Here we are.
Here, my friends, one can truly say that we are in the Mirror Universe.
Are you ready? Have you prepared really well yourselves?
Have you got an adequate stockpile of tranquilizers?
Here, my friends, one can truly say that we are in the Mirror Universe.
Are you ready? Have you prepared really well yourselves?
Have you got an adequate stockpile of tranquilizers?
Okay. In this case... read here!
What do you say, my friends and readers?
Is it not by chance that our dear T'Pol is a wee bit in trouble?
Oh yes. Definitely yes.
She - how to say? - she would really need some help.
Who knows if there is anyone willing to go at her rescue?
Ah ... ahem ...
Obviously these are all nonsense. Nothing true. All figments of my sick mind.
But think a little! How do I know what happened the Mirror Universe?
Unthinkable!
Sure.
Alright. I am a liar.
But... even Daniels?
Obviously these are all nonsense. Nothing true. All figments of my sick mind.
But think a little! How do I know what happened the Mirror Universe?
Unthinkable!
Sure.
Alright. I am a liar.
But... even Daniels?
Chapter Two
The chains fell down. To the floor of the cage. With a metallic, sinister clang.
The Vulcan started and turned around, her back against the cage's bars, her eyes on those savage beings.
She knew what they were. Barbaric Humanoids that shouldn't exist. Beasts, and still Humans. The manipulation of Human, Gorilla, and Selath DNA, had brought to life those aberrant hybrids, endowed with the cold savagery of the Selaths, with the massy and wild potency of the Gorillas, with the fierce intelligence of Humans. And without the smallest trace of any Human inhibition. The best result of Doctor Soong's crazy science. Wild assassins, built to terrorize, to rape. To kill.
They were the Empire's horrible and merciless face for those who dared rebel.
They stayed silent and immovable for an instant, their grotesquely human muzzles twitching savagely, incredulous that they were unchained, free to fling themselves on the female offered to them.
Then, their exultant hellish howls tortured the air and, under the greedy gaze of the onlookers, they started their assault. They would finally have that young flesh, throbbing and hot. They would fulfil their subhuman longings and their feral hunger.
The Human crowd palpitated, in expectancy, around the large cage, which was in a stately and immense salon; the government salon of the Terran Prefect's residence on Vulcan; the captive's motherland. The salon was transformed into an open arena, so that, from behind a protected fence, her kind was able to watch the spectacle; the public show of her punishment.
Now the feast would begin and it would be savoury. The promise that the Vulcan female would fight increased its flavour.
Next to the Empress, Reed moistened his dry lips with the tip of his tongue. It would be delightful to see what the Vulcan would do, that female whom he had wanted and hadn't had, who had been with that damned Chief Engineer, dead at last, and may his soul get scorched eternally. Near to him, Hess wasn't doing anything to hide her satisfied enjoyment. She could already taste the sight of that snooty Vulcan female, who had managed to gain the attentions of the Chief Engineer with her exotic air of superiority, as she was forced to satisfy those primeval Humanoids in front of the baying crowd. Now that whore would know where her "superiority" had got her. Beside her, Mayweather showed the most deadpan face, trying to not betray the frosty contentment he felt. He would be able to view the enjoyable spectacle of the brutal end of that alien female, while at the same time basking in the knowledge that the female whose intelligence would have been a hard obstacle for his ambitious designs (especially if the Chief Engineer, peace to his soul had been at her side) was to be eliminated. Certainly he had to admit that she was someone he would willingly have demanded from the Empress for a more agreeable punishment (for himself), but he had not dared to formulate the request. Pity; anyway the outcome would be the same, even if definitely less fun. But, someway, the fun wouldn't be missing.
And in the front row, there she was; the Empress.
She was leaning forward with a gleam in her eyes.
She was unconsciously licking her lips.
The Empress would be able to savour slowly and fully all that would happen to the Vulcan harlot. She would drink in her screeches of pain and shame, while that Vulcan hussy writhed inanely under the ruthless and savage rape. She would delight in the sight of that infamous traitress, of that sneaky schemer, being torn to pieces by those famished primitive Humanoids. She would bask in the vision of that haughty bitch, down on her knees, imploring for pity and mercy. And she would laugh at her entreaties, and would watch her tormented death, enjoying her revenge over that Vulcan cow who had defeated her in their hand-to-hand fight. And at the same time she would be able to display her imperial power to all the Empire's citizens who were watching the spectacle, even those living in the middle of nowhere, what it meant to defy the will of the Empress.
She focused on the spectacle as the howling Humanoids were diving toward the Vulcan female. They were so turned on, so horny that they obstructed each other; a muddle of monstrous and obtuse troglodytes, slavering with primeval longing, fighting one against the other to reach their prey.
Then the Empress turned her attention to the prey, to the naked woman with her back flattened against the cage's bars as she looked at the one among the primordial Humanoids that was about to clutch her.
The Empress smiled wickedly. It was time.
Suddenly the Vulcan burst forth. Swiftly, like an eel, she slipped from the dreadful grasp of the creature on the brink of catching her and rolled behind the enormous Humanoid. Her hands seized his fur and she climbed up, like a squirrel, quickly moving along the monster's back, past his shoulders, until she reached his neck. And as he attempted to understand where his prey had gone, the prey was already astride his neck, and hooking her legs around it, her hands snapped forward towards his eyes, to both sides of his protuberant muzzle, where she pushed her fingers into his orbits.
The fingers penetrated them.
Deep down, like curving talons, forcefully, without mercy.
A spine-chilling yell burst from the monster's throat. He straightened to his full height, stretching his arms aloft and raking the air with his clawed hands.
He began to shake savagely and the Vulcan was no longer able to remain attached to the Subhuman juggernaut. She was thrown down landing roughly on the floor of the cage in among the feet of the other monsters, her hands daubed with the blood and eyeball mush from the wild Humanoid.
She saw immediately that there was a hair's breath of distance between her survival and death. Disordered she hastily gathered herself and attempted to get away; not even trying to get up as she scampered away on all fours.
She moved away precipitately, without daring to think of what was happening at her shoulders, her heart pounding wildly as she thought that a claw might grasp her at any moment, her skin made crawl by the cacophony of wild roars and bawling snarls she heard close behind her.
She knew she had no hope, but wouldn't give into her fear. No, she wouldn't. She would fight tooth and nail. She would push those wild Humanoids to such a fury that they would want only her death, forgetting to use her body. She wouldn't be humiliated in this way by those half-Humans, for the vengeful fun of that Human whore. Her body would feed the monsters, but wouldn't be used for their pleasure. Her soul wouldn't feed the pleasure of her Human masters.
And, somehow, an unforeseen luck helped her, if it was possible that there was any luck to be found in her situation.
She reached – she didn't know how – the cage's perimeter without any talon reaching her, and then she turned around, squatting down on the ground, her hands stretched out in front of her on the floor, her torso leaning forward, like a tiger ready to dart from the bars behind her, as she intently watched what was happening.
And she understood why she had been able to avoid any aggression.
A battle had begun between the creatures. The one that she had wounded so cruelly was attacking - blindly and furiously - whichever of his companions he perceived to be next to him; the eyes-deprived troglodyte was attempting to catch and to hit whatever - didn't matter which thing - in a mad furore of revenge and ache.
The others had surrounded him, temporarily heedless of their prey, and they were tackling the fury of their companion in the only way they knew. They were slaying him, atrociously, with bites and talons.
The Vulcan understood that this was a chance for her. She had to risk it.
Slowly and guardedly, she began to head for the knot of those wild beings in combat, stepping forward practically crouched and holding her breath.
She felt that the bystanders were watching her every move intently.
For a moment she feared that they were doing something to make the monsters aware of her intentions but she chased away this thought. She knew that Humans, although they could be treacherous, tended to respect the rules of the fight. And, besides, even if they did do something, there wasn't anything that she could do to stop them. It was illogical that she should fear something she wasn't in a condition to prevent.
Nothing happened.
She came up behind the group of Humanoids and saw the one she had blinded lying on the ground, dead, in a blood sea.
The others were raging against him, still forgetful of her, excited to the extreme by their blood fury.
All of a sudden the Vulcan leapt up, once more climbing up on the back of one monster, hoping to be able to do to him what she had done to the first, well aware that the brutes' muscular mass was too potent to allow her to make a successful neck pinch.
But this time, she failed.
The big juggernaut, despite his doltishness, was more sharp-witted than his unlucky brother, and reacted rapidly and ferociously. His clawed hand snapped to his neck, attempting to catch and to grip whatever was riding on his back, and powerfully grasped something.
The thug brought forth his arm and brandished his hand aloft, looking at what he was holding.
And he saw.
From his hand was hanging the female. With a grimace of pain painted on her face, she was writhing, dangling by her blonde crop of hair, and, attempting to ease the sharp ache she was feeling, she was trying to catch hold of the outstretched arm of her predator so as to draw herself up a little; to decrease the hurtful weight of her body on her scalp.
A huge howl of triumph erupted from the monster's throat and he began to savagely and brutally shake his living trophy.
A thrilled buzz ruffled the crowd. The Empress leaned forward, the corners of her lips slightly bending up in a smile of sadistic pleasure. Her look pierced the air and the painfully half-shut eyes of the Vulcan who was on the verge of succumbing to the brute force of her captor, met those of the Empress.
The Vulcan saw the savage twinkle which illuminated them.
She absorbed that sparkle as if it were a Nova; a reinvigorating flame.
No. Once again… NO.
She would fight yet. She would fight. Tooth and nail. Nail and tooth.
Nail…
Ignoring the pain, the Vulcan curled up, gathering her legs beneath her, and stuck all of her fingernails into the monster's flesh, flaying the arm he was holding her with and careless of the ache that the hardness of the thug's skin caused her.
…and tooth.
Then she forced her fingernails deeper and, playing on the surprise and the pain she was giving him, managed to free her hair from the monster's grasp. She twisted her legs around the enormous arm and jabbed her teeth deep into the Humanoid's muscles, tearing off a bite of bloody raw flesh.
The creature yelled out in wrath and pain, slamming to the ground the wretched and hapless female who still had tatters of fetid flesh attached to her lips.
She landed painfully on her back, closing her eyes on impact. She quickly reopened them, and saw the wild and wrathful subhuman towering over her. And in his eyes there was no feral lust, only murderous fury.
At that sight, the Vulcan threw what was possibly her last challenge.
She lifted her torso up to rest on her elbows. Her eyes flared savagely and she ground her teeth, growling scornfully at the monstrous Humanoid.
It was her decoy. To drive him to kill her.
She shut her eyes again and waited for the mortal blow.
She felt she had achieved her aim as she expected the death she desired to come shortly. She would be spared the shame of being raped by those primitive and wild beings for the perverse pleasure of those who had enslaved her and would foil the heinous revenge of the Empress.
Finally she would find peace, a release from her miserable life, from the Calvary of cruelties and abasements that life had become, from a life robbed of any future. She would escape from all of the pain and the grief that was burning her body and her soul.
From her weariness to live. From her fatigue.
From her remorse.
From her regret.
But death didn't arrive.
A choked sound, burbling and frightening, was reverberating through the air. It was the only sound she could hear. The only sound in a deathly silence.
She opened her eyes to look into the vivid lights that illumined the environment so as ensure those watching did not miss any of the spectacle and then she located the source of the noise. And recognized what it was.
It was the sound of death. Of the Humanoid that should have brought death to her.
He had fallen to his knees and the burbling noise she heard was coming from his throat. Around his neck the steel maw of the largest of the primeval thugs was clenched. The attacker was clinging to the succumbing Humanoid from behind with his powerful arms locked around his prey; claws harrowing flesh, dragging away blood and life.
Behind the battling pair were two of the Hybrids, as well as the other two who stood in front of the Vulcan. They watched intently, immovable and silent, as the dreadful spectacle unfolded in which their companion was facing his end by the jaws of one of their own kind.
The leader of the pack. The attacker was that.
The Vulcan understood straight away.
The leader of the pack. And he was stating in a feral and atrocious way, to his dying companion, to the other troglodytes... and to her... his right of possession.
Over her.
The Vulcan took a deep and doleful breath. Death wouldn't have her yet, wouldn't give her the freedom.
That odious monster would have her.
All of her efforts, all of her fighting, would be useless. In vain.
The fatigue, the pain, the weakness overwhelmed her.
All of the tribulations and tortures; the distasteful food, limited supplies of noisome water, sleep deprivation, the loneliness. Imprisoned on her home world, naked in a cold, dark and mouldy dungeon, while restless thoughts about an irretrievable past and a dark future without hope whirled through her brain. It had been enough to frazzle her spirit and her will, never mind her body.
And now, this hopeless fight.
Despondency and discouragement, for the first time, filled her heart. She wanted to get up, to escape, but she wasn't capable and she knew she no longer had the force to fight. All that she could do was grovel on her back, laboriously shuffling backwards on her elbows, aware that, this time, she wouldn't be able to elude her fate. That barbarous being would get his savage pleasure from her overspent body, as would the hated Empress from her aggrieved soul.
She stopped her needless efforts and pulled together what remained of her will and her strength. With one last endeavour, she sat on the floor, gathering her legs beneath her, and then she leaned over to rest her torso on her right arm. But no one would be able to see any resignation in her posture, not at all; what was raying from her was an aura of dauntless acceptance. Of dignity. Pride
She bent her left arm letting her hand fall to rest on her hip and slightly tilted her head, looking with studied aloofness at the brutal scene before her. Disdainfully, as if none of this pertained to her.
That was all she could do to show that there was no chain capable of binding her soul. Her ultimate attempt to display to her executioners, to the Empress, that her Katra would remain inviolate and free. Always and forever.
The dying Humanoid was no longer emitting any sound. Only a feeble and wheezing breath was coming from his mouth and his eyes were losing their light.
The other, the leader, loosened his grasp, letting his beaten victim slip to the floor, like a gigantic puppet deprived of its threads.
He lay on the floor, on his back, devoid of any beefiness, under the watchful gaze of his slaughterer. He took one last breath, blinked one last time, and then his chest became still, so as his eyes, wide open in a death stare.
The winner straightened in all his puissance and raised his clenched fists at the cage's ceiling and hooted all around his wild and resonant scream of triumph.
He yelled in the air his conquered and unassailable right of property, of owning her.
And over her, over the naked and defenceless woman, waiting helplessly for her fate, by now depleted of any force, by now only faintly sustained by the stubbornly strenuous will of her soul, the monster's savage look descended, rampantly and feverishly covetous.
Once more a thrill of excitement ran through the observing crowd.
The fight, the blood, the wild spectacle... the odour of the death...
The Empress inhaled the flavour of her power.
She was sitting on her throne, just before the big cage, and was basking in the power she was exerting over that Vulcan sow. She held the power of life and death over that whore. She was able to do to her whatever she wanted.
Like a Caesar over the slaves of the Roman Empire.
And now the slaves of HER Empire, of the Human Empire, all of them who at that moment watched dismayed at what was happening to that Vulcan woman who had dared to think that it was possible to rebel against HER Empire…. now they were learning via the live broadcast of the dreadful punishment meted out to that Vulcan slut how the government style of the new Empress would be.
The ancient Caesars would have been proud of her. They could find again, in HER Arena, the same sombre atmosphere which there had been in their Arenas, where people had enjoyed the gory spectacle of defenceless victims being offered to the claws and teeth of tigers and lions, or of the gladiators in combat for their lives and in the hands of the capricious populace's will. Around her the crowd, proud and sure of a power gained through force, had relished the sanguinary show, that unequal fight, had savoured the vain battle of the miserable Vulcan. They had foretasted the inevitable end she would have, and had got more and more fevered, until that moment, until the instant that that alien whore was finally on the verge of falling prey to that abominable Subhuman creature.
Now, if the Empress wanted it, she could put up her thumb, exactly as if she was an ancient Caesar in a moment of magnanimity. She could save that treacherous bitch from the atrocious death; from the painful lunges that primitive Humanoid would make into her body. And into her soul.
But the Empress wouldn't put up her thumb. She would taste her vengeance and her power to the hilt. Her soul was keen, like her mind. And her eyes.
And her eyes were capable of watching those of the Vulcan and of detecting in them what the others weren't able to see. And she laughed silently at her, in satisfaction and in bitchy joy. She laughed at her inane attempt to display, with her spuriously relaxed pose, her indifference towards the fate which was about to engulf her. It was a ridiculous and ostentatious show of superiority over the dire destiny which was on the point of erasing any trace of her damned Vulcan pride, of her dignity.
The Empress laughed at all that, because her sharp eyes were capable of watching those of the Vulcan and of seeing the despairing shadow which danced in them, of recognizing the appalled look with which the Vulcan was following her predator's moves.
And the Empress smiled again.
With a threatening growl at his surviving companions, the murderous Humanoid had established his leadership and his right once and for all, and now he was ready to exert this right.
He stepped over the body of the monster killed by him, staring at the woman sitting in front of him - silently, scornfully, expectantly - and his mouth foamed from the fight's excitation and for his carnal desire.
With only one step the abominable Subhuman was next to her, the tangible sign of his covetousness well evident for all to see.
He seized her as she looked up at him, hardly moving a muscle as he grabbed her by the hair at her nape, and then he twisted ferociously her head to force her closer to that demoniac instrument. So that she could sniff the cloying stench of its hankering and her lips almost brush the bare crimsoned tip.
With a snarl that displayed his fangs, he yanked the Vulcan's hair causing her pain, and then he forcefully pushed that abhorrent thing against her clenched mouth, making it clearly manifest what he wanted. The Vulcan understood then why these demons in the shape of Humanoids got reckoned to be less than beasts, and more than that.
No. This, no!
Her destiny may be dire, but this, no!
She swiftly lifted herself up to kneel while still held in the grip of the monster. Using her hands she pushed against his abdomen, desperately attempting to keep her face… her mouth… away from that loathsome thing.
No. No. NO.
Not this! No. NO!
A terribly hurtful tug at her hair was the response she got along with a taste of the juggernaut's talons digging into the flesh of her nude shoulder. This was her living nightmare, the pain so intense that her eyes gaped open and she had to bite on her lips to not cry out aloud. She sensed the repulsive pressure of that fiendish tool, against her teeth and gums, and could taste its horrendous flavour while her nose smelt fully its atrocious reek.
No. Please, no. NO.
She heard above her the lustful roaring of that incubus, rendered true and real while around her... there were jeering guffaws of those who had reduced her thus.
And, between those horselaughs, one laugh... tiny... cold... that her keen ears were able to pick up, even now... because she knew well from whom that snide, frosty, wry snigger came.
It had accompanied her, constantly, during these days of torture.
In that moment, when she heard that frosty laugh of derision, acknowledging the contentment, the fierce fiendishness that resounded in it, the enjoyment and the complacency, something happened inside her. All of her world had been smashed to smithereens, her soul too and her dignity, all that she had. She had to die, caught between torment and shame because of that hooker who was laughing at her. A wrath she didn't believe could exist, coming from a past she didn't know, when logic had been a mere and inane word; a fury impossible to comprehend, a madness which made her brain blaze, exploded fiercely in her soul and in her mind. It replenished the very fibre of her Katra, filled her body with strength, energy, and a burning rampage that overrode any fatigue, any weakness.
Any pain.
Any repulsion.
Not yet. NOT YET.
NOT. YET.
That subtle laugh of scorn and of heartless satisfaction wouldn't crush her.
The fight. Yet. The fight. Tooth and nail.
Again.
Was this what her repugnant conqueror wanted her to do to him? Did her persecutors want this too? That strumpet who had called herself Empress?
And so be it.
So be it.
But… with tooth and nail. Once again.
TOOTH. AND. NAIL.
Her hands darted forth. They seized the sack containing the source of the savage's virile potency, clenching it in a vice that could shatter granite. Her fingernails abraded it potently, as sharp as talons; so strongly, so fiercely that they penetrated skin and flesh.
And, at the same time…
… the barrier that was her teeth, opened, allowing the hellish instrument's entrance.
And, right after…
… the barrier shut again. Powerfully and inexorably.
All the guffaws ceased, everyone became silent and immovable. Even the monster was frozen still by the excruciating pain.
In that astounded silence, in those instants of frost bound incredulity, one sound was heard; clearly and loudly. The spine-chilling sound that the caged and trapped woman let out as she spat out blood that was not hers followed by a carved stub of flesh yet vibrant. She turned her face toward the blanched Empress and the gasping audience and her eyes sparkled with a light of unvanquished defiance and pure joy, savage and satisfied.
Any disgust, any loathing, that she had felt for doing what she had done, faded away at the sight of her dumbstruck persecutors, at the sight of the sallow pallor on the visage of her sworn enemy, that "so-called" Empress, mistress of her life and of her honour, but not of her soul.
NO. Of her soul, never.
NEVER.
Then, any further coherent thought became impossible.
She didn't even realize what had happened. She wasn't capable of having full perception of the maelstrom of pain she had been plunged into; of the crunch of her collarbone when the monster broke it with a stony wring of his hand.
She wasn't fully conscious of being catapulted away, of the breathtaking smash of her body against the floor, of her trundling along the floor like a deranged animated skittle, of the end of her crazy rolling against the cage's bars.
She remained crushed on the ground against the bars, her eyes unable to see, her ears to hear, her brain to function.
Maybe she was dead. Maybe it was so, and she had achieved her aim. She wouldn't die of humiliation before her enemies, she had already passed away.
Then, reality's grievous heaviness swooped upon her, with all its painful substance. She was still alive, sadly, bedaubed with her blood and the Humanoid's, surrounded and pervaded by an abyss of pain, on the verge of succumbing to it and to despair.
She knew that she would no longer be able to resist, surrendering to fright and desperation.
She wanted to be able to believe in some God, like Humans do, so that she could pray to Him to give her the release she needed.
She... she wanted someone... someone who was no longer alive... beside her; someone that she had used, and despised, and hurt; and that now she wanted there, to raise her…to comfort her… in his arms… to take her away from all this horror. She wanted to hide her face against his chest, to cry and die... so... in his warmth.
But he... wasn't there.
He would never be beside her again.
She fought desperately to chase away this useless cerebration and her soreness; to regain at least a little of the self-possession she had, and, somehow, she managed to do it, because a thought, sad and nonetheless consolatory even in the middle of all this horror, warmed her lacerated soul.
This time truly death would come to her. This time she would be torn by the mad reprisal of her crippled predator. He was the leader of those odious Humanoids; not one of the two survivors would attack him, and what she had done to him would prevent him from wanting anything but her death. Surely, this time, she had really managed to reach her goal and would die without having been ignominiously raped. She would die atrociously, but rapidly, with her honour; at least with what remained of her honour.
Now… she should show to everyone how she was able to face her death.
And she would do it. She would.
She wouldn't go back on her promise, she would face her destiny in the way that a Vulcan must do. Humans would know what it meant to be a Vulcan and, if her compatriots had to anathematize her for the consequences of what she had done, at least no one of her race who bore witness to her death would execrate her because she had betrayed her Vulcan heritage.
Slowly, laboriously, fighting off stubbornly and strenuously all the pain soaking every fibre of her being, all the staleness, the exhaustion, the prostration she felt, she began to get up, forcing on her feet and her tremulous legs. Grasping the bars with the hand on her unbroken side, she managed to hoist herself, crawling with her back against the bars until she succeeded in straightening up. She rested her back against the cage's bars.
Worn out.
And ready.
To face her death.
She managed with effort to raise her chin into the air, in defiance of her persecutors. Then the Vulcan looked at the subhuman savage from whom she was expecting her release, shaking her head to try to see him better through the dark-green veil of blood that bedimmed her sight.
And she saw why, one more time, death hadn't already snatched her.
The gigantic part-man was silent and bent in two. His hands, dripping with dark blood, were covering and pressing his affected parts and his humanoid muzzle was twitching with a grimace of unendurable pain. His eyes were half-shut. He was breathing hard. He had been mangled atrociously, there where no male, Human or Inhuman or Subhuman, would be able to bear the pain that such a wound was capable of causing and after his initial and instinctual reaction he was attempting to fight against the terrible violence of such a dreadful injury.
And he seemed weaker, in his attempt and in his posture. Vulnerable, some way.
And his wild and unforbearing inferiors noticed it.
And the law of the jungle, the only law they knew, had its limelight.
Another combat, another furious battle, to the death. For the possession of the female.
For her.
The wild spectacle and her excruciating wait, her hopeless fight, weren't yet at an end.
The two Humanoids had thought to take advantage of the situation, and had attacked their wounded companion, simultaneously. Their brutal instinct had suggested to them that his injury would favour them. But they had miscalculated. The injured but still puissant leader had savagely revolted and dragged them to the ground together with him.
He was wounded, and in pain, but he was the biggest and the strongest, and now he was fighting for his life.
There was a wild and frenzied mixing of claws and fangs, of bites and paws, of bodies which rolled rampantly in the blood on the cage's floor, intertwined with each other. There were ferocious grasps and fierce blows, a frightful and deafening din of snarls, of growls, of bellows, of roars, of snaps, of grumbles, which replenished the air.
Then, there was silence and immobility. Tense. Scary. Scarier, if possible, than all that clatter, that deafening tantrum, that wild rampage which had rocked the cage.
The troglodytes were lying on the ground. The leader and another one were side by side, face down, covering and hiding the third.
They weren't moving, and… weren't breathing.
The tension and the incredulity were palpable in the salon. In the Arena of Death.
The bleary eyes of the exhausted captive were fixed on the motionless heap; she almost couldn't dare to allow her thoughts to take shape. Could it be possible? Could it be possible that… that…?
Then... a movement…
The two inert, immense bodies were shrugged apart and from below, two taloned hands appeared, followed by a fanged apish head and then a gigantic and bleeding body rose slowly in all its height.
Bleeding, but alive and puissant.
And a resonant howl of victory burst forth from its gory mouth .
Then, the feverish eyes of the last Humanoid alighted lustfully on the female, motionless against the cage's bars.
HIS prey. Dazed, dog-tired, wounded, in pain. And at his mercy.
And still… rising up.
Proud and defiant. Strong in her weakness. Tough in her frailty. Stark naked, and dressed with the armour of her desperate bravery. Untouched, in her humiliation.
Beaten, and not defeated.
She had been hurled into that cage of horrors, nude and defenceless, to be raped and mangled, to be abased and scoffed, to die between shame and torment, and she was still alive, she was still there. She was standing only by the strength of her nerves, but she was still there. She was broken and in pain, oozing green blood from her wounds, but she was still there. She was facing her death, her atrocious death, but her chin was still raised.
The Humans were all on their feet. They liked force; their Empire was based on it, and they respected and appreciated courage, and never would they have believed that they could watch such an exciting spectacle, that the Vulcan would be such a great combatant.
And, behind them, beyond the fence, the Vulcan crowd wasn't able to stay silent. A low murmur rose from the stunned countrymen of the Vulcan captive because their eyes had seen something that they never thought they might watch. And admire.
A born again Warrior Princess, restored to life from the legendary ancient past of Vulcan.
But, now, she was at the end. Now she had to knuckle down and accept her fate.
The fight was at its end; the Vulcan wasn't able to offer anymore resistance and the covetous hunger, of dead flesh and of flesh alive, of the last Humanoid was evident. And it was stimulating, for the pitiless persecutors of the sorest of Vulcan Warrior Princesses; the monster's furious excitement at his victorious combat and at the sight of his prey who would soon be in his claws, promised that there would be a very spectacular final firework.
And under the tense attention of the Humans, of the Vulcans, and of all the countless eyes which were watching the scene, slowly, inexorably, frightful and hideous as a dragon of the ancient fables, the surviving Humanoid began to move toward the doomed Princess.
Silence permeated the salon, that Arena of Death. The silence was palpable.
The Empress was the only one yet sitting. Her face was a blank mask. Things hadn't gone how she would have wanted and she was morose and angry. Mortally angry.
That Vulcan whore should have been impaled and pierced by all those thugs, together and the one after the other, over and over again; should have cried and writhed under the merciless rape; should have fallen on her knees and implored for pity and mercy. Instead she was still standing and haughty, proud. Favoured by the fortune which favours the bold, she had been capable of withstanding her destiny and those creatures, and now, torn, crushed, but still stubbornly defiant, she was facing the last monster, and even if in the end she was fated to be won, to be barbarously abused and killed, she wasn't imploring any pity. Any mercy.
And she had been able to reawaken the pride of her race, even of gaining the respectful and stunned admiration of the Human onlookers.
The lips of the Empress were clenched and wan. Someone would pay for all of this.
Then, her frosty mind perceived what her keen eyes were seeing.
The naked woman in the cage, still erect and looking contumaciously at the world, before the monster unrelentingly advancing toward her...
The Empress had been - she was - a great translator, she knew that the most eloquent language was body language especially when taken together with the language of the eyes. The body and the eyes of her proud victim were telling the Empress that the tenuous diaphragm of self-control and residual strength the Vulcan was attempting to shield herself with, was about to get smashed.
The Empress sneered, with inner smugness. Those eyes, the posture of that nude and torn body were expressing… delicious fear, pleasurable terror, delightful disillusion, pleasant bitterness, agreeable exhaustion, amiable weakness, adorable sorrow, endearing pain and the lovely... lovely... lovely desire to cry.
The Empress made herself more comfortable on her throne. She crossed her legs and leaned on the backrest. Ultimately, the final wouldn't be regrettable, wouldn't be disappointing. Most likely, it would be a Grand Finale. Most likely, all that that alien trollop had borne so far would be nothing in comparison with what was in store for her. And, most likely, the Empress might have the joy of hearing that slut beg for mercy.
The Empress focused one more time on the woman in the cage and smiled, evilly, as she observed her eyes. Maybe the Vulcan woman could deceive the others, but not her, the Empress. The eyes of the condemned woman were without light. They were dark, like a dark chasm, which had engulfed her and from where there was no escape. They were eyes without hope.
Oh, yes. It really would be a GRAND FINALE. A finale devoid of any hope for that damn Vulcan whore.
Hope…
The crazy, foolish hope. It was born in the miserable slave's heart and, right away, it was dead.
The fight… the pain… the pride… all useless. Futile.
She would die. Oh, she had known that she would die even if she had defeated the primeval Hybrids, but she had hoped, at that moment, when all the monsters seemed gone, that she would be spared the shame of being possessed by them.
In front of everyone.
In front of her people.
Instead evil destiny had decided to be a cutthroat with her, to make her pay to the extreme for all the errors she had made. She would die without honour, and her death would be remembered so. The last image her people would remember would be... would be...
Oh no. No. No.
Why does no one aid her? Why is there not the man...?
Once again, her thoughts ran to him. Why? He... he was nothing to her, nothing. He was a mere pawn in her game. And… and she had treated him badly, and now… now he was getting his revenge. By means of that monster that would rape her to death, that would suck out of her, both life and honour.
No! No. He... he wouldn't have wanted that. This revenge. He wouldn't. He... he had been different from the others. He had been different even from… her.
And she... she was grateful that he wasn't there, was unable to see her while... while...
Oh, but if he were there, he would come to her aid, he… he would salvage her.
But he was dead, and no one would help her.
No one. No one. No one.
A deep snarl shook her. The wild part-man was going to jump to catch her.
What should she do? What could she do? She didn't want to die like this! She didn't!
But she had no more strength to fight, to withstand the monster's will. She was already dead-alive.
But yet, in spite of all this, in spite of any logic, of any hope... all over again…. she launched herself into combat.
She found herself trying to run forward, against her predator. By what sort of will power she didn't know. With what strength, she didn't know. To do what, she didn't know
Perhaps, if death spared her, later, if she could have the chance to recover, she would be able to recognize the absurdity of what she was doing at that moment, in those instants of despair and of mental confusion, of befogged thoughts. Her logical mind would realise that it was her inability to think rationally, the inevitable incoherence of her brain, with all that pain, all those wounds, the broken collarbone, the loss of blood, the fatigue, the struggling within to combat fear, shame, regret, in the horror which encircled her.
Perhaps. If death spared her.
Perhaps.
But that wasn't what she wanted. She wanted to die. She wanted death.
She didn't want death to spare her.
And for this, mistily and cussedly, she found the force to pounce against the Part-Human, to battle with him in a final, liberating, mortal combat.
And in her blind courage, in her indomitable will, in that mental bedazzlement, in that obsession with death, she didn't hear the low and still clearly audible sound which rose unstoppably from her people; almost a throttled, restrained ovation of exultation, of stunned pride, coming from her incredulous brothers, unable to control their voices and emotions at the sight of their Warrior Princess still fighting and still defying. Still living and untamable. Unconquerable.
But she wasn't unconquerable, and her body was no longer hers.
She trembled on her legs and slipped on the slimy blood-spattered floor.
She fell down heavily on her knees and her arms, just before the feet of the thug, and the pain that her broken collarbone provoked when her hands clashed against the floor reverberated awfully along all her body.
But death didn't win yet.
She wasn't able to keep her torso raised and she tumbled, her face hitting against the ground. Green blood came from her nostrils and mouth and ache got added to ache.
But death hadn't yet claimed her.
She tried - stubbornly, blindly, desperately - to get up, but a heavy hand struck her back, forcing her down brutally and with his claws scraping deeply and painfully at her skin. She was sliding down in a black hole of pain, of confusion, of powerlessness. She was no longer able to understand anything. The only defined thought was that she wanted to die.
But death decided to play a little bit longer with her. Like a living and wicked creature, death seemed to think there was another more perfidious way to end her life. Definitely death was in league with the Empress.
The dizzy Vulcan was brutally compelled to have a full perception of what destiny was about to make happen to her.
She was forced to sit up by two merciless and clawed hands and found she was kneeling, held by those repellent hands which grasped the delicate flesh of her shoulders. She felt the gigantic and hairy body behind her, and she felt… she felt a heavy breath on her neck, something damp and slimy trickled down her shoulder. She heard the deep grumble of the monster in her ear and felt the horrendous pressure of his subhuman muzzle on her flesh.
The appalling reality of her coming doom exploded in her mind.
The savage Humanoid had kneeled behind her, and was positioning himself to take her from behind. The moisture she felt was the saliva of the monster, who slobbered with lust and desire on her skin. And, shortly, he would… he would…
No!
She twisted and tried desperately to free herself, to push away that abhorrent contact.
An angry snarl, a painful grip on her flesh, an aching flaying of the tusks on her neck... this was the brutal response to her futile endeavour.
She had neither chance nor strength, by now. She hadn't hope. She was condemned.
Condemned. COMDEMNED.
She was forced to bend forward, feeling the monster still erect, kneeling behind her. He was getting closer…
NO!
She tried to budge away, fidgeting frantically, pulling her body away using the force of despair. It was in vain. She vaguely perceived that she was offering her audience the sight she had sworn she wouldn't display, but she didn't want the monster to...
SHE DIDN'T WANT!
SHE. DIDN'T.
And so, who knows with what will, with what force, she kept combating.
Clenched in a vise that was without salvation and that was heartlessly forcing her body and her soul to relent, she didn't surrender.
By now without thought, without awareness; convicted and entrapped, fated and disrupted, she persisted in fighting and holding on and resisting. Under the unrelenting pressure of her predator she continued to strain as she hung on to life. She seemed to onlookers to be like a tragic, sorrowful, broken Greek statue that still had a strength that was beyond all reason; beyond logic and lucidity, beyond reality. Beyond worldliness and hopefulness. Beyond life and death.
She went on withstanding, while her brain was falling headlong into the deepest darkness.
And in that seemingly endless instant, she felt a feeling rising from inside her; from the despair which iced her soul, from the rage which burned her mind; a thing unknown, that she hadn't before experienced, the fruit of the annihilating hopelessness that wrapped her Katra.
It was a cry.
Of wrath, of despair, of regret. Of impotence.
The Vulcan closed her eyelids, striving hard, though to no avail to stop the first tears of her life.
And the last.
She tasted the flavour of her crying on her lips, as the murkiness began to engulf her overwhelmed mind and nothingness was gulping her sobbing soul.
And while she still fought her stubborn, blind, hopeless battle, continuing to fight to the end; while – Thankfully. Finally – she was plummeting into the gloominess of unconsciousness…
Just then…
Just before she has been conquered, before she had to cede….
The world deflagrated around her.
The Vulcan started and turned around, her back against the cage's bars, her eyes on those savage beings.
She knew what they were. Barbaric Humanoids that shouldn't exist. Beasts, and still Humans. The manipulation of Human, Gorilla, and Selath DNA, had brought to life those aberrant hybrids, endowed with the cold savagery of the Selaths, with the massy and wild potency of the Gorillas, with the fierce intelligence of Humans. And without the smallest trace of any Human inhibition. The best result of Doctor Soong's crazy science. Wild assassins, built to terrorize, to rape. To kill.
They were the Empire's horrible and merciless face for those who dared rebel.
They stayed silent and immovable for an instant, their grotesquely human muzzles twitching savagely, incredulous that they were unchained, free to fling themselves on the female offered to them.
Then, their exultant hellish howls tortured the air and, under the greedy gaze of the onlookers, they started their assault. They would finally have that young flesh, throbbing and hot. They would fulfil their subhuman longings and their feral hunger.
The Human crowd palpitated, in expectancy, around the large cage, which was in a stately and immense salon; the government salon of the Terran Prefect's residence on Vulcan; the captive's motherland. The salon was transformed into an open arena, so that, from behind a protected fence, her kind was able to watch the spectacle; the public show of her punishment.
Now the feast would begin and it would be savoury. The promise that the Vulcan female would fight increased its flavour.
Next to the Empress, Reed moistened his dry lips with the tip of his tongue. It would be delightful to see what the Vulcan would do, that female whom he had wanted and hadn't had, who had been with that damned Chief Engineer, dead at last, and may his soul get scorched eternally. Near to him, Hess wasn't doing anything to hide her satisfied enjoyment. She could already taste the sight of that snooty Vulcan female, who had managed to gain the attentions of the Chief Engineer with her exotic air of superiority, as she was forced to satisfy those primeval Humanoids in front of the baying crowd. Now that whore would know where her "superiority" had got her. Beside her, Mayweather showed the most deadpan face, trying to not betray the frosty contentment he felt. He would be able to view the enjoyable spectacle of the brutal end of that alien female, while at the same time basking in the knowledge that the female whose intelligence would have been a hard obstacle for his ambitious designs (especially if the Chief Engineer, peace to his soul had been at her side) was to be eliminated. Certainly he had to admit that she was someone he would willingly have demanded from the Empress for a more agreeable punishment (for himself), but he had not dared to formulate the request. Pity; anyway the outcome would be the same, even if definitely less fun. But, someway, the fun wouldn't be missing.
And in the front row, there she was; the Empress.
She was leaning forward with a gleam in her eyes.
She was unconsciously licking her lips.
The Empress would be able to savour slowly and fully all that would happen to the Vulcan harlot. She would drink in her screeches of pain and shame, while that Vulcan hussy writhed inanely under the ruthless and savage rape. She would delight in the sight of that infamous traitress, of that sneaky schemer, being torn to pieces by those famished primitive Humanoids. She would bask in the vision of that haughty bitch, down on her knees, imploring for pity and mercy. And she would laugh at her entreaties, and would watch her tormented death, enjoying her revenge over that Vulcan cow who had defeated her in their hand-to-hand fight. And at the same time she would be able to display her imperial power to all the Empire's citizens who were watching the spectacle, even those living in the middle of nowhere, what it meant to defy the will of the Empress.
She focused on the spectacle as the howling Humanoids were diving toward the Vulcan female. They were so turned on, so horny that they obstructed each other; a muddle of monstrous and obtuse troglodytes, slavering with primeval longing, fighting one against the other to reach their prey.
Then the Empress turned her attention to the prey, to the naked woman with her back flattened against the cage's bars as she looked at the one among the primordial Humanoids that was about to clutch her.
The Empress smiled wickedly. It was time.
Suddenly the Vulcan burst forth. Swiftly, like an eel, she slipped from the dreadful grasp of the creature on the brink of catching her and rolled behind the enormous Humanoid. Her hands seized his fur and she climbed up, like a squirrel, quickly moving along the monster's back, past his shoulders, until she reached his neck. And as he attempted to understand where his prey had gone, the prey was already astride his neck, and hooking her legs around it, her hands snapped forward towards his eyes, to both sides of his protuberant muzzle, where she pushed her fingers into his orbits.
The fingers penetrated them.
Deep down, like curving talons, forcefully, without mercy.
A spine-chilling yell burst from the monster's throat. He straightened to his full height, stretching his arms aloft and raking the air with his clawed hands.
He began to shake savagely and the Vulcan was no longer able to remain attached to the Subhuman juggernaut. She was thrown down landing roughly on the floor of the cage in among the feet of the other monsters, her hands daubed with the blood and eyeball mush from the wild Humanoid.
She saw immediately that there was a hair's breath of distance between her survival and death. Disordered she hastily gathered herself and attempted to get away; not even trying to get up as she scampered away on all fours.
She moved away precipitately, without daring to think of what was happening at her shoulders, her heart pounding wildly as she thought that a claw might grasp her at any moment, her skin made crawl by the cacophony of wild roars and bawling snarls she heard close behind her.
She knew she had no hope, but wouldn't give into her fear. No, she wouldn't. She would fight tooth and nail. She would push those wild Humanoids to such a fury that they would want only her death, forgetting to use her body. She wouldn't be humiliated in this way by those half-Humans, for the vengeful fun of that Human whore. Her body would feed the monsters, but wouldn't be used for their pleasure. Her soul wouldn't feed the pleasure of her Human masters.
And, somehow, an unforeseen luck helped her, if it was possible that there was any luck to be found in her situation.
She reached – she didn't know how – the cage's perimeter without any talon reaching her, and then she turned around, squatting down on the ground, her hands stretched out in front of her on the floor, her torso leaning forward, like a tiger ready to dart from the bars behind her, as she intently watched what was happening.
And she understood why she had been able to avoid any aggression.
A battle had begun between the creatures. The one that she had wounded so cruelly was attacking - blindly and furiously - whichever of his companions he perceived to be next to him; the eyes-deprived troglodyte was attempting to catch and to hit whatever - didn't matter which thing - in a mad furore of revenge and ache.
The others had surrounded him, temporarily heedless of their prey, and they were tackling the fury of their companion in the only way they knew. They were slaying him, atrociously, with bites and talons.
The Vulcan understood that this was a chance for her. She had to risk it.
Slowly and guardedly, she began to head for the knot of those wild beings in combat, stepping forward practically crouched and holding her breath.
She felt that the bystanders were watching her every move intently.
For a moment she feared that they were doing something to make the monsters aware of her intentions but she chased away this thought. She knew that Humans, although they could be treacherous, tended to respect the rules of the fight. And, besides, even if they did do something, there wasn't anything that she could do to stop them. It was illogical that she should fear something she wasn't in a condition to prevent.
Nothing happened.
She came up behind the group of Humanoids and saw the one she had blinded lying on the ground, dead, in a blood sea.
The others were raging against him, still forgetful of her, excited to the extreme by their blood fury.
All of a sudden the Vulcan leapt up, once more climbing up on the back of one monster, hoping to be able to do to him what she had done to the first, well aware that the brutes' muscular mass was too potent to allow her to make a successful neck pinch.
But this time, she failed.
The big juggernaut, despite his doltishness, was more sharp-witted than his unlucky brother, and reacted rapidly and ferociously. His clawed hand snapped to his neck, attempting to catch and to grip whatever was riding on his back, and powerfully grasped something.
The thug brought forth his arm and brandished his hand aloft, looking at what he was holding.
And he saw.
From his hand was hanging the female. With a grimace of pain painted on her face, she was writhing, dangling by her blonde crop of hair, and, attempting to ease the sharp ache she was feeling, she was trying to catch hold of the outstretched arm of her predator so as to draw herself up a little; to decrease the hurtful weight of her body on her scalp.
A huge howl of triumph erupted from the monster's throat and he began to savagely and brutally shake his living trophy.
A thrilled buzz ruffled the crowd. The Empress leaned forward, the corners of her lips slightly bending up in a smile of sadistic pleasure. Her look pierced the air and the painfully half-shut eyes of the Vulcan who was on the verge of succumbing to the brute force of her captor, met those of the Empress.
The Vulcan saw the savage twinkle which illuminated them.
She absorbed that sparkle as if it were a Nova; a reinvigorating flame.
No. Once again… NO.
She would fight yet. She would fight. Tooth and nail. Nail and tooth.
Nail…
Ignoring the pain, the Vulcan curled up, gathering her legs beneath her, and stuck all of her fingernails into the monster's flesh, flaying the arm he was holding her with and careless of the ache that the hardness of the thug's skin caused her.
…and tooth.
Then she forced her fingernails deeper and, playing on the surprise and the pain she was giving him, managed to free her hair from the monster's grasp. She twisted her legs around the enormous arm and jabbed her teeth deep into the Humanoid's muscles, tearing off a bite of bloody raw flesh.
The creature yelled out in wrath and pain, slamming to the ground the wretched and hapless female who still had tatters of fetid flesh attached to her lips.
She landed painfully on her back, closing her eyes on impact. She quickly reopened them, and saw the wild and wrathful subhuman towering over her. And in his eyes there was no feral lust, only murderous fury.
At that sight, the Vulcan threw what was possibly her last challenge.
She lifted her torso up to rest on her elbows. Her eyes flared savagely and she ground her teeth, growling scornfully at the monstrous Humanoid.
It was her decoy. To drive him to kill her.
She shut her eyes again and waited for the mortal blow.
She felt she had achieved her aim as she expected the death she desired to come shortly. She would be spared the shame of being raped by those primitive and wild beings for the perverse pleasure of those who had enslaved her and would foil the heinous revenge of the Empress.
Finally she would find peace, a release from her miserable life, from the Calvary of cruelties and abasements that life had become, from a life robbed of any future. She would escape from all of the pain and the grief that was burning her body and her soul.
From her weariness to live. From her fatigue.
From her remorse.
From her regret.
But death didn't arrive.
A choked sound, burbling and frightening, was reverberating through the air. It was the only sound she could hear. The only sound in a deathly silence.
She opened her eyes to look into the vivid lights that illumined the environment so as ensure those watching did not miss any of the spectacle and then she located the source of the noise. And recognized what it was.
It was the sound of death. Of the Humanoid that should have brought death to her.
He had fallen to his knees and the burbling noise she heard was coming from his throat. Around his neck the steel maw of the largest of the primeval thugs was clenched. The attacker was clinging to the succumbing Humanoid from behind with his powerful arms locked around his prey; claws harrowing flesh, dragging away blood and life.
Behind the battling pair were two of the Hybrids, as well as the other two who stood in front of the Vulcan. They watched intently, immovable and silent, as the dreadful spectacle unfolded in which their companion was facing his end by the jaws of one of their own kind.
The leader of the pack. The attacker was that.
The Vulcan understood straight away.
The leader of the pack. And he was stating in a feral and atrocious way, to his dying companion, to the other troglodytes... and to her... his right of possession.
Over her.
The Vulcan took a deep and doleful breath. Death wouldn't have her yet, wouldn't give her the freedom.
That odious monster would have her.
All of her efforts, all of her fighting, would be useless. In vain.
The fatigue, the pain, the weakness overwhelmed her.
All of the tribulations and tortures; the distasteful food, limited supplies of noisome water, sleep deprivation, the loneliness. Imprisoned on her home world, naked in a cold, dark and mouldy dungeon, while restless thoughts about an irretrievable past and a dark future without hope whirled through her brain. It had been enough to frazzle her spirit and her will, never mind her body.
And now, this hopeless fight.
Despondency and discouragement, for the first time, filled her heart. She wanted to get up, to escape, but she wasn't capable and she knew she no longer had the force to fight. All that she could do was grovel on her back, laboriously shuffling backwards on her elbows, aware that, this time, she wouldn't be able to elude her fate. That barbarous being would get his savage pleasure from her overspent body, as would the hated Empress from her aggrieved soul.
She stopped her needless efforts and pulled together what remained of her will and her strength. With one last endeavour, she sat on the floor, gathering her legs beneath her, and then she leaned over to rest her torso on her right arm. But no one would be able to see any resignation in her posture, not at all; what was raying from her was an aura of dauntless acceptance. Of dignity. Pride
She bent her left arm letting her hand fall to rest on her hip and slightly tilted her head, looking with studied aloofness at the brutal scene before her. Disdainfully, as if none of this pertained to her.
That was all she could do to show that there was no chain capable of binding her soul. Her ultimate attempt to display to her executioners, to the Empress, that her Katra would remain inviolate and free. Always and forever.
The dying Humanoid was no longer emitting any sound. Only a feeble and wheezing breath was coming from his mouth and his eyes were losing their light.
The other, the leader, loosened his grasp, letting his beaten victim slip to the floor, like a gigantic puppet deprived of its threads.
He lay on the floor, on his back, devoid of any beefiness, under the watchful gaze of his slaughterer. He took one last breath, blinked one last time, and then his chest became still, so as his eyes, wide open in a death stare.
The winner straightened in all his puissance and raised his clenched fists at the cage's ceiling and hooted all around his wild and resonant scream of triumph.
He yelled in the air his conquered and unassailable right of property, of owning her.
And over her, over the naked and defenceless woman, waiting helplessly for her fate, by now depleted of any force, by now only faintly sustained by the stubbornly strenuous will of her soul, the monster's savage look descended, rampantly and feverishly covetous.
Once more a thrill of excitement ran through the observing crowd.
The fight, the blood, the wild spectacle... the odour of the death...
The Empress inhaled the flavour of her power.
She was sitting on her throne, just before the big cage, and was basking in the power she was exerting over that Vulcan sow. She held the power of life and death over that whore. She was able to do to her whatever she wanted.
Like a Caesar over the slaves of the Roman Empire.
And now the slaves of HER Empire, of the Human Empire, all of them who at that moment watched dismayed at what was happening to that Vulcan woman who had dared to think that it was possible to rebel against HER Empire…. now they were learning via the live broadcast of the dreadful punishment meted out to that Vulcan slut how the government style of the new Empress would be.
The ancient Caesars would have been proud of her. They could find again, in HER Arena, the same sombre atmosphere which there had been in their Arenas, where people had enjoyed the gory spectacle of defenceless victims being offered to the claws and teeth of tigers and lions, or of the gladiators in combat for their lives and in the hands of the capricious populace's will. Around her the crowd, proud and sure of a power gained through force, had relished the sanguinary show, that unequal fight, had savoured the vain battle of the miserable Vulcan. They had foretasted the inevitable end she would have, and had got more and more fevered, until that moment, until the instant that that alien whore was finally on the verge of falling prey to that abominable Subhuman creature.
Now, if the Empress wanted it, she could put up her thumb, exactly as if she was an ancient Caesar in a moment of magnanimity. She could save that treacherous bitch from the atrocious death; from the painful lunges that primitive Humanoid would make into her body. And into her soul.
But the Empress wouldn't put up her thumb. She would taste her vengeance and her power to the hilt. Her soul was keen, like her mind. And her eyes.
And her eyes were capable of watching those of the Vulcan and of detecting in them what the others weren't able to see. And she laughed silently at her, in satisfaction and in bitchy joy. She laughed at her inane attempt to display, with her spuriously relaxed pose, her indifference towards the fate which was about to engulf her. It was a ridiculous and ostentatious show of superiority over the dire destiny which was on the point of erasing any trace of her damned Vulcan pride, of her dignity.
The Empress laughed at all that, because her sharp eyes were capable of watching those of the Vulcan and of seeing the despairing shadow which danced in them, of recognizing the appalled look with which the Vulcan was following her predator's moves.
And the Empress smiled again.
With a threatening growl at his surviving companions, the murderous Humanoid had established his leadership and his right once and for all, and now he was ready to exert this right.
He stepped over the body of the monster killed by him, staring at the woman sitting in front of him - silently, scornfully, expectantly - and his mouth foamed from the fight's excitation and for his carnal desire.
With only one step the abominable Subhuman was next to her, the tangible sign of his covetousness well evident for all to see.
He seized her as she looked up at him, hardly moving a muscle as he grabbed her by the hair at her nape, and then he twisted ferociously her head to force her closer to that demoniac instrument. So that she could sniff the cloying stench of its hankering and her lips almost brush the bare crimsoned tip.
With a snarl that displayed his fangs, he yanked the Vulcan's hair causing her pain, and then he forcefully pushed that abhorrent thing against her clenched mouth, making it clearly manifest what he wanted. The Vulcan understood then why these demons in the shape of Humanoids got reckoned to be less than beasts, and more than that.
No. This, no!
Her destiny may be dire, but this, no!
She swiftly lifted herself up to kneel while still held in the grip of the monster. Using her hands she pushed against his abdomen, desperately attempting to keep her face… her mouth… away from that loathsome thing.
No. No. NO.
Not this! No. NO!
A terribly hurtful tug at her hair was the response she got along with a taste of the juggernaut's talons digging into the flesh of her nude shoulder. This was her living nightmare, the pain so intense that her eyes gaped open and she had to bite on her lips to not cry out aloud. She sensed the repulsive pressure of that fiendish tool, against her teeth and gums, and could taste its horrendous flavour while her nose smelt fully its atrocious reek.
No. Please, no. NO.
She heard above her the lustful roaring of that incubus, rendered true and real while around her... there were jeering guffaws of those who had reduced her thus.
And, between those horselaughs, one laugh... tiny... cold... that her keen ears were able to pick up, even now... because she knew well from whom that snide, frosty, wry snigger came.
It had accompanied her, constantly, during these days of torture.
In that moment, when she heard that frosty laugh of derision, acknowledging the contentment, the fierce fiendishness that resounded in it, the enjoyment and the complacency, something happened inside her. All of her world had been smashed to smithereens, her soul too and her dignity, all that she had. She had to die, caught between torment and shame because of that hooker who was laughing at her. A wrath she didn't believe could exist, coming from a past she didn't know, when logic had been a mere and inane word; a fury impossible to comprehend, a madness which made her brain blaze, exploded fiercely in her soul and in her mind. It replenished the very fibre of her Katra, filled her body with strength, energy, and a burning rampage that overrode any fatigue, any weakness.
Any pain.
Any repulsion.
Not yet. NOT YET.
NOT. YET.
That subtle laugh of scorn and of heartless satisfaction wouldn't crush her.
The fight. Yet. The fight. Tooth and nail.
Again.
Was this what her repugnant conqueror wanted her to do to him? Did her persecutors want this too? That strumpet who had called herself Empress?
And so be it.
So be it.
But… with tooth and nail. Once again.
TOOTH. AND. NAIL.
Her hands darted forth. They seized the sack containing the source of the savage's virile potency, clenching it in a vice that could shatter granite. Her fingernails abraded it potently, as sharp as talons; so strongly, so fiercely that they penetrated skin and flesh.
And, at the same time…
… the barrier that was her teeth, opened, allowing the hellish instrument's entrance.
And, right after…
… the barrier shut again. Powerfully and inexorably.
All the guffaws ceased, everyone became silent and immovable. Even the monster was frozen still by the excruciating pain.
In that astounded silence, in those instants of frost bound incredulity, one sound was heard; clearly and loudly. The spine-chilling sound that the caged and trapped woman let out as she spat out blood that was not hers followed by a carved stub of flesh yet vibrant. She turned her face toward the blanched Empress and the gasping audience and her eyes sparkled with a light of unvanquished defiance and pure joy, savage and satisfied.
Any disgust, any loathing, that she had felt for doing what she had done, faded away at the sight of her dumbstruck persecutors, at the sight of the sallow pallor on the visage of her sworn enemy, that "so-called" Empress, mistress of her life and of her honour, but not of her soul.
NO. Of her soul, never.
NEVER.
Then, any further coherent thought became impossible.
She didn't even realize what had happened. She wasn't capable of having full perception of the maelstrom of pain she had been plunged into; of the crunch of her collarbone when the monster broke it with a stony wring of his hand.
She wasn't fully conscious of being catapulted away, of the breathtaking smash of her body against the floor, of her trundling along the floor like a deranged animated skittle, of the end of her crazy rolling against the cage's bars.
She remained crushed on the ground against the bars, her eyes unable to see, her ears to hear, her brain to function.
Maybe she was dead. Maybe it was so, and she had achieved her aim. She wouldn't die of humiliation before her enemies, she had already passed away.
Then, reality's grievous heaviness swooped upon her, with all its painful substance. She was still alive, sadly, bedaubed with her blood and the Humanoid's, surrounded and pervaded by an abyss of pain, on the verge of succumbing to it and to despair.
She knew that she would no longer be able to resist, surrendering to fright and desperation.
She wanted to be able to believe in some God, like Humans do, so that she could pray to Him to give her the release she needed.
She... she wanted someone... someone who was no longer alive... beside her; someone that she had used, and despised, and hurt; and that now she wanted there, to raise her…to comfort her… in his arms… to take her away from all this horror. She wanted to hide her face against his chest, to cry and die... so... in his warmth.
But he... wasn't there.
He would never be beside her again.
She fought desperately to chase away this useless cerebration and her soreness; to regain at least a little of the self-possession she had, and, somehow, she managed to do it, because a thought, sad and nonetheless consolatory even in the middle of all this horror, warmed her lacerated soul.
This time truly death would come to her. This time she would be torn by the mad reprisal of her crippled predator. He was the leader of those odious Humanoids; not one of the two survivors would attack him, and what she had done to him would prevent him from wanting anything but her death. Surely, this time, she had really managed to reach her goal and would die without having been ignominiously raped. She would die atrociously, but rapidly, with her honour; at least with what remained of her honour.
Now… she should show to everyone how she was able to face her death.
And she would do it. She would.
She wouldn't go back on her promise, she would face her destiny in the way that a Vulcan must do. Humans would know what it meant to be a Vulcan and, if her compatriots had to anathematize her for the consequences of what she had done, at least no one of her race who bore witness to her death would execrate her because she had betrayed her Vulcan heritage.
Slowly, laboriously, fighting off stubbornly and strenuously all the pain soaking every fibre of her being, all the staleness, the exhaustion, the prostration she felt, she began to get up, forcing on her feet and her tremulous legs. Grasping the bars with the hand on her unbroken side, she managed to hoist herself, crawling with her back against the bars until she succeeded in straightening up. She rested her back against the cage's bars.
Worn out.
And ready.
To face her death.
She managed with effort to raise her chin into the air, in defiance of her persecutors. Then the Vulcan looked at the subhuman savage from whom she was expecting her release, shaking her head to try to see him better through the dark-green veil of blood that bedimmed her sight.
And she saw why, one more time, death hadn't already snatched her.
The gigantic part-man was silent and bent in two. His hands, dripping with dark blood, were covering and pressing his affected parts and his humanoid muzzle was twitching with a grimace of unendurable pain. His eyes were half-shut. He was breathing hard. He had been mangled atrociously, there where no male, Human or Inhuman or Subhuman, would be able to bear the pain that such a wound was capable of causing and after his initial and instinctual reaction he was attempting to fight against the terrible violence of such a dreadful injury.
And he seemed weaker, in his attempt and in his posture. Vulnerable, some way.
And his wild and unforbearing inferiors noticed it.
And the law of the jungle, the only law they knew, had its limelight.
Another combat, another furious battle, to the death. For the possession of the female.
For her.
The wild spectacle and her excruciating wait, her hopeless fight, weren't yet at an end.
The two Humanoids had thought to take advantage of the situation, and had attacked their wounded companion, simultaneously. Their brutal instinct had suggested to them that his injury would favour them. But they had miscalculated. The injured but still puissant leader had savagely revolted and dragged them to the ground together with him.
He was wounded, and in pain, but he was the biggest and the strongest, and now he was fighting for his life.
There was a wild and frenzied mixing of claws and fangs, of bites and paws, of bodies which rolled rampantly in the blood on the cage's floor, intertwined with each other. There were ferocious grasps and fierce blows, a frightful and deafening din of snarls, of growls, of bellows, of roars, of snaps, of grumbles, which replenished the air.
Then, there was silence and immobility. Tense. Scary. Scarier, if possible, than all that clatter, that deafening tantrum, that wild rampage which had rocked the cage.
The troglodytes were lying on the ground. The leader and another one were side by side, face down, covering and hiding the third.
They weren't moving, and… weren't breathing.
The tension and the incredulity were palpable in the salon. In the Arena of Death.
The bleary eyes of the exhausted captive were fixed on the motionless heap; she almost couldn't dare to allow her thoughts to take shape. Could it be possible? Could it be possible that… that…?
Then... a movement…
The two inert, immense bodies were shrugged apart and from below, two taloned hands appeared, followed by a fanged apish head and then a gigantic and bleeding body rose slowly in all its height.
Bleeding, but alive and puissant.
And a resonant howl of victory burst forth from its gory mouth .
Then, the feverish eyes of the last Humanoid alighted lustfully on the female, motionless against the cage's bars.
HIS prey. Dazed, dog-tired, wounded, in pain. And at his mercy.
And still… rising up.
Proud and defiant. Strong in her weakness. Tough in her frailty. Stark naked, and dressed with the armour of her desperate bravery. Untouched, in her humiliation.
Beaten, and not defeated.
She had been hurled into that cage of horrors, nude and defenceless, to be raped and mangled, to be abased and scoffed, to die between shame and torment, and she was still alive, she was still there. She was standing only by the strength of her nerves, but she was still there. She was broken and in pain, oozing green blood from her wounds, but she was still there. She was facing her death, her atrocious death, but her chin was still raised.
The Humans were all on their feet. They liked force; their Empire was based on it, and they respected and appreciated courage, and never would they have believed that they could watch such an exciting spectacle, that the Vulcan would be such a great combatant.
And, behind them, beyond the fence, the Vulcan crowd wasn't able to stay silent. A low murmur rose from the stunned countrymen of the Vulcan captive because their eyes had seen something that they never thought they might watch. And admire.
A born again Warrior Princess, restored to life from the legendary ancient past of Vulcan.
But, now, she was at the end. Now she had to knuckle down and accept her fate.
The fight was at its end; the Vulcan wasn't able to offer anymore resistance and the covetous hunger, of dead flesh and of flesh alive, of the last Humanoid was evident. And it was stimulating, for the pitiless persecutors of the sorest of Vulcan Warrior Princesses; the monster's furious excitement at his victorious combat and at the sight of his prey who would soon be in his claws, promised that there would be a very spectacular final firework.
And under the tense attention of the Humans, of the Vulcans, and of all the countless eyes which were watching the scene, slowly, inexorably, frightful and hideous as a dragon of the ancient fables, the surviving Humanoid began to move toward the doomed Princess.
Silence permeated the salon, that Arena of Death. The silence was palpable.
The Empress was the only one yet sitting. Her face was a blank mask. Things hadn't gone how she would have wanted and she was morose and angry. Mortally angry.
That Vulcan whore should have been impaled and pierced by all those thugs, together and the one after the other, over and over again; should have cried and writhed under the merciless rape; should have fallen on her knees and implored for pity and mercy. Instead she was still standing and haughty, proud. Favoured by the fortune which favours the bold, she had been capable of withstanding her destiny and those creatures, and now, torn, crushed, but still stubbornly defiant, she was facing the last monster, and even if in the end she was fated to be won, to be barbarously abused and killed, she wasn't imploring any pity. Any mercy.
And she had been able to reawaken the pride of her race, even of gaining the respectful and stunned admiration of the Human onlookers.
The lips of the Empress were clenched and wan. Someone would pay for all of this.
Then, her frosty mind perceived what her keen eyes were seeing.
The naked woman in the cage, still erect and looking contumaciously at the world, before the monster unrelentingly advancing toward her...
The Empress had been - she was - a great translator, she knew that the most eloquent language was body language especially when taken together with the language of the eyes. The body and the eyes of her proud victim were telling the Empress that the tenuous diaphragm of self-control and residual strength the Vulcan was attempting to shield herself with, was about to get smashed.
The Empress sneered, with inner smugness. Those eyes, the posture of that nude and torn body were expressing… delicious fear, pleasurable terror, delightful disillusion, pleasant bitterness, agreeable exhaustion, amiable weakness, adorable sorrow, endearing pain and the lovely... lovely... lovely desire to cry.
The Empress made herself more comfortable on her throne. She crossed her legs and leaned on the backrest. Ultimately, the final wouldn't be regrettable, wouldn't be disappointing. Most likely, it would be a Grand Finale. Most likely, all that that alien trollop had borne so far would be nothing in comparison with what was in store for her. And, most likely, the Empress might have the joy of hearing that slut beg for mercy.
The Empress focused one more time on the woman in the cage and smiled, evilly, as she observed her eyes. Maybe the Vulcan woman could deceive the others, but not her, the Empress. The eyes of the condemned woman were without light. They were dark, like a dark chasm, which had engulfed her and from where there was no escape. They were eyes without hope.
Oh, yes. It really would be a GRAND FINALE. A finale devoid of any hope for that damn Vulcan whore.
Hope…
The crazy, foolish hope. It was born in the miserable slave's heart and, right away, it was dead.
The fight… the pain… the pride… all useless. Futile.
She would die. Oh, she had known that she would die even if she had defeated the primeval Hybrids, but she had hoped, at that moment, when all the monsters seemed gone, that she would be spared the shame of being possessed by them.
In front of everyone.
In front of her people.
Instead evil destiny had decided to be a cutthroat with her, to make her pay to the extreme for all the errors she had made. She would die without honour, and her death would be remembered so. The last image her people would remember would be... would be...
Oh no. No. No.
Why does no one aid her? Why is there not the man...?
Once again, her thoughts ran to him. Why? He... he was nothing to her, nothing. He was a mere pawn in her game. And… and she had treated him badly, and now… now he was getting his revenge. By means of that monster that would rape her to death, that would suck out of her, both life and honour.
No! No. He... he wouldn't have wanted that. This revenge. He wouldn't. He... he had been different from the others. He had been different even from… her.
And she... she was grateful that he wasn't there, was unable to see her while... while...
Oh, but if he were there, he would come to her aid, he… he would salvage her.
But he was dead, and no one would help her.
No one. No one. No one.
A deep snarl shook her. The wild part-man was going to jump to catch her.
What should she do? What could she do? She didn't want to die like this! She didn't!
But she had no more strength to fight, to withstand the monster's will. She was already dead-alive.
But yet, in spite of all this, in spite of any logic, of any hope... all over again…. she launched herself into combat.
She found herself trying to run forward, against her predator. By what sort of will power she didn't know. With what strength, she didn't know. To do what, she didn't know
Perhaps, if death spared her, later, if she could have the chance to recover, she would be able to recognize the absurdity of what she was doing at that moment, in those instants of despair and of mental confusion, of befogged thoughts. Her logical mind would realise that it was her inability to think rationally, the inevitable incoherence of her brain, with all that pain, all those wounds, the broken collarbone, the loss of blood, the fatigue, the struggling within to combat fear, shame, regret, in the horror which encircled her.
Perhaps. If death spared her.
Perhaps.
But that wasn't what she wanted. She wanted to die. She wanted death.
She didn't want death to spare her.
And for this, mistily and cussedly, she found the force to pounce against the Part-Human, to battle with him in a final, liberating, mortal combat.
And in her blind courage, in her indomitable will, in that mental bedazzlement, in that obsession with death, she didn't hear the low and still clearly audible sound which rose unstoppably from her people; almost a throttled, restrained ovation of exultation, of stunned pride, coming from her incredulous brothers, unable to control their voices and emotions at the sight of their Warrior Princess still fighting and still defying. Still living and untamable. Unconquerable.
But she wasn't unconquerable, and her body was no longer hers.
She trembled on her legs and slipped on the slimy blood-spattered floor.
She fell down heavily on her knees and her arms, just before the feet of the thug, and the pain that her broken collarbone provoked when her hands clashed against the floor reverberated awfully along all her body.
But death didn't win yet.
She wasn't able to keep her torso raised and she tumbled, her face hitting against the ground. Green blood came from her nostrils and mouth and ache got added to ache.
But death hadn't yet claimed her.
She tried - stubbornly, blindly, desperately - to get up, but a heavy hand struck her back, forcing her down brutally and with his claws scraping deeply and painfully at her skin. She was sliding down in a black hole of pain, of confusion, of powerlessness. She was no longer able to understand anything. The only defined thought was that she wanted to die.
But death decided to play a little bit longer with her. Like a living and wicked creature, death seemed to think there was another more perfidious way to end her life. Definitely death was in league with the Empress.
The dizzy Vulcan was brutally compelled to have a full perception of what destiny was about to make happen to her.
She was forced to sit up by two merciless and clawed hands and found she was kneeling, held by those repellent hands which grasped the delicate flesh of her shoulders. She felt the gigantic and hairy body behind her, and she felt… she felt a heavy breath on her neck, something damp and slimy trickled down her shoulder. She heard the deep grumble of the monster in her ear and felt the horrendous pressure of his subhuman muzzle on her flesh.
The appalling reality of her coming doom exploded in her mind.
The savage Humanoid had kneeled behind her, and was positioning himself to take her from behind. The moisture she felt was the saliva of the monster, who slobbered with lust and desire on her skin. And, shortly, he would… he would…
No!
She twisted and tried desperately to free herself, to push away that abhorrent contact.
An angry snarl, a painful grip on her flesh, an aching flaying of the tusks on her neck... this was the brutal response to her futile endeavour.
She had neither chance nor strength, by now. She hadn't hope. She was condemned.
Condemned. COMDEMNED.
She was forced to bend forward, feeling the monster still erect, kneeling behind her. He was getting closer…
NO!
She tried to budge away, fidgeting frantically, pulling her body away using the force of despair. It was in vain. She vaguely perceived that she was offering her audience the sight she had sworn she wouldn't display, but she didn't want the monster to...
SHE DIDN'T WANT!
SHE. DIDN'T.
And so, who knows with what will, with what force, she kept combating.
Clenched in a vise that was without salvation and that was heartlessly forcing her body and her soul to relent, she didn't surrender.
By now without thought, without awareness; convicted and entrapped, fated and disrupted, she persisted in fighting and holding on and resisting. Under the unrelenting pressure of her predator she continued to strain as she hung on to life. She seemed to onlookers to be like a tragic, sorrowful, broken Greek statue that still had a strength that was beyond all reason; beyond logic and lucidity, beyond reality. Beyond worldliness and hopefulness. Beyond life and death.
She went on withstanding, while her brain was falling headlong into the deepest darkness.
And in that seemingly endless instant, she felt a feeling rising from inside her; from the despair which iced her soul, from the rage which burned her mind; a thing unknown, that she hadn't before experienced, the fruit of the annihilating hopelessness that wrapped her Katra.
It was a cry.
Of wrath, of despair, of regret. Of impotence.
The Vulcan closed her eyelids, striving hard, though to no avail to stop the first tears of her life.
And the last.
She tasted the flavour of her crying on her lips, as the murkiness began to engulf her overwhelmed mind and nothingness was gulping her sobbing soul.
And while she still fought her stubborn, blind, hopeless battle, continuing to fight to the end; while – Thankfully. Finally – she was plummeting into the gloominess of unconsciousness…
Just then…
Just before she has been conquered, before she had to cede….
The world deflagrated around her.
Dazzling lights. In the dark. Explosions. Sounds. Yells. Squawks. Wails.
In the fog of her mind.
Blood.
Blood, blood, blood.
All upon her, around her.
A weight. A body. Hairy, smelly. Heavy, inert. Upon her.
Two hands, two arms. Strong. Known.
They grasp her, free her, lift her up. Wrap her. Cover her, hold her tightly, protect her.
Running quickly, corridors, people fighting, strangely dressed...
Shots, flames, tussles. Confusion.
Confusion, confusion. Around her, Inside her.
A face, strained, stiff...
A horrible scar, deforming, pulsating across his visage...
An eye, blue, gashed...
Watchful.
Looking ahead.
A scent... His scent...
Untrue! Untrue!
He was dead. DEAD! It couldn't be his smell.
It couldn't be his face.
They were not his arms.
She... she wasn't held by them, between them, inside them.
But... what did it matter, after all?
She felt herself raised in his arms... comforted in their embrace... safe in them.
She felt them to be real. She was able to feel them. They were taking her away from all that horror.
What did it matter if it was all untrue? If it was the last dirty trick that destiny was playing on her, on her woozy mind? On her soul, wounded and mutilated?
All that mattered was that she was able to hide her face on his chest, and to cry, and to die... so... in his warmth.
In the fog of her mind.
Blood.
Blood, blood, blood.
All upon her, around her.
A weight. A body. Hairy, smelly. Heavy, inert. Upon her.
Two hands, two arms. Strong. Known.
They grasp her, free her, lift her up. Wrap her. Cover her, hold her tightly, protect her.
Running quickly, corridors, people fighting, strangely dressed...
Shots, flames, tussles. Confusion.
Confusion, confusion. Around her, Inside her.
A face, strained, stiff...
A horrible scar, deforming, pulsating across his visage...
An eye, blue, gashed...
Watchful.
Looking ahead.
A scent... His scent...
Untrue! Untrue!
He was dead. DEAD! It couldn't be his smell.
It couldn't be his face.
They were not his arms.
She... she wasn't held by them, between them, inside them.
But... what did it matter, after all?
She felt herself raised in his arms... comforted in their embrace... safe in them.
She felt them to be real. She was able to feel them. They were taking her away from all that horror.
What did it matter if it was all untrue? If it was the last dirty trick that destiny was playing on her, on her woozy mind? On her soul, wounded and mutilated?
All that mattered was that she was able to hide her face on his chest, and to cry, and to die... so... in his warmth.
End of Chapter Two
Still alive, my friends?
You're, aren't you?
Come on, come on! Breathe, please!
Well, do not tell me I did not warn you!
Okay. A breathing space now.
Begin to prepare for the follow.
Believe me. There will still need to hold your breath.
Really.
Not convinced?
You're, aren't you?
Come on, come on! Breathe, please!
Well, do not tell me I did not warn you!
Okay. A breathing space now.
Begin to prepare for the follow.
Believe me. There will still need to hold your breath.
Really.
Not convinced?
Well, then try to read here.
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COPYRIGHT 2013 © Asso - [email protected]
COPYRIGHT 2013 © Asso - [email protected]