The author narrates.
Vikram got up from the ground, barely dusting off his fingers, as if he still couldn't believe he'd fallen. Adrenaline kept him upright, more out of necessity than pride. His body ached, yes, but it was the kind of pain you ignore when fear is still nipping at your heels.
In front of him, the Executioner was still crouched down.
Imposing.
The pyramid above his head tilted as if gravity respected it out of devotion.
And then he began to rise, slowly, as if each vertebra were creaking for centuries as he did so.
Vikram looked up.
And kept looking up.
And looking up…
Until he understood the true scale of the challenge.
The guy was incredibly tall.
He barely reached his abs. It wasn't even close to his height.
It was like looking at a sculpture of damnation.
A figure designed to break backs and… expectations.
Vikram cleared his throat.
Vikram: "So, bro… you're one of those Executioners the witch keeps mentioning… right?" he said firmly, trying to sound like someone who still had a chance to negotiate.
Silence.
The Executioner didn't move.
Not a word.
Not a gesture.
Only the constant vibration of his presence, as if the environment were adapting to him.
Vikram pressed his lips together.
He remembered something else… something Bi had warned him about, half-jokingly, half-seriously.
- Fleeting memory -
"If you don't know how to identify the Executioners… Look at their heads. They have a pyramid on top."
Bi had said it smiling, as if telling a juicy legend.
He had stuck out his tongue in disgust, wanting to forget what that detail meant.
- Present -
Vikram sighed, turned, and walked over to where his phone had fallen.
The screen was cracked, but thanks to the case, it still worked.
A technical miracle in the midst of ritual hell.
The screen flickered weakly for a moment and then returned to normal. The map was still there.
"Okay, it still works."
He let out a half-laugh.
Vikram: I think I went to the wrong pyramid… —he muttered to himself, with the tone of someone who wished he were cracking jokes in another plane of existence.
He turned to look at the Executioner.
But he was already walking away.
The weapon he carried—a gigantic metal structure with a worn edge—dragged along the ground, leaving a sound trail like broken shackles.
The noise wasn't just annoying.
It was grave.
Irritating.
As if something beneath the city vibrated with every step.
Vikram: Hey, you bastard! Wait, don't leave me here alone! —Vikram yelled, trying to sound more annoyed than scared.
The Executioner didn't answer.
But he didn't go far either.
He just kept walking, as if he knew Vikram would follow him.
Vikram pressed his phone against his helmet.
He adjusted his backpack.
And started to follow him.
Not because he trusted him.
But because staying behind… was worse.
The Executioner walked as if hell itself were setting the pace. His gait was slow, steady, and every turn of his head seemed to measure risks only he could perceive.
The walls of the buildings vibrated as he passed. Not from sound, but from his presence. As if the structures knew that someone had finally arrived who shouldn't be observed, but obeyed.
Vikram followed behind, like a castaway tracking a shadow that at least didn't want him dead. He had no choice. That guy was his only defense against the slimy horror of the outside world, and although his height intimidated him—he barely reached his abs—his silence unsettled him even more.
Vikram: Hey wey... are you the dude I'm going to fight today? —Vikram asked, with a feigned seductive tone and that crooked smile he used to calm his nerves.
He adjusted his clothes, brazenly touching himself.
Vikram: I hope you can handle me. I'm the kind of guy who leaves girls with weak legs…
The Executioner didn't reply. He didn't even deign to turn around. The silence that followed that sentence was harsher than any insult.
Vikram: Bi could have at least given me a translation… —Vikram muttered, frowning—. I don't even know if I'm talking to myself or to you.
He crossed his arms, annoyed, like a child who doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.
The Executioner stopped.
Before them, the rusted sign seemed to bleed old letters:
[Building 17 – Silent Sector].
Without turning, without pointing, without speaking, the Executioner walked toward the entrance.
A door with cracks that looked like black branches on raw skin.
He dragged it open with his weapon, which screeched against the floor, marking his entrance like an unsigned death sentence.
Vikram followed him.
He didn't even ask questions anymore.
He didn't even hesitate.
Because dying outside…
seemed less useful than whatever was about to happen inside.
As they crossed the building's threshold, the silence became absolute.
Not the kind of silence that soothes…
but the kind that seems to watch.
The walls were worn, with layers of paint peeling like old skin.
Each half-open door revealed incomplete scenes:
—A bathtub full of hair.
—A chair spinning on its own in an office that no longer exists.
—A mirror that didn't reflect Vikram, only the Executioner.
"Am I a vampire now or what the hell?" he thought, raising an eyebrow.
—And an endless hallway that changed shape every time you looked at it.
The air tasted metallic. A few drops fell from invisible ceilings, as if it were raining inside a memory that didn't belong to either of them.
"Great, it's raining under the roof... What a strange surprise."
After several minutes of walking through that lifeless architecture, the Executioner stopped in front of a double door, rusty and far too narrow for someone his size.
But he went through it anyway.
Not bending down… but as if the space itself were adjusting to him.
Inside: a spacious room, the floor cracked, curtains rotten, and a bed that seemed to float in the center like a makeshift altar.
Vikram let out a strained laugh.
Vikram: This place doesn't look so great for fucking, bro…
The Executioner didn't react.
He laid his weapon aside, the blade scraping the floor and making a low sound that faded into the cracks.
He approached the bed and sat down slowly.
The sheets looked dirty… but something in the air suggested they weren't stains, but rather time itself petrified.
Vikram watched him.
That immense body in an abandoned bed…
That scene…
had something of a cursed Renaissance painting about it.
Vikram: What's wrong? Is there something on my face or what? —He frowned, trying to break the tension with sarcasm.
He set his backpack aside.
Then, he hesitated.
Vikram: Wait a moment…
I have to put my phone somewhere far away so they don't see me hac—
The words trailed off before he could leave.
For the first time, Vikram felt that the desire he had promised to record… shouldn't be broadcast.
For the first time, what was once content…
was now judgment.
His phone trembled in his hand.
His fingers gripped it tighter than he intended.
And something inside him began to change.
Because his followers were a priority.
Or at least… they had been.
Before entering Building 17.
Before seeing that Executioner lying there as if it were a ritual of surrender.
Vikram entered another adjoining room, with walls that sweated with ancient dampness and a mirror that didn't fully reflect him. The silence was even denser there, as if the air refused to vibrate for fear of witnessing what was about to begin.
He held the phone up to his helmet, the glass still cracked, and smiled nervously.
Vikram: Followers, I have something extremely important to say… —he murmured, hesitating.
The next part of the sentence got stuck in his throat.
So he improvised:
Vikram: I'm going to crack some skulls and stuff. And it's something YouTube can't see, they might block my account. As soon as I'm done, I'll show you the result.
And with that technical lie, he ended the live stream.
Black screen.
Transmission ended.
He stayed in the room for a few more seconds, leaning against the cracked wall, as if the solitude would give him time to process. But the silence offered no peace.
It only pushed him forward.
It was time.
He returned to the main room, leaving his cell phone in the other room.
And there he was.
The Executioner, still standing beside the cracked bed, mechanically parted the thick fabric of his crotch.
His member emerged without erection, without any human sexual gesture.
There was no provocation.
No anxiety.
Only a presence marking its territory, as if that were part of the ritual.
Vikram froze for a moment.
His body betrayed him not out of fear, but out of... profound discomfort.
He was the one who had to initiate.
He was the one who had to surrender.
The big man seemed to be waiting.
He didn't demand.
He didn't speak.
He was just there, as if he knew the decision had already been made long before Vikram arrived.
The boy frowned, still with that mocking tone he used as a shield.
Vikram: Wait a moment! "Who's going to be the passive one here? You or me?" he said, pointing first at himself and then at the Executioner.
Annoyance was beginning to boil in his voice.
The Executioner didn't react.
He didn't even breathe differently.
He simply let the silence speak for him.
Because that question…
already had an answer.
Only Vikram didn't want to admit it yet.
Vikram looked away, annoyed, like someone talking to an old piece of furniture that suddenly moves.
Vikram: You can't even talk to me... That's true, he muttered dryly.
The room remained as silent as he was.
Only breathing, tension, and the distant echo of a decision that didn't dare to take hold.
When he looked again…
The scene took him by surprise.
The Executioner was no longer standing.
He had lain down on the bed, his enormous body spread out on the tattered sheets as if awaiting an offering.
He said nothing.
He didn't look at him.
But his posture spoke louder than any words: the ritual had to begin.
Vikram: No… he whispered. I can't do… I can't do that… I—
He didn't finish the sentence.
Because the Executioner stood up abruptly,
with a speed that belied his size.
Vikram: Hey, hey, hey! —Vikram shouted, stepping forward, fearing he was going for the weapon.
He lunged at him and placed both hands on his abdomen, as if that contact alone would be enough to stop the monster.
Vikram: Hold it right there, dude! —he blurted out, his voice cracking with a mixture of fear and desperation.
The Executioner stopped.
He watched him.
Speechless, expressionless.
But his stillness said it all: he was waiting.
And Vikram…
didn't know what to do about it.
Vikram: Just wait, dude… —he murmured, his voice dropping to barely a tremor— I have… no idea…
He looked away, feeling insignificant before that body that didn't judge, but did demand.
- Memory -
Bi's voice emerged like a whisper, etched into his memory,
as if the walls were repeating it for him.
"If you don't agree to sleep with one of them at first, then automatically... they'll back out."
...
"Choose your words carefully. Believe me, if I were you... I'd choose to accept."
- Memory ended -
Vikram swallowed.
The Executioner was still standing before him.
He wasn't moving.
He wasn't attacking him.
But he wasn't touching him either.
He was on that edge where just one word could change everything.
Accept.
Refuse.
Decide.
But Vikram was still in the middle.
Trembling.
Questioning things he never thought he'd have to face.
What if all of this did mean something to him?
What if the sentence… was reflecting him more than he wanted?
There was Vikram.
His head was racing, his mouth dry, and judgment calling from the back of the room.
He thought decisions were things you made with force…
but this one was pulling him from within.
There was no map for that.
The Executioner, still speechless, took a step toward his weapon.
His intention wasn't to attack him, nor to instill fear.
It was simply… to leave.
To withdraw from the ritual that Vikram had not yet accepted.
But he was stopped.
Vikram: Wait, you son of a bitch! —Vikram spat angrily, shoving the big man.
The gesture was more emotional than physical.
The Executioner barely took a step back, without losing his balance.
He did it only out of ritual courtesy.
As if he allowed this minimal act of power so as not to break the human completely.
Vikram lowered his arms, frustrated.
His breathing was rapid, almost labored.
Vikram: I have no idea how to start… just… wait for me… okay?
Rage rose within him like a poorly contained fire.
He wanted to break things, curse, escape.
But time…
wasn't going to give him any more time.
The Executioner observed him for another second.
And nodded.
With a gesture as subtle as it was ancient.
As if that patience were part of the pact.
He went back to bed.
He sat down.
And simply waited.
Vikram began pacing the room.
Back and forth, like a caged animal.
Each step echoed like a doubt.
Each glance he cast at the Executioner, like a failed attempt to understand what the hell he was doing there.
The Executioner watched him.
But didn't judge.
Didn't move.
Just was.
Present.
Constant.
And willing.
For Vikram, this wasn't just sex.
It was a fracture.
An opening to something he hadn't planned to explore.
He had been with girls.
He knew what he liked.
But this…
This was something else.
Another level.
Another door.
And to cross it…
he needed more than desire.
He needed to overcome the mirror that told him who he was.
And Vikram had imagined a thousand ways they could rip his soul out. None of them ended well.
"Demons!"
Vikram stood with his feet touching the ground, his breath caught in the silence. Before him, the erect symbol of the pact about to be fulfilled.
A reminder that his fate was sealed.
The Executioner stood imposingly, his cock semi-erect as if awaiting the gesture that would confirm Vikram's surrender. Vikram regarded it with feigned determination, like someone inspecting a prison door before willingly entering. He involuntarily recalled how girls usually began this act: slowly, ceremonially... before surrendering to the frenzy.
Vikram: So... I'd have to be "the woman" in this, right...? he whispered to himself with a bitter grimace.
He didn't know if the Executioner had heard him. It didn't matter. He had already crossed the threshold.
He approached with the trembling steps of someone mocking his own limitations. The Executioner looked up when he noticed him and saw him standing there, his chest heaving, as if he hated every second that was pushing him forward.
Without a word, the Executioner began to stroke his cock with minimal, precise movements. The member hardened slowly, almost ceremonially, growing inch by inch, as if the ritual demanded patience.
Vikram swallowed bitterly. Then he clicked his tongue with a mixture of rage and… envy? Yes. Envy of that body that defied him with arrogance.
When the Executioner's penis reached full erection, he waved it in front of the human with a look that said everything without uttering a word.
Vikram's thoughts:
"Damn... you think all that's going to fit in my mouth, big guy...? Wait... what the hell am I thinking? God... these thoughts... SHIT, SHIT!"
___________________________________
I wish this chapter were longer... Well, actually it is, I just don't want to give away any more scenes :P
Let's save that wish for later, guys ಠಿ_ಠ☘️
I'm just asking you to leave a like and a comment. Or more if you prefer.