Agape's screams tore soundlessly in her throat.
The scene had shifted again. One moment she was bound in chains, her wrists raw from iron cuffs, the next she was dragged through the palace gates of Themyscira. But the city she knew was gone. Its marble pillars stood cracked, fouled with grime, and the once-bright banners of the Amazons had been torn down, replaced with trophies of flesh.
Everywhere she looked, her sisters were enslaved. They were not warriors here but spoils, bent on their knees, chins forced up by foreign hands, their mouths filled, their bodies used until they were hollow shells. The once-proud laughter of the Amazons, their fierce cries of defiance, were drowned beneath broken moans.
Agape was shoved forward, knees slamming against the stones of the courtyard. And there — on a large throne — sat Atrius.
Not like the one she had known, not the solemn giant who barely spoke unless spoken to, but a dark tormentor of her nightmares. His crimson eyes glowed, cold and merciless, his massive frame draped in chains of gold. Women, amazons knelt at his feet, their bodies bruised and smeared with filth, their faces slack with a mixture of despair and… something worse. Pleasure.
He raised a hand, and the surroundings bled darker.
she saw ,
Her queen was dragged before him. Hippolyta — once their unyielding pillar, now stripped of her dignity, garments in tatters barely covering her nakedness — bound at the wrists and forced to kneel. From the shadows stepped Heracles, grinning, chains coiled about his arms like serpents, here he was a slave too, he sold himself to him.
Atrius did not speak. He merely gestured, and Heracles seized their queen, tearing away what was left of her pride, her torn garments, her voice was low muttering profanities in anguish. but it was all for naught as Heracles tore her cloths of her body and harshly forced her on the ground, mounting her like a steed but for a dark, profane act of lust.
Her screams echoed through the courtyard as the Amazons watched, chained and powerless, forced to bear witness.
Agape cried out, thrashing against her bonds,
Her shackles rattled against the cold, unforgiving floor, her wrists aching and bruised from the relentless strain.
Atrius's gaze held her captive, and somehow, she found herself unable to resist.
He didn't need to utter a word; his silence was command enough. The nightmare around her grew darker and more intense.
her sisters forced down into the dirt, their bellies swollen from forced breeding, their once-proud forms reduced to vessels for the seed of enemies. Themyscira had become a breeding ground for conquerors, and Atrius stood above it all, arbiter of their fall.
Agape wanted to hate him. She wanted to spit her fury at his feet, curse his name with her last breath. And yet—
A sickening heat began to coil inside her belly. The very sight of her sisters' violation, of Hippolyta's humiliation, should have filled her with rage. But instead, some twisted whisper in her blood urged her to surrender, to kneel, to feel what they felt. The cries of pain, the sobs of disgrace, echoed in her ears until they warped into something else — groans of pleasure, the sound of bodies breaking but finding release in it.
Her legs trembled. Her heart hammered with terror. And in the deepest marrow of her bones, she felt a terrible truth blooming.
She liked it.
Not fully, not openly — the thought itself made her retch — but buried beneath her fear was a pulse of warmth, the corruption sinking into her veins, turning her horror into something profane.
Atrius's shadow loomed closer. His hand reached down slowly, enormous and powerful,
the chains that bound her slithered like serpents around her neck, her wrists, her thighs. She tried to recoil, tried to fight, but the touch of those chains sent shivers through her skin. They laughed at her resistance.
He bent low, his breath hot against her ear. His lips did not move, but the words tore through her skull:
"This is what you are. This is what you wanted. Now kneel."
She buckled, no longer resisting the ache, her heart fluttering wildly as the darkness engulfed her. Her vision blurred as she struggled to process what was happening around her, yet her pleasure intensified. she gave in to the great delight deep in her soul
Boom!!!
Suddenly, she heard a loud sound, like thunder striking the earth.
She felt the darkness recede; squinting hard, she spotted a light in the distance.
whomm!!!!
Suddenly, the dark surroundings twisted and coiled.
Her body trembled
a large hand emerged from the darkness above, glowing brightly and searing through the profane shadows that consumed her in madness.
It tore through everything in her vision.
She felt it beckon her slowly, radiating a warmth she had long forgotten her skin could feel.
She reached out slowly on instinct, feeling a glimmer of hope that she could be saved, yet the darkness below tugged at her, drawing her into a dark, unsettling reality, she felt as though she was being dragged underwater, suffocating and drowning. She screamed loudly, but the sound came out muffled and barely audible.
As if losing patience, she watched the large arm reach further, the sight stirring a long-lost feeling, a buried defiance.
Relying solely on her will, she reached upward, her index finger just barely grazing the outstretched arm's massive finger.
Suddenly, she felt a jolt of searing pain in her brain. Then she woke up, gasping for air.