//Content Warning// Dear readers, before you begin this chapter, I want to offer both caution and apology. This part of the story carries heavy shadows that may disturb or unsettle you. For two days I wrestled with whether to soften it further or to leave it as it was, and in the end I chose to shape it into something bearable while still keeping its raw heart. My original draft was far darker, filled with explicit cruelties and horrors that I knew would do more harm than good if left untouched, so I stripped much of that away; still, even now, shadows remain between the lines Please know my intent is not to glorify cruelty, but to show the harsh truth of this tale. If it troubles you, forgive me. Read with care, and thank you for walking with me, even when the path is grim. //Content Warning//
As he neared the tent from the pond, nearly a hundred soldiers surged forward, with only in weapons, no clothes. Without a thought, he charged like a wild bull. Then that woman's voice echoed to the boy who was sitting beside her, "That was his third mistake—he should have checked the field first." The soldiers hurled powders, aphrodisiac pins, sleeping dust scattering them like children tossing sand. He slashed, dodged, tried to press on, but the haze seeped into his lungs, dulling his vision and slowing his limbs.
His spear still carved through flesh, soldiers dropping in heaps, their screams drowned by his fury but fatigue clawed at him, days of battle, endless blood, and now poison dragging him down. Then a general stepped forward. They clashed fiercely; steel rang, wounds opened. He nearly broke the man, but couldn't finish him. At last, his knees buckled. With one final effort, he thrust his spear just below the enemy's heart before darkness claimed him.
His eyes dragged open, heavy with exhaustion and haze. At first, he saw only flickering torchlight and shifting shadows. Then he found himself bound with ropes Around him, their hands pressed in, their hands and faces unsettlingly close, as though feeding off his humiliation. They clung to him not with love but with hunger, bodies draped like carrion birds stripping a corpse.
A cold voice slithered through the room. The minister stepped forward, his robes dark as the night sky, his grin splitting his face in triumph. "Oh… awake already? Impressive. I thought you'd sink into the dark until morning."
The bound man raised his eyes, bleary but burning with hate. What he saw made bile rise in his throat, the women circling him were no longer their own, their gazes became vacant, their motions became like puppets forced to act out a festival of disgrace.
The minister spread his arms. "You see? These are the very people for whom you risked everything — tax evasion, defiance, sacrifice. And they betrayed you. They chose power. They chose me."
He leaned close, whisper sharp as a dagger. "At first, I resisted joining with Bku Khali Singh. But then I remembered… my daughter. Her death and became the worshipper of demon goddess. And now, I have given her vengeance. I bent the king. I bent the court. Soon, the kingdom itself." Minister said more "Today is your death day. But before the end… you'll taste what it means to be under heaven."
The minister's voice sliced through the night like rusted iron. "Well then," he sneered, lifting his hand to hush the jeering crowd. "Before you die, let me tell you the truth. The real story begins now. get out you bitches"
He waved lazily, and the women clinging to the fallen warrior were kicked aside. They tumbled into the dirt, coughing blood, yet like broken moths they crawled back toward his bound body. They clung to him, bending sucking his sword and balls, kissing at each other and many other stuff.
He went beside of his line of sight and his throat which was rumbling with a growl that never reached words. But then his eyes froze.
There. Among the shadows of the bonfire, he saw her.
Same frame. Same walk. The curve of her shoulders unchanged despite the years. But a strip of cloth bound her eyes, and from beneath it black lines bled down her cheeks like cursed veins. She moved as if in a dream, silent, carrying nothing but a single rag to shield her nakedness from the fire's hungry glow.
His chest heaved. "No…" The groan ripped out of him, low and animal.
The minister smirked, tilting his head. "Oh, she remembers her role. Don't wait, boys—she knows what work she's here for."
And from the darkness, they arrived. First the king himself, Then the butcher, General Bku Khali Singh, his eyes burning with the madness of victory. And with him, his three sons, jackals smirking at their father's heel. They tore her clothes like a hungry foxes, waiting to devour, she took their swords in different holes and they started to ravage her more furiously.
The bound warrior's veins bulged in fury. "You bastards…" but suddenly his mouth closed by nearby women.
The Bku Khali Singh raised his chalice, spilling half the drink into the dirt. They started to throw their vim on her boy full fiercely. By kicking king once, he grabbed her head and put towards him, with big push, he shouted "See, my boys! The wheel of destiny! Once he sat upon the throne after removing me from my position… now her bitch is getting ravaged by me and he was in ropes, forced to witness the ruin of her lover."
He again shouted "What a tasty pussy is it? I can't able to leave the taste even after 2 months." They thrusted more and more and that king who was laid on mud, King kicked him once, "see this puppet who once sit on the throne now on earth pulling and pushing his sword inside a whore. What a shitty king." All of them laughed once again. One of his son said, "dad let focus on here not that bastard, he was also enjoying by those whores. Leave this king bastard, he was just a puppet now." All of them are smiled at him for his fate. Another one of his son said "still see, after so many woman, his sword is not growing, is he prick?" Singh said "why did it not came to my mind? Wow, I never thought our greatest general is limp in there?" another roar shot out in there. They started to shag more and more in her holes.
The general's teeth cracked as he ground them. His chest convulsed, a roar rising but never reaching air. The ropes were soaked now with his blood. Singh's sons jeered, their shadows jerking and stretching across the firelit ground. One mimed a beast on a leash. Another pretended to limp, laughing at his "fallen lion."
One of Singh's sons swaggered forward, smirking like a dog that's tasted too many forbidden things. "Look at her," he said, voice full of heat. "Remember that scent. Ahnnn... Brothers more... more... Ahnnnn... Remember that shape." Singh laughed, a sound like a blade dragged across a tombstone. "Ahhh... ahhh.... ahhh.... remember boys a flower always wilts," he said casually. "Enjoy it while it stands. We will pluck and we will trample and when it is spent, we will hang it for all to see." He spat in the dirt.
Around the fire the laughter thickened, and the air itself seemed to harden into glass. The woman's body became a stage, her nakedness a chorus of shame for the captive man. The crowd's hunger fed on her; their faces were keen, their mouths wet with anticipation.
"Father," his son crooned, stepping forward with the arrogant ease of someone born to cruelty. "Let us have more. Let him see."
There was a sick, ritual rhythm to the way the men claimed the woman—no need for detail; the act itself was a demonstration of ownership: how easily flesh and dignity could be bartered away but she offered no sound, perhaps because sound would have been a more mercy, perhaps because silence... had been forced upon her like a second skin.
The general's eyes watered with a heat that had nothing to do with the flames. Blood rimmed his lids from the strain and the salt. His lips pressed until they cracked; he wanted to roar, to tear every god from the sky and use their entrails to bind the king's hands. But the fate was sealed. His body was a caged thing, made by ropes, might be betrayal or, law or,... the vulgar arithmetic of power.
The minister strode to the centre and threw his voice wide. "You, why you are not enjoying them? they are best I have chosen or only you. Yet, you are like a limp acting tough. Release that mind's will and bend it in here. Have you any idea how many hands have taken what you thought was yours? those court men, king and even me frigged her every day and night, that puppet spent all night with her. I did it occasionally" He grabbed his chin and said "why should not I do it? Even their daughters and mothers are my toys. Their sons making their mother moan in heat. I have a vision that I will make a kingdom of that will. Place him with more whores." Singh roared with triumph by making worse of her.
The minister's voice cut through the air, oily and mocking. "If that day you had joined me, your life would've changed. But no… you went after that shitty low-class girl." He spat, the sneer curdling his lips. "What a rotten brain you carry. What a waste of a warrior."
He leaned closer, whispering with a venomous grin, "Do you even know how sweet she tastes? Bku Khali Singh and his bastard sons are feasting on her like wolves. Don't worry—she won't be sold. No, no… she will serve better. She'll be our sex-priest, adored and desecrated until her womb collapses. Isn't that divine? Hey—turn her face toward him. Let him see the prize we claim."
His sons jerked her head up. Her face was smeared, her eyes blindfolded with rough cloth, lips swollen from too much use. Strings of filth clung to her chin and he body was coated with vigor of them, they are dripping from the face, between two holes and chest like phlegm. She didn't even whimper. That puppet was liking them like small children.
The minister's laughter cracked like a whip. "My daughter still waits for you, you fool." Suddenly, a sharp clap echoed. It came from behind him of general Tai.
From the pond, she rose. A woman. No water dripped from her flesh though she emerged from its depths. Her body was lush, plump, carved with sin itself. Black cloth bound her curves, crimson strips coiling like serpents around her thighs and arms. Her presence was heavier than iron, and yet unbearably alluring.
For the first time, the rhythm of thrusts and gasps faltered. Singh's sons froze mid-motion, eyes widening like starved dogs thrown fresh meat. Even Singh himself pulled back, cock trembling, his laughter dead on his tongue. Soldiers around them shifted, panting, drooling, an army of beasts suddenly tamed by heat and awe.
She pressed one finger to her lips.
"Shh…"
It was all needed to make them fall.
Men dropped in collapse, their bodies crumpling as though strings had been cut. Singh's sons fell to their knees, eyes rolling back, froth bubbling from their lips. Even Singh, that mountain of cruelty, staggered, teeth clenching as sweat poured down his temples.
"What weak men you are," she cooed like a vixen, voice equal parts silk and venom. "Pitiful. Donkey kings rutting in the dirt. Soldiers choking on their own lust. And that bitch…" She pointed lazily at the girl pinned under Singh and his sons, "—that whore who pulled my love away. How poetic, to see her body turned to a public latrine."
Her eyes cut toward the bound warrior. "And you… you're still awake? Still glaring at me with that rage? How delicious. Even after my snap dropped your mighty enemies, you fight against it. My shitty father couldn't last a heartbeat, yet you… still burning, still alive. What a will you carry."
She stepped close, her scent bitter and intoxicating, and tore the gag from his mouth. His chest heaved, breath ragged, but his spirit hadn't broken. With all his strength, he spat.
The glob hit her cheek.
For a moment, silence. Then, a smile that was less human than beast. She dragged her tongue across her face, tasting the spit like wine, moaning softly as if savouring a lover's kiss.
"What a toy," she purred, grabbing his chin and forcing his face upward. Her nails dug into his skin until blood pricked. "You're so cute when you're angry. I want to break that fire. Slowly. Piece by piece."
Her fingers snapped again.
The air shuddered.
The woman being defiled by Singh and his sons convulsed violently. She suddenly came from that illusion, her body twitched like a broken doll. She screamed, a hoarse wail thick with agony, but even that was drowned by choking gags of filth still forced inside her mouth. Her half-dreamed eyes opened, glassy, rolling. Her body glistened with seed, streams spilling from every orifice, dripping across her thighs.
She groaned, half-dead, half-trapped, unable to wake.
The red-tipped woman laughed, high and shrill, licking the warrior's blood off her nails. "Do you see? That's the truth of your love. Broken. Ruined. Used until she doesn't even know pain from pleasure. And still… you fight me with those wet, furious eyes."
She stooped, fingers like hooks, and seized the nearest woman by the hair. The girl tore from the dirt as if uprooted, small and sodden and smelling of smoke. The red-tipped woman brought the dragged body near the bound general, pressing the ruined face close to his as if offering proof of final victory. Then she also dragged her in front of him and licked her face like sweet. "Young ones taste the sweetest," the red-tipped woman said, soft as velvet.
"Don't worry," she purred. "I will make her useful." She tugged the cloth from the girl's face and, in the blink of an eye, the scene birthed something far worse than the expected cruelty.
From the blindfold crawled black vines — thin, slick as eels — like a rash of living ink. They slithered into the air, writhing, searching. The red-tipped woman's hands moved with ritual precision: she plucked and placed the eye on from the other woman, with gentleness. The vines found their purchase and sank like leeches into the hollows of the girl's face, curling and burrowing where flesh was soft. The general watched, frozen, as the vines rooted and twined, dark threads forging a new and terrible network across the girl's face. He stared at it like a horror.
The girl screamed a sound that was animal and thin; it thinned and frayed, and then the sound collapsed into a whimper that did not leave her throat. The vines tightened like sutures, and beneath them something began to move — tiny, blind things uncoiling and living in the black web. It was an abomination of anatomy eyes plucked as if for a trinket, black tendrils knitting them anew to foreign sockets. The girl's pupils rolled as foreign orbs were forced into places that were never meant to hold them. The new eyes blinked.
The general's breath hitched. Nausea clawed his throat. He had seen war, famine, and plague; he had never seen life sewn and rewired with such feral intention.
The red-tipped woman spoke again, as if explaining a lesson. "I spent two hollow years in worship," she said — a confession half of pride and half of ritual fervour. "I called to Shonitpriya in the night until the wind itself answered. I lived with leeches crawling over my skin; I learned to welcome the bite. Shadows came to me in sleep, and I let them take pieces of me, they grabbed me, they chocked me, they ravaged me like a new flower and I became after enduring them." Her voice had the cadence of someone who had bartered away mercy for power. "If I could not have you, then you Should not have her. She would be offered up, remade, and made to carry a god's hunger."
"You don't know the taste of those days," the red-tipped woman said, turning to the general with a cold grin. "I starved myself with devotion." my master and his disciples told me what was possible. Your child would be a vessel. You will see it soon enough," the woman said calmly. "But for her, she will stand at the threshold between worship and ruin. She will be both sacrifice and priest. We offered her to a hunger that cannot be sated."
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The red-tipped woman laughed, a sound that scraped like metal across bone. "You want the whole truth?" she purred. "Very well. My master and his disciples did more than you see. They raised her up as an idol, not her but that child, draped her in ash and garlands. They carved prayers into her skin and fed the crowd a religion carved from her ruin."
Her grin widened until it seemed to split her face. "After the worship, they took what service they wanted. they raped her together like animals, they even made animals to enter in their inside. They made her parents into tools, cattle for the household. Mercy? Humanity? Those words were banished from that place." She bent toward the general, eyes bright with a madness that had been fed for years. "You should have known. When men taste power and taste no consequence—they become worse than beasts."
The general's stomach turned; bile rose in his throat. He had expected many cruelties, but there are cruelties that shatter a man's bones and cruelties that break the law of the world itself. This was the latter.
The woman they'd bound—scarred and hollowed by what she'd endured—lay listless as the ritual continued. Then the red-tipped woman stepped close, and her expression went suddenly tender in a way that made the general's skin crawl.
"It's all because of you," she hissed, dragging the ruined woman up by the hair. "You bitch. You stole my chance when you made him love you. Now look what you have cost us."
Her scream began small and raw, a thing of memory wrung into sound. But as it rose, the red-tipped woman's face shifted from triumph to interest. From the girl's vagina a thin red thread of light lanced, at first a trickle, then a ribbon that crawled outward, soaking the smoke with colour. The black vines that had been stitched across her face shuddered, and the red line braided through them like a living stitch.
The red line burned and sewed, knitting flesh until wounds smoothed and old marks paled like old writing washed away. The woman coughed, and when she looked up her eyes were clear, strange, yes, but unmarked. The wounds that had mapped her like a map of pain were gone as if a tide had swallowed them whole.
The red-tipped woman laughed, half with triumph and half with a predator's irritation. "See? I gave her eyes," she said, dolling out the miracle like a curse. "Woke her from the trance when she served my purpose. Now she can meet the world again. What a mercy, no?"
Then, in a movement that stunned the assembled, she signalled the ropes be cut. The general sagged as the cords dropped away, the leathery taste of cold air filling his lungs like a promise and a threat. He stumbled forward and, without thinking, wrapped his arms around the woman who had been broken and rebuilt. Their bodies met with the heat of decayed memory, years of absence and horror folding into desperate, contradictory need.
They held each other, but not with tenderness. The embrace was a knot of two damaged things clinging to a single thread of humanity left. Around them the red-tipped woman laughed, They clung, and in that tight, breathless spool of flesh the general felt something harden inside him—a seed of fury, cold and absolute. It was not the simple rage born of loss alone; it was a deeper thing, a kernel fed on injustice, sacrilege, and ritual. Around the bonfire the world pretended to be whole, but he felt the fracture: a line that would not mend until it had been driven deep into her.
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The red-tipped woman snapped her fingers, and the silence of the night shattered. Singh, his sons, the minister, and the puppet king stirred awake like corpses rising from their graves. Their eyes burned with sickly yellow light, their mouths stretching into warped grins. Around them, the soldiers twitched back to life, moving like marionettes pulled by unseen strings.
They seized him, tearing him from her arms. His veins burned with helpless rage, but the spell held him still, his muscles like chains around his own bones. She reached for him, but the mob dragged her away, their laughter rattling like rusted blades.
The red-tipped woman's laugh sliced the air. "What a fool you are. Did you forget? When the ritual begins, no kiss, no touch, no embrace is allowed. You broke it. Now, the curse claims him but not you. He was now my puppet." She shouted in rage "don't touch him. Don't do anything to him." But she laughed away and she was dragged away.
This time, no ropes bound him. His fury was caged within his own body, every nerve betraying him. The woman knelt, pressing her palms into the earth. Black light erupted, coiling upward in the shape of a monstrous shadow. Her master had arrived.
Their bodies glowed as if hollowed out by fire. Faces split into masks of emotion: one twisted in rage, one drooling with ecstasy, another convulsed in laughter, another sobbing like a child. Six emotions, six fractured pieces of damnation, all fusing into the figures before them. Their arms stretched unnaturally, fingers cracking into claws. Tongues elongated like serpents. Blades in their hands warped, their virile member went bigger and thicker like a demon.
Then the ritual began.
They fell upon her, not as men but as beasts. Their sword plunged into her essence, carving her soul with every thrust of their corrupted will. She screamed, half from agony, half from a madness that made her body betray her. Her flesh twisted, reshaping itself under their touch.
Her once broken frame reformed, smooth and unscarred, only for the torment to begin anew. Each cry she gave seemed to enchant the chamber, making the air itself shiver with a perverse hunger. The more she bled, the more her beauty sharpened. Her body grew more radiant, her voice more alluring even through the shrieks of suffering.
The red-tipped woman watched, licking her lips as if savouring the scene. She turned to him. "Do you see, my Tai? She becomes the vessel. Each scream, each tear, each moment of desecration feeds the goddess within. Look, your beloved is no longer yours. She is theirs. She is mine. She is the goddess descending."
The chorus of voices rose. Singh and his brood shouted like zealots, drool spilling down their chins. "Ahhh! The goddess descends! Forgive us! Accept our offering!" Their movements grew more frenzied, their forms grotesque, their shadows spreading across the walls like monstrous wings.
She cried out, her voice cracking, but instead of breaking, it transformed into something eerie — a sound both seductive and horrifying. The chamber filled with it, vibrating in the bones of every soldier, every stone. Her body shimmered with red light, breasts swelling, her figure thinning and sharpening, sculpted by the ritual into something divine yet defiled.
The minister thrusted more in joy. "She is coming! The goddess is here! My sins—ah, forgive me! My seed burns away before her glory!" Singh roared, veins bulging in his forehead, foam at his lips. "More! More! Until the heavens themselves shatter! Ahhhhhh." Her master said in deep voice "go get his thing and also you can calm down your lust before that."
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The red-tipped woman straddled Mount Tai, her lips pressing against his with a force that was less passion and more conquest. Her tongue forced its way past his clenched teeth, saliva stretching in thin threads between them as she pulled away. His body trembled violently, not with desire but with a curse gnawing at his insides.
She laughed low, cruel. "What a kiss… even your rage tastes sweet."
Her hand darted lower, and he cried out, his entire body convulsing in pain as she crushed his balls without mercy. His roar echoed through the night like a beast caught in a trap. She only pressed closer, whispering against his lips, "Now you are mine."
She shoved him aside, only to crawl over him again, grinding him beneath her as if to stamp out the last of his will. Her words rang loud for all to hear. "See, bitch—your husband is mine now. Even his strength bends to my command. What is love when it ends like this? What is loyalty when he breaks so easily?"
The woman he once loved could only sob in the dirt, her tears falling like ash as the ritual twisted onward. Blades carved her flesh while invisible hands clawed at her soul. Every scream she gave became a hymn in that cursed place, feeding the bonfire that roared unnaturally bright.
The six men encircling the bonfire their voices layered in an unholy chant and same as her. "Now bring the offering," one commanded, his voice scraping like steel.
Servants obeyed, dragging forth baskets filled with severed flesh, twisted relics of manhood, cut and preserved for this single moment, were cast into the flames. The fire spat sparks like shrieking souls, turning crimson as if the blood itself had caught fire.
Mount Tai and the woman were dragged forward, bound together with ropes slick from sacrificial blood. Their bodies were forced against the central stake, lashed tight so that they faced one another—one broken in despair, the other writhing in a curse not of his making.
The red-tipped woman raised her arms. "By blood, by flesh, by torment—we summon the goddess." She cast the offerings into the inferno. The fire howled, swallowing them, painting the night with light that looked like screaming faces.
The six men around the fire froze, their twisted mouths breaking into sick smiles. Their bodies shook as if strings were being pulled from beyond. "She comes… the goddess is descending! Teacher will be pleased… the ritual is complete!"
The air split with a deafening crack. The sky itself tore open like rotten flesh, spilling a wound of darkness into the night. From that abyss came the sound of a thousand wails—creatures shrieking, infants crying, beasts gnashing, women groaning in endless torment. It was not one sound but every sound of suffering that could exist, layered together in maddening chorus.
Then a spear of lightning fell, white-hot, splitting the bonfire. The ground trembled, the ropes binding Mount Tai and the woman hissed as if alive. The blast seared through flesh and bone, twisting the worshippers' shapes. Their skin split, their muscles bulged, their eyes bled yellow light. They became something no longer human—new creatures of the cursed goddess.
From the rift above, descending softly as though she weighed nothing, came a little girl. No older than two summers, her bare feet did not touch the earth, yet her presence pressed heavier than an army. Her eyes were pits, her mouth curled in a child's smile, and her voice—sweet and high-pitched—made grown men tremble.
"I am happy today," she said, clapping her tiny hands. "You six… return to your corners of the world, or remain here. This kingdom will be yours… the kingdom of lust." Her small hand stretched unnaturally long, fingers extending like blackened roots, reaching for Mount Tai and the broken woman. "And these two… these will be mine—"
But before her hand could close, steel flashed. A blade cut down, severing the air itself. The child-goddess shrieked, a piercing howl that shattered the bones of lesser soldiers. "Who dares! Who dares harm me?!"
On the sky, a figure sat calmly on a brush, wrapped in white robes, as though untouched by the storm. His face was hidden. Behind him, ten more figures emerged, each garbed in different robes—scarlet, gold, violet, ash-black—each bearing a weapon that pulsed with dreadful aura. Spears, chains, glaives, bows, staves, swords.
They descended like hunters, and the battlefield exploded in chaos. The goddess's new brood surged forward, screeching, blades clashing against divine steel. The sky burned with unnatural fire, and the ground split beneath their fury. Mount Tai, bound in chains of curse, could only watch as titans waged war above his head.
Hours bled into moments. Neither side faltered, yet neither side prevailed. At last, from the sky themselves, a voice deeper than thunder rolled across the world:
"This city is cursed… a kingdom of lust forever. Here, her power reigns supreme. You cannot defeat her now. Fall back, all of you."
The ten figures hesitated, their robes torn, their weapons dripping ichor of things not of this world. The white-robed leader lowered his blade. "When then? When can she be slain?"
The voice answered not with words but with a vision. Upon the pond near the village, water rippled and from its stillness rose a bluish lotus, glowing faintly against the corruption. The figures understood: That day will mark her weakest hour. That day, the curse can be broken. But until then… they must endure. They must return, day after day, to keep the darkness in check.
As they retreated, the land shook once more. From the eastern quarter came a roar that silenced all. A dome of sickly pink light rose, swallowing towers and fields alike. Within it stirred something vast. Not a beast. Not a man. Not a woman but...