s wriggling died away in seconds as her muscles seized up, her head lolling on her shoulders. She mouthed something at Night, not even sure what it was without breath to think. The snake smirked a little, watching her as the blood thundered in her ears and her lungs spasmed frantically. She shouldn’t need breath. And yet she did, because she was in his power, and he wanted her to suffer. Why. Why?

She must have mouthed that as well, because as she shuddered and winced, suffering in total silence, Night began to speak again.

“Because I enjoy it. That’s why. I am Night, born of everything which happens under the dark sky. The romance, the passion, the joy… and the fear. The secrets. The dark desires. Of course, living for billions and billions of night-times means that I’ve developed something of my own personality.” He smiled. “So I end you. And the universe needs a Day. So another one of you morphs into existence at the dawn of the new day. And when it’s time for them to pass to me... I end them too. You’re so young, so inexperienced, so wretchedly, pathetically weak… so prey-like. You’re perfect.”

Black spots were swimming in front of Day’s eyes, as if a hundred of the fiends eyes were poring over her. She mumbled something silent.

“Yes, yes, maybe I will let you breathe. When I’ve enjoyed the sight of you choking like this. When I choose to. You’re mine now. You might as well have been from the moment the sun rose. The days are full of life and light… but the Night is always coming.” He laughed softly. “And, of course, I wouldn’t want a counterpart who could actually challenge me. What if Day decided that Night was interfering too much with the world while it was mine?”

You’re a monster… Day managed to say, silently. She could not think for how badly she wanted air. Monster...

“Oh, aren’t you clever? That word doesn’t seem to work as well now, does it? Monsters under the bed, monsters in the moonlight, monsters in the dark… I think I am, yes. The Night is monstrous at its core, it always has been.” Night kissed her gently on the forehead. “And the night ends the day. It’s only natural that I should personify it.”

He released her, just a little, and the little squirrel-like female sucked in breath until she saw stars. She flopped in Night’s iron grip, gasping and groaning for breath, mumbling things from the memories she had gathered. “Oh… oh god… oh the prophet… tamaso ma jyotir gamaya…”

“Do you think any of those will save you?” Night asked gently, swivelling his long form around to lean next to her. “I like the last one, though. “From darkness lead me to light.” Sorry, little day. The darkness is all your new god has to lead you into.”

“Why?” she choked, cowering away from him. The sun was starting to cross the boundary, now more than halfway in. The day was ending. “Why? What do you gain from this? How can you do this to me… to us, over and over and over again?”

Night nodded. “At the basest level? At the pit of my soul? Why?” He was silent for a moment, still smiling. “Because in the darkness, there are none of those saviours you praise so. There is no light to guide anyone. There is only the power. And the pleasure. And I will have all.” He kissed her again, this time on the lips, tender and full, and long. It was the first, and last, kiss of Day’s short life.

His body rippled again lifting her up, high above the ocean, high above Night. Day blinked confusedly, trying to pull her head out enough to see what was going on beneath her feet, but it was useless. The thick dark blue-black coils held her completely. “P-please,” she stuttered.

“No.” The coil around her feet unravelled, letting her paws and that gorgeous tail she had so enjoyed, so briefly, swing free, flailing at the air for some desperate attempt to touch ground. It found it… or it found something. Something soft and uneven, a little warm, and very wet. For a moment she thought he was going to drown in her the ocean. But it was worse.

Day squealed, and the naga hissed softly with amusement, but it came out rather muffled, because his mouth was full. His long tongue slurped over her ankles, tasting and drenching the golden fur, and then he suckled lightly and pulled in her calves. The coils around her body rippled and squeezed, playing with her now, stopping her breath at random to make her gasp and splutter even as she begged.

“Please, please, you - this can’t be - no… I swear, I… I could do something, couldn’t I? I’ve barely lived, just let me try! Please! I’ll do something… anything…. Please, just don’t… just let me go! No! NO!” But nothing halted. The flesh turned from soft and yielding to firm and muscular, clenching around her legs harder than Night’s coils ever had, and dragged her in to her knees. Now the warmth and the slickness was halfway up her legs, and though it was wet and practically frictionless, she couldn’t have budged it an inch. She was sliding in. In. He was devouring her alive.

Even as Day gasped for breath to scream with, the full realisation crashing down over her, the voice came again. Night didn’t need a mouth to speak. “They all said things like that. They’re all different in their way. No two are alike. Some think they’re male, some female, some… other ideas. Some take forms like yours. Some don’t. Some try to fight, some try to run. Some manage it, or I let them think so anyway. The sunset lasts as long as we need it to. But once they start to slide inside… they all beg. They all plead and threaten. They all cry.” Night swallowed again, and Day could actually feel the ripple as his the spasm passed all the way down his tail. Her thighs were claimed, her hips lashed over lazily by a long, sinuous tongue. “I listen to all of them. You can’t imagine how many days there have been since the world began. But I never, ever, ever stop swallowing.”

He swallowed again, and squeezed her again, crushing the air from her lungs once more. It was as if asphyxiating her was barely an afterthought, her breath a casual thing to be tossed away. Day squealed… and then could make no sound. She began to weep, her eyes flowing with fearful tears, but she could not plead anymore, not even if she had anything else to say. And now his scaled lips were gently sealed around her hips, with her rear and legs completely inside the soft, squeezing flesh. Day was no stranger to passion, but Night only teased her between her thighs a little bit. He was not interested in pleasuring her, of course. Just in consuming her. Another roll of coils unhooked itself, but as soon as she was free of one thing, his jaws claimed her. There was not a part of her which he would not control.

Her mental pleas and begging trailed off, turning into inarticulate flashes of dread. She was silent. He had taken her voice. The naga laughed softly, lapping at her navel, now loosening the coils with every slow, wet gulp he gave so that gravity could ease her a little further in. “Good? The heat, the tightness, the flesh on every inch. For you, the swallowing will never end, you know. You’ll simply squeeze along my body, inch by glorious, gluttonous inch, propelled by swallow after swallow as you melt away into me.” He uncoiled her again, at last, and this time completely, slipping his tail away so that Day could look down and see his reptilian jaws distended around her. Her body made a beautiful bulge in his gullet, like a statue in relief, a moving, twitching, squirming statue. Day gasped again, moving without thought, at the speed of terror. Her arms, no longer pinned, grabbed onto the edges of the beast’s jaws, her muscles straining to pull herself out. She choked for breath and flexed until she burned with the effort. But not a single inch was given.

The squirrel-creature collapsed in the cradle of her killer’s maw, shaking with fear. His mouth was a deep, spectral shade of purple, she noticed. No fangs. He didn’t need them.

“Please…” she mumbled, twisting around to look Night straight in the eyes. Up close, she saw a faint reflection of her own eyes, as white and pure as his were dark and endless. The twin bright spots looked so tiny in the mass of blackness. “Please, you… the n-night can be kind, can’t it? The night can be merciful? It can help… it can comfort… it can be a friend! I learned t-this. I learned this from all the lives I came from! You’re not… you’re not just a monster. Please… you… please!”

Night gently sealed his lips over her shoulders, engulfing her in a kiss up to the neck. As he spoke, his tongue flicked to one side, ensnaring Day’s right hand and dragging it into the drenching embrace, and then to the other, pulling it in as well. He wasn’t even pausing to listen, simply continuing his work.“You’re right, little day. But for all the things it can be… the night is never very fair.”

He licked her once, on the lips, a kind of kiss, and then opened his maw and pushed her down it with a single finger. For a moment, she saw the last few inches of the sun on the horizon, and then his gullet sealed over her only purple night. The heat doubled as the mawflesh sealed around her head, her lungs squeezed unbearably by every movement he made. Day howled in horror, pressing at the back of the throat an inch above her. She clasped at his fingers, suddenly desperate to hold on, and Night caressed her little hand and pushed it down as well as he swallowed. The muscles around Day convulsed, dragging her down into the depths of the naga’s immense form. Her bulging swell must be leaving his torso-thing, oozing into his snake tail. She didn’t know how defined her form would be there. Would it still be a soft, feminine shape, hips and breasts showing, skull mouthing frantically at all the gods she remembered believing in to save her? Or just a vague, thick plumpness, already indistinct, sliding deeper with the rippling peristalsis. It was in time with Night’s heart, pulling her deeper, deeper into him. She cowered, whimpering, as the dark closed in. She was so young. She had so much. Not this, please. Not the darkness closing in on her light. Please.

“I’ll never forget you, if that means anything,” Night purred from outside. Something passed across her form, and the little day slowly realised that it was his hand, stroking the swell of her, feeling her slide slowly deeper. He must be lain on top of her, embracing her through the mass of his own body. “Of course, I never forget anyone. Not mortals, not gods, certainly not days. But you were particularly sweet. You had so much light in you.” The flesh rippled and squeezed, pushing at Day’s face, her body, her hands. She tried to hold it off, but nothing could deny the naga.

“Yessssssss,” he hissed softly. “You know, I’ve thought, many times, about doing it. Just once. Letting you go when you ask. It wouldn’t matter to me, of course. I could just eat you the next day. But maybe I could try being that merciful night just once in my existence. And then I taste you, and I never do. You slide in. Only in.”

“No… no…” Day whimpered, prodding feebly at the caressing arms. “No… please… no…”

“Now you’re just trying to deny that it’s happening at all.” Night shifted along, staying with her with each swallow. “Fighting against the universe itself. A little pocket of light and warmth in an ocean of darkness, trying to say, I am more than just a little bulge.” He tapped her on the muzzle. “Are you?”

Neither of them existed within time. They were parts of time incarnate. So as the sun set, simultaneously on every side of the world, Night and Day had as long as they wanted. He followed her progress through the sweltering mass of his belly, feeling her weaken with every swallowing ripple. Day tried to say other things, but nothing could come. She felt so tired… so crushed and broken. So weak. So little. The flesh around her seemed to be pushing further in. She was… melting? Vapourising? There wasn’t a word for it. She was turning from a person into pure energy, and everything was absorbed by Night. Slowly she was made his.

She should have had last words. Night would have heard them. But as the flesh finally closed over her utterly… Day could only think of the music she’d heard in all the things she used to be, before the dark, before the sunset. She hummed something, in between whimpers, trying to ward off the dark. Night laughed again, and his belly vibrated with the soft roar as he purred out the next line..

“We could share things, couldn’t we? But I prefer to make them mine.”

His flesh squeezed, hard, driving her breath from her, driving her soul from her. Her body collapsed. The bulge slowly sank to nothingness. As the sun set, Day ended.

***

Night lay on the softening bulge of her for a long time, not that it meant anything, feeling her become him. Slowly, he licked his fingers clean of her taste, one by one.

“Beautiful little thing, weren’t you? I should have slurped up that tail last… but it doesn’t matter. You’ll look just as good on me. We were made for each other.” He reclined in the mass of coils, alien mind shuddering with the memories of dark pleasure. Her, and a billion others before.

The sky slowly darkened. The night was finally the uncontested ruler. The stars twinkled, and the pattern on Night’s back twinkled back. His long, long shape uncoiled slowly, into the physical world, and he slipped into the ocean without a splash. Now he could live like a real thing. And thanks to the memories in his mind from all the things Day had experienced, he had a hundred ideas. A hundred little creatures he knew who were just full of light, especially today, especially tonight.

Of course, just as the sun set on his side of the world, it was rising on another. A new Day was being born, just as innocent, just as young. They would live, they would play with the world… and then, as always, it would be his turn. Night smiled in the darkness of his ancient soul.

His last thought before he began his hunt anew was of just how much Day’s golden fur had looked like the sunlight. But now, not a hair remained. Only the dark, and the scaly body of Night.

Goldeneye 2016
Voracious Gryphon Overlord of the portal, sadist, and writer.Beware the Goldeneye.

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Location: Dancing amidst the terror-fevered inferno of your beautiful little mind. Exquisite...

Re: My soft vore tales: Terror, furries, despair, drama

Postby TheGuyWhoKnows » Mon Dec 26, 2016 11:53 pm

I know most of y'all don't comment here, but if just one person enjoys this, my work is done. Happy Christmas and or winter holidays to all. Have this one. Far away in the north pole, the three inhabitants of Research Station Thyma have taken in a very unusual new addition, a strange creature close to death. Michael wants to help it, for as they say, 'tis the season of goodwill. But as they say... no good deed goes unpunished.

This was a lot of fun, largely because of how Goldeneye's omnipotence and total lack of morality, along with his dangerously unstable nature, allow him to do the most ridiculous things purely because he - and I - find them fun. Hope you enjoy.

Contains:
Gryphon Griffin Griffon feral avian predator human m/m oral vore soft vore unwilling nonconsensual fatal gluttony multiple prey digestion fear taunting cruelty Christmas Goldeneye is literally Santa now be afraid

The Mindquake Before Christmas
By Goldeneye. Have a good one.

The creature in Bay 3 had another request. The first three times it had asked for the essence of Michael, Chao and James’s living souls. The fourth time it had asked for them to kill themselves for its amusement. The fifth and sixth times, it had asked for the heart of a star. Now Chao returned, pale and drawn, and told the other two inhabitants of Research Station Thyma, a small collection of buildings deep in the isolated Arctic circle, that it had spoken again. In a language which carved its meaning into his mind like a broken chisel. And this time, it had asked if they could hang up a stocking for it.

“You must have misheard it.”

“It was not possible,” Chao told his flatly, “to “mishear” that. It spoke inside my brain, you moron. Some sort of telepathy. But it was like it was screaming. Not in pain, just… screaming. It’s dying.”

James scowled at his mug of coffee. “Maybe that’s for the best.”

“It’s an intelligent creature!” Michael said angrily. He was the third member of the research team, and the junior. Michael was young than either of them, a slender man of Spanish-English descent. Green eyes and dark hair, and an aptitude for climatology which had somehow landed him this vaunted position, one hundred and sixty one miles from civilisation. The North Pole was a lonely place. “It can talk, it can think! It could be an actual alien! And you want to just let it die?”

“That’s true,” Chao said. willowy and weary with silver hair. He was almost twice Michael’s age, but he still nursed a slight crush on his tall figure. “But Michael, this… thing… it’s dangerous. Don’t you remember what it was talking about before? We can’t just assume it’s friendly.”

“If it is dangerous, maybe we need to get into its good books. We should be co-operating with it while we can.”

James snorted. He was short, dark, and belligerently French. “Is this what we’re doing now? Co-operating? With that? It wants… merde, we don’t even know what it wants!”

“And this is how we find out. What were you proposing? Just wait til comms are up again with the rest of the world and hope they know what to do with it?”

“Yes, actually.”

“I’ve got a stocking,” Chao volunteered. James glared at him, and he shrugged. “I mean, if we’re going to go ahead with it.”

“Which we aren’t,” James growled. Michael sighed. This had been an argument for every minute of the three days since they had found it and brought it in.

“I think we should. If we’re going to try to understand it we have to make some attempt to bridge the gap. And it’s a stocking. What would it do with it?”

“That’s exactly why I don’t want to do it. We have no idea what it could do. And with this blizzard locking us out of comms channels, we’re stuck alone with it. No-one even knows we found it yet.”

“I don’t know.” Chao said, sitting down shakily. No surprise. All of them could remember the flickering bejewelled eyes. That was another layer of horribleness. They were completely cut off from the world. The snowy tundra surrounding the prefabricated buildings which they called home was filled with dancing snow and the howl of the wind, and no radio signals could get through the atmospheric disturbance. Nothing lived outside. Nothing could. When the creature fell out of the air and melted a crater the size of a house in the snow with its convulsions, it was the first new living thing who Michael had seen in three months. “We have to come to some kind of decision. We should call a vote.”

James folded his arms.“I vote for not taking the risk.”

“I vote for doing it,” Michael said. “A stocking? On Christmas Eve? Come on. Maybe it’s a Christian angel. Besides, if this thing is powerful, we should be nice to it.”

That left Chao. The other two looked at him, and he swallowed, brushing a lock of gingery hair back from his forehead. Michael remembered something, despite his determination. What was that saying about curiosity?

“We’re not saying yes to everything,” he said carefully. “We’ll treat it as a scientific experience. I agree with Michael, we have to make some way towards understanding this thing. And we don’t want it to die, either.”

There was a pause.

“Michael, you do it.”

“W-what? Why me?”

“Because it’s your idea,” Chao snapped. “Now go do it before I change my mind.”

***

Bay 3 was normally the hanger for the sleek form of the station’s second snowmobile. A large door seperated it from the raging chill outside, but the air was still chilly, and Michael’s breath smoked as he entered, bearing the garishly red stocking Chao had given him. The main room was separated by a metal grid, allowing him to look through at the only occupant. When they’d brought it in, it had been the size and rough shape of a dog, and it had looked like it was made of coloured smoke. Since then it had looked like a humanoid statue of purest sapphire, a leonine being with a horribly perfect replica of Michael’s own face, a bird with feathers made of something beyond comprehension, and a dozen others.

Now it was in a smaller version the form it seemed to be trying to stay in, some sort of quadrupedal creature with feathers and fur, the size of a small pony. But its outline was flickering and vague, and he couldn’t tell what species it was trying to be. It looked up as he entered, with eyes like lanterns. Such strange eyes it had. One deep purple and one bright, burning gold.

“Hello,” it said softly. Its voice was smooth and deep and rich, but it reverberated oddly, as if its vocal chords were phasing in and out of existence. “We in red light darkness incinerates all weeping child shriek hunger burn solar boiling rage mine melt AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRGGGH!”

It somersaulted into the air and tried to fly with half-formed wings, but its spine bent backwards mid flap and it landed back on the ground hard enough to crater the concrete. Michael watched with horrified fascination. It was like something out of a horror film. The creature seemed to be struggling to remain there.

But his presence seemed to calm it somehow, and so when it raised its head again, it looked a little more solid. It didn’t sound quite so much like its own lungs were trying to eat it.

“Holy fuck this is... a bad one. One. Zero one one zero one zero one zero zero zero… fucking hell, sorry. I cannot… argh… I cannot stay focused long enough. Come closer.”

Michael hesitated, then inched a few steps forwards. The creature clambered up the cage wall, taloned hands gripped the metal, pressing its feathery face against the grid. Being close helped, somehow. It seemed to breathe in his scent, or something else entirely, and when it fell back, it was a little more solid.

“Th… thanks. Wow. Michael.” It tested the word, tasting it curiously as it spoke. He was certain he hadn’t told it his name. “Mi-chael. Mi-chael-li-sio-gan-icaphalisotoriasesenvortasicoraxiosi… ugh. Sorry. How are you today?”

And now it was actually talking to him. And lucidly. And it knew his name, how did it know his name? “I-I… I’m... ” scared, confused, terrified. “I’m... fine. Are you… are you getting better?”

“It gets worse before it gets better,” the creature flexed vaguely bird-like forelimbs, raking its skin. “Unfortunately it also gets worse before it gets even worse. I can’t believe this was on Christmas Eve. Garrrgh. I like Christmas.”

It muttered something angrily, and Michael sensed a breakthrough. He proffered the stocking. “We got you a stocking. Will it... help you? Somehow?”

“Almost certainly not, but I am desperate here.” The creature giggled. “Thank you very, very much. Just hang it up… yes. There. Well, this is wild. I must be desperate. Now we’ll just have to see.”

“See what?” Michael hesitated. “Do you… do you honestly think Father Christmas is going to come and visit?”

“The answer to that question is so complicated that explaining it would probably kill me right now.” It giggled. “Besides, I’d get coal. But it’s not important. What’s important is that I’m able to hold a conversation at last. I can think enough to talk. Void, that’s a relief. There’s nothing so horrible as being non-sentient and being just intelligent enough to know how fucking dumb you are. Blindness. Cut off from the power to experience and understand everything.” It glared angrily at the floor, fur-or-feathers fluffed up with annoyance.

“Is that what you... were?”

“Yes.” The creature sat up. “You see, what I am is… a junkyard. I’m a composite soul, made up of trillions and trillions of tiny splintered pieces of other creatures’ minds. And there’s enough bits in there to make the greatest and most powerful consciousness you could imagine… except they don’t actually fit together. I’m a self made Frankenstein’s monster, Michael. An abomination against the idea of life. I’ve become very, very, very, very good at making myself sentient, but it’s something I have to force myself to do. I keep myself sane 99.9% of the time, and when I am, oh… I am glorious.”

A pause. The creature looked rather sheepish.

:The only problem... is the other .01%.”

“You’re… you’re an alien, then? An actual alien? And is that what this is? The other 0.01%?”

“Alien, if you like. I’m not native to any world. I come from the place in-between.” The creature grinned at him. It might have had a beak now, but it was still strange and wispy. “And this is… wow… this is the worst one I’ve had for a long time. I call them mindquakes. The structure of my sentience shifts too far, and everything collapses. Like a house of cards. I have to build myself from the ground up and stop myself from drifting apart and remember what I’m supposed to be, all at once.” It sat against the grating, looking up at him. “It’s… not pleasant.”

“Wow.” Michael squatted a little, almost tempted to pet its shifting, distorted flank. “That sounds… horrible.”

“It’s what I am.” A tail slipped through the grating to tickle his ankle. It reminded him vaguely of a lion’s tail, but silvery-blue instead, and so must softer and fluffier. “What I need is... nngh… is a framework. A thing to build my mind upon. I’ve been clinging to your souls for the past two days. Using your sanity as reference points to keep myself alive. If I hadn’t slipped into the world next to you then… well.”

“You’re using our brains as… “reference points”?”

“Don’t worry, it’s not harmful to you. It’s like an ivy plant climbing up a tree trunk. The tree’s fine, the ivy just needs something strong and sane to cling to. It shivered. “The point is, just three people is barely enough when I’m this weak. I need something stronger. I need something greater. I need… you to go now, I think.”

And just like that, first contact (first sane contact, at any rate) was over. “Oh,” said Michael. “Um, okay. Thanks. Good… good luck, I suppose.”

“Thank you for the stocking.” It grinned at him. “It’s Christmas night. Maybe the big man in the red suit will visit, this close to the North pole.”

“Sure… wait.” Michael hesitated. “You… you are joking, right?”

“Go.” There was a sharper edge to the creature’s voice. A longing edge. “Go. Leave me now. The dark. The light. The sun the feathers the air the scream of it on your skin to sear the soul I the deum natum the incarnate the oh fucking VOID ARGGHHH NO, NO, NO! I AM NOT TO BE NOTHING!” It twisted up against the grate, snarling viciously at itself, spitting words like molten bullets, beating itself against the floor. “AM NOT AM NOT AM AM AM I WILL BE LIFE. I WILL. I WILL I WILL ISKAAAAARRRGGHHHH!”

Michael left, hurriedly, and the creature clung to itself in the midst of its suffering, and looked with ravenous intent at the stocking. Slowly its screams silenced, and it breathed slowly, pouring itself into the red fabric, searching its essence, finding its soul.

It took a while.

***

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,

Not a creature was stirring, not eve-


“Michael, dear little Michael. Wake up.”

Not a creature was stir-

“Wake up, Michael.”

Not a crea-

“Oh, for Void’s sake. MICHAEL.”

Michael woke up. By fortune and a lucky game of cards, he had the biggest bedroom in the whole research station, but right now it seemed rather stuffed. A hot, exotic scent filled his nostrils, and the darkness seemed to be solid. He blinked groggily as a black outline shifted before him, sitting up in his bunk bed. “W… what?”

Something big moved in the dark. His bare feet were assaulted by something hot and wet and soft, which woke him up properly. “Hello. Oh, right. I forgot, you see with your eyes. Hold on.”

The light clicked on. Which was odd, since it was nearly thirty feet away from Michael’s bed, and the intruder was right next to him. But as he squinted in the blinding brightness, the answer was pretty obvious.

Splayed across the floor (and two of the other beds) was a monster, a beast the size of a small building. Even sat down on all fours, its head towered over him. Thick silvery feathers swathed it, and beneath that powerful muscles rippled, leonine and sleek. The creature was a gryphon. A real gryphon. A colossal avian forebody melding to a lion’s hinds, wings like sails nestled huge and snug against its sides, and it looked at him atop a beak large enough to hold his entire body in it. It was an impossible vision, a myth made magnificent flesh. And that was almost enough to make him speechless.

What tipped the scale, and left him slack jawed and too stunned to even react, was what the creature was wearing.

Save for paws, claws, tail and that long elegant head, every inch of the beast’s enormous body was clothed in robes of thick, scarlet velvet, trimmed with heavy clouds of fur of the purest white. A circus tent’s worth of soft smoothness and a dozen tailors shops had gone into making the costume fit to the monster’s massive form. It even had the hat, perched between long, swept back ears. It was so utterly bizarre that Michael couldn’t even be scared of it.

“W-what,” he said, again. “What. Who are… what?”

“Come on. Use that lovely mind I’ve been clinging to. You know who I am, Michael.”

The eyes had it. Golden and violet, glowing and burning. Alien eyes. “The… the creature?”

“I’m enough of myself now for a name. Goldeneye, dear Michael. It’s so lovely to see you.” Now that it was clearer, he could tell it was male, or at least appeared to be. “It’s just gone midnight. Merry Christmas.”

“G… Goldeneye? But… you weren’t this big before! And why are you… why are you dressed like that?”

Goldeneye giggled. “Isn’t it pretty? Aren’t I pretty? Yes, I was smaller. Weaker. But I’ve managed to recover enough of myself to manifest properly, and this is how I like to look normally. Remember, I manifest a physical form by the force of my own mind. I can change it as I please.”

Michael sat up further, clutching his blanket protectively. “And… the… the Santa costume?”

“Costume. Heh. Now that’s where it gets fun.” The creature rolled onto his back, stretching his form until he touched both ends of the room at once. His stomach spilled out in the red jacket, plump and well-padded. “You see, I’m not the only collection of bits of minds in the world. It’s like gravity: things pull together, and the bigger they are, the stronger the pull. Not many manage to become like me. But when millions of people all over the world believe in something, imagine it, think about it for about one whole month every year… it starts to coalesce and create itself around the network of their belief. It starts to live.”

“No. No way.” Michael sat on the edge of his bed, staring at him. “You’re kidding.”

“Clever little soul. Oh yes, that’s what the stocking was for. It’s a node for this worldwide network of belief, and if I pour myself into it, I can flood into the network. I can use the idea of Santa Claus to be my crutch and let me build myself up. I can become the idea, temporarily, and embody the thing.” He flicked his ears proudly. “On this night, in this moment, at this time, Michael… I am Father... no. No, no, no. I am... Emperor Christmas.”

“Emperor?” Michael said weakly, but despite his amazement he slid off the bed, taking a tentative step towards the colossal body before him. Goldeneye radiated heat like a large feathery furnace, even through the thick furs and robes. He felt warmer than he’d been in weeks. “Emperor Christmas?”

The gryphon winked. “Old habits. Now, the thing is that this position comes with… responsibilities. Being the incarnate spirit of Noel means that I am supposed to be very, very busy tonight. And if I’m going to use this thing to rebuild my entire consciousness, I’d better stay close to the ideal I’m supposed to be embodying. So I need to deliver several billion presents. And to do that, I need a helper.”

Michael found himself speechless again.

The gryphon laughed, and for the first time, he stood up. He must have been more than twelve and a half feet tall. He had to hunch against the low ceiling. He filled the room. And every pound of that powerful, padded form turned now to Michael and bowed low, grinning, eyes sparkling with something which might just have been Christmas cheer.

“Shall we?”

***
He had a sleigh. There it was, waiting outside in the whistling wind, a monstrous, truck-sized juggernaut which outsized even its owner, red and gold and oddly purple here and there.. No reindeer, because apparently “this Santa wanted to pull it himself”. And it flew, it really did. It flew. Michael clambered into the seat, still too stunned to speak, shivering despite his six layers of arctic clothing, and Goldeneye saddled himself up, and then with an acceleration which would have put ferraris into shame they exploded across the ice.

The gryphon ran like a hunting cat, a bursting sprint which turned the entire body into a huge spring and gave every leaping lope the force of an explosion. Michael squinted against the sky and clutched desperately to the rail, teeth juddering with every bound, and then suddenly they were flying. Goldeneye didn’t even flap, he simply spread those wings the length of a street and glided up, up, above the blizzard, above the clouds, above the wind, into a world of pure silvery light.

The moon hung ahead of them, wind rustling softly. Not a creature was stirring. The world was silent. Michael drank it in like water, his eyes as wide open as he could get them. It was beautiful.

Goldeneye looked back, his tail sinuously winding itself around the rail and then around the human’s wrists. “Sorry, hun, we can’t admire the view all night.”

“Can’t we?” Michael grinned weakly. It occurred to him that he was putting his life in the hands of a self-proclaimed abomination. But it didn’t seem to matter. Goldeneye was just so intensely, wildly passionate. His friendliness was a drug, his charm an elixir. He was glorious. “You’re just… I-I mean, it’s just so pretty…”

He flushed as he remembered that the gryphon could read minds. Goldeneye snickered. “Oh, little elf. No, we can’t. There’s work to do. Word of warning, though… I’m going to be dilating time a lot here, and souls like yours perceive it oddly. It’s going to be fun.”

This actually sounded rather less fun. Or possibly a lot more. Michael frowned. “What do you-”

And then.

One second. Take it, roll it out, squeeze it dry. Push yourselves in between the gaps. He was in a tiny village in the jungles of Peru, and Goldeneye was plucking wrapped presents from his hands and tossing them down the chimneys. He was flitting around the Empire state building as the gryphon banked towards a window, searching for the right gift. He was leaning surreptitiously against a wall in a house in Quebec, hiding with Goldeneye (somehow the size of a housecat) nestled in his arms, as a child went back to bed after a midnight peek to see if his presents had been delivered yet. He was doing all these and a thousand more and that was just one second.

And

another

second.

And

another. And an entire night. Without proper time in between them, the memories jostled in his head, and he felt adrift in a sea of strangeness. Was he Michael the climatologist? Michael the elf? Michael the helper? Who and where and when was he? The one constant was the red-clad gryphon, the tireless gleeful provider of gifts. He lived an entire life in one night, and fell in love with the monster he spent it with.

And like that, it was over. They swept across the Arctic plains in dazzling sunlight, Michael sitting on the gryphon’s broad back, gripping the tassel of his hat. The blizzard had finally passed, and the skies were clear and crisp. The peaceful plains spread out below, and Michael winced as his mind readjusted to only having one timeline.

“Not bad,” Goldeneye purred, diving towards the nearly-buried form of the research station. “Not bad at all. I’m rather looking forward to seeing how they manage to explain this. I probably destabilised a few countries back then.”

Michael hugged his colossal neck. “It was worth it.”

“Oh, yes. It’s always worth it. I love Christmas. All that work, all that effort, all that love, for just one day of joy. One set of moments to savour.” He alighted on the snow, as light as a feather, and slowly drew to a halt near the hangar. The bridle flowed off him like water, unbuckling itself as the beast stepped out, swaying his form happily. “And I feel amazing. Better than ever. I think I actually grew some new personalities down in there.” He chuckled. “Maybe I should take up this role permanently, you know. It’s like a hot bath for my shattered soul. Every Christmas night.”

Laughing, Michael tried to let himself off, and buried himself up to his knees in the snowdrift. “I like the sound of it. You’ll be needing a helper, then, won’t you?”

The gryphon smiled, his eyes gleaming. “Oh, yes. Of course. That’s definitely going to be part of it.”

They trudged towards the research centre together, until Michael suddenly stopped, squinting in the blinding whiteness of the snow as he tried to sort his memories. “Hang on,” he said. “In all that… did we get some for Chao and James?”

Goldeneye raised an eyebrow.

“Presents, I mean. I know they’re adults, but... they’re my friends. And they did help you back then. Do you think we have time to leave them a few things by their beds? I don’t mind if I don’t get anything. Being with you is all the Christmas I need.”

He was aware he was rambling, and flushing despite the cold. Goldeneye looked at him, his head tilted lazily. He seemed to be smiling at something. Finally, he spoke.

“I don’t think we can, sorry. Because they’re not in their beds. They’re with us, in fact, they’ve been with us this whole time.” He sat down on his haunches, that soft stomach spilling out between his legs, straining against the red and white clothing. “They’re here.”

Michael looked from him to the stomach, and slowly back to him. He must have misunderstood him. “I… I’m sorry, I don’t follow you. What... do you… mean?”

Goldeneye smiled, playful and mischievous. “Clever little soul. I think you know. But by all means, let me tell you.” He stood up again, posing proudly to show off the heavy softness. “I should be insulted, really. I’m not actually quite as fat as this. Most of the time. No, dear little soul. When I managed to tap into the web, and start to reconstruct myself, I came to you and gave you this chance. But first, I did what I’ve been burning to do since I fell apart. I went to your friends, snug in their own rooms, and I woke them up, and we talked a while, and we played a while, and then I swallowed them whole.” He licked his beak, shuddering. “I was tempted to slurp them both down together, but two minds at once would be too much for my weakened state. No, I wanted to enjoy every inch of them all to myself. And I did. Slow squirming bulges, crying, begging, screaming. I didn’t let you hear them, no, no. I packed them both away in the furnace-pit of my belly. And then, dear little soul, while they slowly churned and melted and padded out my newly-remade hips, I came for you.”

In the space of two minutes, the bottom had dropped out of the world. Michael stood in the snow, staring at him. The sleigh twinkled in the distance. Goldeneye’s enormous hat quivered as he smiled down at his friend, and his belly gurgled.

There had been a point where he’d tried to denied it, but the gryphon had just kept speaking, washing over his resistance. It was true. It was true. Goldeneye had done all of it.

He found himself too stunned to speak, again. The gryphon devoured his silent horror, padding towards him, almost strutting as he showed off his stomach. “Sorry, little soul, but I did warn you. I’m an abomination. You played your parts so very well, but in the end, the only gift I wanted for Christmas was your calorific value.”

“W-why?” Michael managed to croak out a response at last. “Why? Why did you… why did you do this? Why did you be so friendly? W-why did you do all that, that gift-giving if you were doing this? Why did you… oh, oh my god… Chao… James… oh god…”

He sank to his knees, and Goldeneye laughed, soft and tender and cruel beyond words. “Because I needed you to help me build myself back up. But more importantly, because I exist to enjoy myself. It was fun to see you fall in love with me, little soul. It was fun to wing my way across the world and deliver joy to a billion people. And it was fun to stew Chao and James inside the sweltering pit of my guts every step of the way.”

“You are a monster. You are. An utter, total, horrific monster.”

“Yes. Told you.” Goldeneye swayed his colossal form, tail slinking back and forth. “And I think I could have proposed to you tonight and you’d have said yes. What does that make you?”

“I… you… you…”

“That’s right. Breakfast.”

Michael gaped at him. “You - y-you don’t - you don’t mean-”

“You really think you aren’t mine?” The monstrous predator took another step, and this time he was crouching low. A predator’s stance. “Little Michael. I have been fantasising about swallowing you since you picked me out of the crater I made. I’m going to savour you until New Year’s Day, probably. You’re going down, little soul. Slowly. Softly. Smoothly. You’re mine, and you’re going down.”

Finally, the paralysing horror crossed that fine line inside Michael’s mind, and transmuted itself instead into pure and total terror. He almost felt relief as it flooded into him and he screamed, a high, wild cry, staggering around and sprinting for the sanctuary of the research station. He was young and fast, but the snow was fresh, and he had to extract his foot with every step, slowing him down. Goldeneye’s multi-tonne bulk sank even deeper however, so maybe he had a chan-

Michael ran straight into the gryphon’s velvet-clothed chest, yelped in surprise, and fell over into the snow. He hadn’t even seen him move. He tried desperately to scramble out the drift as the gryphon sat down again, leisurely and controlled, and picked him up by the ankle. “Told you.”

“No! Let me go! Let me go, you g-goddamn bastard!”

Goldeneye laughed, and dropped him seven feet facefirst into the snow. “As you wish. That’s the only thing I’m giving you, dear little bellyfiller, so enjoy it.” He purred softly as the human struggled to right himself, snatching at Michael’s kicking legs one by one with delicate grace. One by one, off came the thick winter boots, the socks, the snow trousers, the underthermals. Like a fruit being peeled, Michael was stripped of his protection against the elements. He cried out in humiliation and rage, trying furiously to hold on to his clothes, but Goldeneye was a force of nature. By the time he managed to raise his head, he was naked from brow to toe, and the cold was a stinging slam to his entire body. Michael squeaked, hopping from foot to foot, hugging himself in a desperate attempt to preserve some modesty and warmth. He had never felt so suddenly cold.

“Wh-what are y-y-you d-d-d-doing?” he stammered, still trying to back away, teeth chattering. “I’ll f-f-freeze to death like t-this! G-give them b-back!” But Goldeneye only tossed the garments aside and stepped forwards again. Oh god, he was drooling, thick rivulets of saliva dripping from his beak and melting straight through the snow below. The jewel-like eyes bored into Michael’s skull.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice drenched in lust. “I’ll keep you warm. Just come over here.”

Michael didn’t. He screamed again, and tried to make a run for it, and Goldeneye pounced him like a cat hunting a mouse. Snow flooded over him again, and he was starting to feel stiff and distant from the bone-chilling cold. He squirmed around in the drifts, staring up at the colossal beast. “P-please! C-come on, you can’t do this, you can’t! Please! I-I, I don’t want, I don’t w-want to-”

“I know.” Goldeneye licked his beak again, looming over his prey. “Merry Christmas, little soul. All I want is your everything.”

“PLEASE!”

But there was no response, because the gryphon’s mouth was full. He had simply leant down and shoved it through the drift, scooping up several gallons of snow and Michael’s feet all in one. The heat came slowly, soaking into him as the snow rapidly melted in the radiator heat. Michael whimpered in panic, trying to kick back, but behind the snow was solid slick steaming flesh, and nothing he did could hope to stop it from grasping on. He was caught.

Goldeneye never even broke eye contact with him as he slowly pressed his beak together and slurped the human further in. The sensations were incredible, and even more so after the freezing cold of before. Unbidden, his scream turned into a groan of relief as the cold drained away, and Goldeneye laughed around him, lapping over his knees.

See? This is my Christmas gift to you, little soul. A hot, intimate bath. And a well-earned place as pudge, where you’ll never, ever, ever be cold again.

The words branded themselves into Michael’s mind as if tattooed into his skull. Telepathy. He wailed in terror, clawing at the snow around him, as the hot, wet flesh oozed up his thighs. “HELP! SOMEONE, PLEASE! HELP ME! H-H-HELP ME!”

No-one for one hundred and sixty one miles, little soul. Just us. And soon… just me.

Goldeneye swallowed, his throat rippling upwards in a devastating display of pure muscular power. In a single movement, Michael’s rump, hips, cold-shrunken nethers and waist were all plunged into the gryphon’s maw, and his feet and ankles vanished into the throat. He screamed again, first at the sudden shock of the pillowy, gooey heat, then at the tightness, then at the way that he could not budge the gluttonous gullet’s grip so much as an inch. He had never in all his life felt such strength, and all of it turned against him.

“I-I… I don’t want… G-goldeneye, please, we can work something out, please, please, n-no…”

Goldeneye only swallowed again, working his way up his prey’s belly. The squelching flesh spread around Michael’s feet and then up his legs, dragging him inside in a luxurious explosion of endless warmth. It felt so good, and yet so horrifying. He managed to squirm round onto his front, whining in discomfort as he ground his naked form against the gryphon’s maw, and tried to find a handhold in the ground. Nothing. Just snow, and him, and the monster. The only sound was the constant lewd squelches and burblings of Goldeneye’s gullet, shifting around him as he tasted him, and his own panicked breathing. The gryphon himself was still watching, calm and leisurely as he swallowed him whole. Panic broke over him like a flood.

“PLEASE! I S-SWEAR, I’LL DO ANYTHING, I WILL, PLEASE! I-I can, I can help you! I can serve you! Please, Goldeneye, I-I promise I’ll… Oh, god, god, no, no! NO!”

Another wet gulp, and the snow fell away as Goldeneye licked him and lifted him up, away from the ground, arching his bulging, swollen neck towards the sky. Now gravity was against Michael, and there was nothing to cling onto. His rear plugged the entrance to the gryphon’s throat for a moment, then it was squelched around. His stomach was squeezed so hard that he was forced to breathe out, making his frantic pleas even more erratic. Slowly, the soft, squishing edges of Goldeneye’s beak entered his vision. He was inside now. Prey. Meat, like Chao and James. Fodder for this colossal monster. He whimpered, remembering the heavy bulge, and tried not to imagine how fat and weighty it would get with him packed in as well.
one more
I suppose I could take a picture for you. Goldeneye moaned around him even as he spoke, lapping gluttonously at his neck and face, smothering him in flesh. Show the three of you how good you look on me. Of course, by the time you’re properly added to me, you won’t be there at all. Just me. He sat down, stroking at the swollen bulge in his neck. My soft curves, my magnificent bulk, my pudge-souls… my bellyslaves. All mine. You know - I’m talking to all three of you here - you know how good this feels? I built myself up using your minds as the foundations. I’ve literally designed my own mind to want to swallow you and you alone. And oh, you’re worth it.

“W-what?” Michael said weakly. “What do you m-mean, all three of you?”

Hush. Wriggle. Squirm. Beg. It’s not long now. One more. Just one more.

Another wet, cascading swallow, and his arms lost their tenuous grip on the edges of the beast’s beak. Michael screamed in dismay as the gryphon’s beak sealed closer to closed around his vision, barely able to see anything against that lapping tongue. Slowly, the wet, squishy embrace of the abyssal gullet nuzzled around his face, submerging him with dreadful finality. Beg? Sure. He obeyed with all his heart, not just out of fear, but out of a desperate desire to show obedience. “PLEASE! PLEASE, PLEASE, NO, DON’T, DON’T DO THIS! I’M B-BEGGING YOU! PLEASE! PLEAAASE! P… P-P… please...”

He trailed off, beginning to cry for the first time in years. Goldeneye held him, savouring his body, grinding his gullet against his limbs, tasting his tears. There was nothing to be said. He was going to die in the guts of a mythical creature dressed as Father Christmas, a hundred miles from anyone.

Don’t think of it like that, Goldeneye purred. Think of it as dying in the most intimate way you can, with a murderer who will make you never, ever, ever leave him. You’re warm forever now, little soul. Tell the others Merry Christmas.

“Goldeneye… p-please...“

Be mine.

Goldeneye swallowed as hard as he could, or at least as hard as he could without pulping the little human in a single muscular squeeze. He jerked his head forwards, bird-like, snapping his beak shut fully. His throat was distended absurdly, the squirming shape of its occupant crystal clear. But he was going down. The bulge oozed downwards, rippling peristalsis claiming it inch by slow, tortuous inch, and he tasted the human’s flavour on his tongue and swallowed the saliva as well. Not a thing would escape.

Michael sank downwards, clawing futilely at the smooth throat around. He had never felt so claustrophobic. The entire world seemed to be nothing but this pitch-black, sweltering, squelching tunnel, and him sliding down it. He still screamed and begged, but now Goldeneye was silent. The symbolism was clear. Michael was person no longer. He was reborn.

He was dreading splashing down in the stomach amidst the liquefied remains of his friends, but if anything, the reality was worse. Rather than ooze feet-first into a pool of viscous fluids and chunks of meat, Michael felt his questing toes stretch into open air, and almost immediately hit something firm and fleshy. It was less pillowy-soft and squishable than Goldeneye’s insides, but was certainly reacting, twisting as more of him was oozed into it. What on earth was it?

He found it almost two minutes later, after Goldeneye’s gullet had had its fun, and he was packed into it properly, wedged tight between layers of flesh with fluids submerging almost every inch, gasping and choking for air. As his head popped free of the internal valve, Michael’s ringing ears heard a terrible, familiar sound.

“M… Michael? Jesus, how the fuck can he fit more in here? It’s so damn tight…”

“Mike… is that you? Did he get you too in the end?”

“James?” he croaked, crushed against a wall. “Chao? Oh my god… you’re alive?”

“Fuck…” said James weakly. It sounded like he was on the other side of Chao, and equally constricted. “He was telling us, you know. Keeping us updated on everything you did. We tried, okay, we tried to make you hear. We were screaming at you. But n-nothing. This goddamn… ow… this monster... Mike, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry...”

It was delicious, wasn’t it? Goldeneye spoke to all three of them. They did try so hard. And they couldn’t even let their voices escape my guts. Utterly delicious. You’re going to digest now, darlings.

The acids were beginning to tingle, the fluid thickening around Michael, the walls rippling over them and crushing their squirming, shifting, squelching forms more tightly together. Until New Year’s Day, probably, he remembered. Oh, god.

“F-fuck you,” James whispered, twitching miserably. “You monstrous cowardly freak.”

Their prison shifted back and forth, and Michael realised the beast was swaying his hips as he walked, letting his bulging belly dance and swing between his legs.Sticks and stones may break my bones, but my acids will melt them. Merry Christmas, James, Chao… Michael. I have that arranged, actually. I have a very good Christmas lined up. Shame you’ve had to change your plans, but… mmmn. Void. You already feel amazing, and you’ll be even better when you’re properly mine. I’ll be as soft and well-fed as if I were Santa himself. And of course, I am. Now, have a good last few days. Just be good and squirm once the acids bite.

***

Goldeneye took another few steps, just to feel his belly shake and swirl. He could have taken many, many more, but this, this squirming whining mass of flesh, hanging soft and plump between his legs, was enough to stuff him wonderfully. There really was nothing like sensations.

With a careful sigh, he uncoiled his soul from the web of belief it had been clinging to. The red robes dissipated on his body, leaving him silver-blue and sleek… as sleek as he could be with three souls squirming and churning in his gut. The sleigh vanished as well, no longer sustained by a controlling consciousness. All that would be left behind was an abandoned research station. He’d already wiped the logs - no need to spoil the surprise for future meals in this world.

And there would be. Goldeneye licked his beak, tasting the last dregs of Michael’s sweet flavour. The human squirmed deep inside, and he belched discreetly, groaning at the release of pressure in his swollen gut. It was a good start to the day, and it would only get better.

Effortlessly, he slipped out of this world and headed for the one he sometimes called home. A desert empire, proud and resplendent, bound by the rule of its omnipotent Emperor. Him. Absently, he turned over his appointments in his mind as he swam through unreality. Iora wanted to go flying. Little Charlie needed his Christmas gift (whether he wanted it or not). That cute angel needed reminding of who he truly worshipped. Arkrel would need help getting presents for people - late, again. In the evening, he was seeing Sehria at last. Maybe he should check in on her brother first.

So many things, so many people. For a murderous hedonist with zero empathy, Goldeneye adored people. And Christmas was the time to spend with them.

He cradled his belly lovingly as he emerged back into the physical realm, appearing out of thin air in his personal quarters at his palace. His bed was freshly made up, his wreath was where he had left it when he felt himself beginning to fall apart. The three humans were fine, and still wriggling. Good. He was back in control of himself, and ready to take the world. Goldeneye made to go, and then he paused. He turned back, looking at the foot of the enormous bed. Dwarfed by it was a large, near-empty purple stocking.

The gryphon raised an eyebrow, pulling it open with one claw. Of course, the same as every other year. The only thing inside... was a single lump of coal.

He laughed softly to the empty room, stroking his bulging gut. “Heh. Fair enough. I deserved it this time. After all, why bother with gifts when you can just take?”

Goldeneye 2016.
Voracious Gryphon Overlord of the portal, sadist, and writer.Beware the Goldeneye.

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Re: My soft vore tales: Terror, furries, despair, drama

Postby Hestia042 » Wed Jan 04, 2017 8:07 am

I very much enjoyed the first story! I am going to be watching you! If you ever write a script, I do vore audios, I am female, very much so, but I can do dark and menacing so very well. If you haven't listened to me yet, please do so. I'd love to collaborate with you.
~ Hestia~


P.S I absolutely love the work you're doing! <3
If you like what you hear, click the link below, help me continue to create eargasams for the masses.
~Hestia~
https://www.patreon.com/voiceofHestia042
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