Author's note
Aelorian is confronted by the harrowing tale of Artemitra’s ruthless vengeance and her perverse delight in orchestrating torment for her enemies, particularly those who dare defy her. Does mortal valour stand even the smallest chance against divine malevolence? As always, this humble scribe awaits your thoughts and reflections regarding this unsettling but necessary journey through the goddess' darker domains.

Chapter 3: The Champion’s Despair

"Beginning tomorrow," Artemitra's finger began to move with increasing fervour, "As the tides of fate shift under my orchestration, the mighty general, Thalor, shall vanish without a trace. And in his absence, his troops would be plunged into utter disarray, thus sealing their swift and inevitable defeat."

Her breathing deepened as she continued, "She will be among the captives, her body subjected to heinous abuses. Imagine, if you will, her exquisite form partially ruined by the cruel hands of destiny I designed for her."

Her voice was almost a dark purr now. "Between now and that day, there would be one particularly dreadful incident as her captors’ vile desires would reach their peak. She would be subjected to a most heinous act of violation. Her soul ablaze with fury, she would seize a moment of opportunity. She would bite down with all her might upon her rapist's filthy appendage, severing it. Her tormentor's screams of agony would reverberate through the air, mingling with the sound of his blood splattering upon the ground."

She took a slow, deep breath, almost relishing what she was about to say next. "But such an act of rebellion would not go unpunished. In retribution, her captors would drag her broken form in front of others to witness her grand humiliation. Bound and restrained, her tongue would be severed in a grotesque spectacle meant as both punishment and deterrence for others."

"Yet, just before the final degradation of having her eyes gouged out, she would be narrowly rescued. Though her body would bear the indelible scars of her suffering, and despite her mutilation, her spirit would never falter under the weight of her torment."

With eyes half-closed in ecstasy, Artemitra said, "Even in her wretched state, her identity will remain concealed. You will pass by her without so much as a glance, unaware of the rage that fills her eyes as she burns with the memories of her past. Only I, her eternal tormentor, will recognise those eyes, aflame with unquenchable fury."

Her pleasure continued to mount as her tone took on the hue of perverse venom. "And then, in her anguish, she will bear witness to the grim execution of Drusilla the Ruthless. Thalor's pitiless and brutal commander, known for taking many a thousand heads, shall meet her end in the most ignominious manner—beheaded in the presence of this wretched slave.”

Her poison thickened. “The severed head will roll and land before her, forcing her to stare into the lifeless eyes of her once invincible commander. She shall scream in horror, yet no one will understand her mutilated cries. Her agony will be known only to me, even as I pretend ignorance of her true identity. But she will know for certain that I am fully aware."

"Thalor, the pitiful, mute slave," Artemitra's voice now pure venom as her finger moved more fervently, "will then be consigned to one of my homes for destitute women—a desolate place meant for rehabilitation but, in reality, a destination where dreams wither, and despair festers. Among all these lamentable havens, she will be sent to the most sorrowful of them all. It will be a dwelling saturated with unrelenting misery, where hope hangs like a tattered shroud but just out of reach. There, she will be bestowed an ugly name, as a mockery—‘The Fallen Wretch’. She will become an anonymous soul, presumed to have lost her memories within the maelstrom of her plight."

Her finger slid deeper even as she persisted. "Even amongst the other rescued slaves, her existence would be the most shameful. Heavy with child, voiceless, wounds festering, and the youngest among them, she'd be a haunting figure of misery. Each day in that forsaken refuge, she would be a living canvas of the brutality that she would have endured."

She was nearly gasping with demonic glee now. "Her pregnancy would unfold not as a natural miracle but as a relentless curse. Every day would be a torment, her magic-crafted body trying to expel the life within her, battling against the indomitable will of the unborn child. The infant, though unconscious, would possess an innate strength, fighting back against its host, causing her ceaseless pain."

She thrust deeper and harder, allowing her essence to drip down her thighs. "Yet she will not give up," she gasped harder, her finger working even more feverishly. "Not once will she contemplate escape through death. Burning with unquenchable rage, she will try to kill the child within her womb while still trying to preserve her life. Oh, yes, she will claw at her belly, swallow select poisons, and even try to fashion crude implements to end it. But every time, as if touched by divine intervention, someone would discover her intentions and stop her just in the nick of time. As she should, she will suspect my hand in every thwarted attempt."

Her words were punctuated by moans of pleasure even as she spoke. "Desperate and consumed by hatred, she will know that my influence pervades her every waking moment. With my name spoken by all and living within my shelter, all that surrounds her will serve as a constant reminder that her suffering is by my design."

The champion, standing in utter horror, broke his silence. "Goddess, surely this cannot be right. The cruelty you would impose upon the general defies all bounds of justice. It is a monstrous transgression of all morality."

Artemitra's eyes gleamed with malice and disdain as she responded, her voice dripping with cruel mockery. "Right or wrong, my dear champion, is a matter of perspective. Who art thou to judge the scales of justice when I hold the universe in my hand?" Her finger now moved even more hurriedly as the slick sound of her arousal mingled with her mocking laughter. “You speak of cruelty and monstrosity as if they were foreign concepts to my nature. Have you learned nothing? My justice dispensed... is as divine as the pleasure I'm taking in recounting this tale."

"She will be forced to birth this child. Sickly and frail, they would have to cleave open her belly in a novel treatment never before performed. Ironic indeed, this very procedure, which shall save the lives of many women in future, shall first be performed upon one who once walked as a man." Artemitra hissed, her breath hitching as her finger plunged deeper. "She would endure the torment without the solace of magic or medicinal herbs, for such measures would be deemed too perilous in this unprecedented surgery. Her ghastly wails would reverberate as they draw the child from her womb, the infant's tenacity would have indeed exacted a dire and dreadful price."

"Her breasts would be devoid of milk, and for the first time, as she bears the infant in her arms, she would see the life she sought to slay within her womb. At that moment, she would be overwhelmed by a different kind of regret—one not born of hatred but of profound sorrow for her inability to provide even the simplest sustenance to a helpless babe," she let that statement sink in, her eyes rolling back fully as her voice darkened further.

"Her first real tear as a woman would fall from her eyes, a tear born of her powerlessness. The grand and powerful general, reduced to utterly nothing in the face of an innocent's meagre need. And even in that moment of despair, with regret stemming from a place beyond animosity, I would still linger in the recesses of her mind."

"A fellow slave, a recent mother herself, would offer to feed the newborn," Artemitra moaned, her finger delving ever more fervently. "As the infant latches onto the stranger's breast, she would feel true gratitude for the first time in her wretched life. And yet, her thoughts will never stray far from me."

"As her body begins to heal from being torn open, several other women—each a fellow victim of indescribable trauma—would offer their aid," she gasped, her demented pleasure heightening with each word. "For the first time, she would learn of true kindness. Yet even in that newfound warmth, her heart would steadfastly yearn for vengeance."

"As her strength returns, she would be asked to assist the other women, tending to their wounds and showing kindness," Artemitra continued, her finger feverishly pounding with her hellish desire. "Though she would struggle at first, it would soon become second nature to her. Even as she learns to nurture, her every thought would be consumed with the desire to rend me asunder."

"Even as a bond begins to form between her and the woman who nourished her child, one fateful night, an escapee would find his way to the haven and attempt to violate her saviour," she stated through her truly vile moans.

"Roused by her companion’s stifled screams, she would attempt to intervene but would be forced to bear witness as the woman who aided her would be murdered before her eyes. She would try to save the infant—another's child—only to fail and suffer a shattered knee and a blade to her shoulder. That day, she would learn the true meaning of futile sacrifices." Artemitra's breath quickened with malicious delight. "As ever, she would intuitively recognise that I had orchestrated that harrowing ordeal, strengthening her eternal vow of vengeance."

At this point, the champion could bear no more. Falling to his knees, tears streaming down his face, he pleaded, "Please, goddess, I beg you, stop this cruelty! Spare them from this torment!"

Artemitra's gaze darkened with sadistic pleasure as she plunged a second finger into her drenched womanhood, gasping with ungodly delight. "YOU WILL LISTEN!" she commanded, her eyes boring into his with merciless intensity. Aelorian froze, unable to move. He understood the depth of her power and her insatiable cruelty.

"The once proud general's nipples would finally swell with milk that very night as if her body had cruelly reserved its duty for that twisted moment." She shifted, widening her legs with deliberate slowness, savouring every wicked sensation. "She would hold her crying child to her breast, tears streaming down, so filled with pain they might as well be tears of blood. That night, beneath the crushing weight of her agony, she’d vow to shatter me as thoroughly as I had shattered her."

With a sudden motion, Artemitra ripped open one side of her clothing, exposing her firm breast, her pink nipple almost profanely hard. "Mute and crippled, yet her resolve for vengeance would remain unbroken," she continued, her breath now screaming arousal. "But her thirst for retribution would be tempered by her need to care for her child and tend to those around her. She would learn the virtue of patience on that cursed day." Artemitra's legs spread further, her movements becoming more urgent as she pinched her hardened nipple, moaning obscenely.

"More than a year would pass as she would dedicate herself to nourishing her ailing child while also aiding others," Artemitra's voice quivered, matching the quickening pace of her fingers, which delved deep between her legs, two digits working eagerly. "But the child would only grow more sick with each passing day. For the first time, despite her hate for me, she would pray for my assistance. On that day, she would learn the depth of true love."

Her fingers intensified their rhythm, moving with unrestrained fervour now. The goddess, nay, the monstrous fiend’s body quivered with the relentless waves of pleasure cascading through her. "Do you like what you see, my handsome champion?" she taunted the frozen and terrified man, her voice a blend of mockery and lust.

"And assistance I would grant in the forms of whispers of a healer who might save her child, though the healer would be distant. She would entreat any soul to bear her child to this healer, but her cries would wither into the void.“ She drew her slick fingers briefly to her swollen nipple, anointing it with her own fluids, before plunging them hurriedly back within herself. “Ah, how savagely poetic—a mute pleading for mercy, answered only by the deafening silence of the indifferent."

"At last, she would receive word that the healer would see her child. However, while being escorted, they would be set upon by bandits," her fingers moved frantically now, matching the intensity of her recounting. "She would try to fight and protect her child but would be shoved hard, causing the infant to fall to the ground, blood pooling around its tiny head as it lies dying."

Artemitra’s body quaked violently, her fingers delving deeper with unrestrained fervour. "In that moment of unparalleled agony, as she clings to her dying baby, wailing for mercy and aid. That one time that she does not think of me," the goddess’s voice transformed into a cruel flourish. " At that very moment, I will grace her with my presence." Her sadistic pleasure was entirely tangible now, manifesting in every sound that escaped her lips and every action of her fingers.

Aelorian, now drowning in tears, was utterly convinced of her malevolence. A desperate need for survival had seized him. He knew he must escape now to seek any means to stop her. ‘She HAD to be stopped!’ Seeing his turmoil, though, Artemitra looked at him knowingly and said, "Ah, splendid. Harness that emotion. It shall hold no advantage for you, but it will be of considerable use to me."

Her voice grew even thicker, "I would present her with a choice: she could reclaim her original form and freedom, yet forsake all knowledge of me, or remain in her current state, enduring untold tragedies for twenty years. Only then would I divulge the secrets of my power, sufficient knowledge to help quench her desire for vengeance."

Her voice did not waver, "Instead, she would plead for her child, yet I would offer no kindness. Staring into her eyes, I would lie without a shred of remorse that these were the only choices offered to her. I would openly declare that the infant cannot be saved. No words of comfort would pass my lips, only venomous scorn, as I revel in her torment, letting her witness my ecstasy radiating from her despair." The goddess’s breathing became erratic, her fingers working feverishly as she indulged further in her cruel delight.

"Surely, you would not, I beg of you," gasped the Champion in even greater horror, witnessing the goddess he had adored transform into a demon in the throes of unholy bliss. He realised, then, that mortal virtue served as his standard, not the divine whim. Raising his voice, he cried out, "Promises extracted under false pretences hold no honour! Choices coerced through deceit are rendered void! Even you must understand this. I swear, upon all that is sacred, recompense shall be exacted for such cruelty."

The goddess's laughter filled the tent, dripping with scorn. "Your values, mortal, carry no weight in the presence of divinity. I am the weaver of fates, the orchestrator of destinies. To assume you could bind me with your mortal 'values' is the epitome of folly." She paused, a smile devoid of warmth touching her lips. "Your words are but fleeting whispers against the endless grandeur of my being."

She thrust her fingers even deeper as her ever-darkening voice bridged over her pleasure, "This is the power you stand against, dear Aelorian—an unyielding tide of inevitability shaped by divine will." Her actions matched the depth of her words as she continued, her voice dripping with malevolence, "Imagine, champion, the agonising choice that would consume her thoughts. The turmoil, the despair, all the while knowing her child's demise serves the greater design... my design."

Her rhythm intensified, her movements fluid and perfectly aligned with the writhing horror in Aelorian’s heart. "Could you truly expect mercy from a goddess who crafted her narrative from the darkest threads of tragedy? My dear champion, your hope is as futile as your tears."
Aelorian knelt in despair, each cruel revelation tearing at the fabric of his faith. "I cannot let this stand," he whispered brokenly. "I will either protect the flicker of goodness that may still dwell within you or meet my end standing against you."

Artemitra’s eyes gleamed as her laughter echoed within the tent, "Ha! Protect my virtue, you say? How delightfully naive. If such is your aim, then steel yourself, my resilient little champion, for you now tread upon paths fraught with unimaginable peril. Know this: even at this very instant, your resolve only serves to nourish me."

Thus it came to pass. The ruin Aretemitra chose to unleash would not solely afflict her adversary but would also indelibly mark the soul of her devoted champion. There, kneeling before her, he found himself rendered powerless against her overwhelming might. The only words that would escape his lips were: “Surely you would not.”

"Surely I would, my champion," she taunted in a sadistic whisper. "She would continue to plead and beg, her once-powerful voice now reduced to a hoarse rasp incapable of forming any words. She would keep at it until her cherished child would breathe its last ragged breath in her enfolding arms. Her anguished, guttural wails would pierce the air—ugly, uncontrolled sounds of torment that would be a symphony to my ears. I would stand before her, savouring every note of her misery, deriving profound pleasure from each sob, watching as her spirit shatters while mine flourishes."

The goddess's hips began to undulate, her fingers plunging deeper as she fully immersed herself in her sadistic ecstasy. “Drowning in a sea of sorrow, she would be left to make her damned choice, clinging to the tortured memory of her lost child. Her only sliver of hope would be the elusive quest for vengeance, a hope I would relish crushing."

Her fingers moved faster, the pleasure in her voice palpable as she gasped. "Mmm... then just as she is about to convey her choice, I would tell her that I lied, and... ahhh... two new choices would now lay ahead of her. She would scream, yell, and even attempt to stab me, only to be restrained by my guards. I would offer her the choice of twenty years of servitude for her revenge, or... ohh... eternity as my slave in exchange for her child's resurrection."

Her words were only interrupted by the sounds of her escalating pleasure. "She... mmm... would be bound by the Ritual of Eternal Binding. The child would be reborn to another, and she would... ahhh... lose all independent thought, be bound in painful servitude, mutilated from her intelligence and memories until her last breath."

Her voice dripped with dark, perverse pleasure as she elaborated, "She would become nothing more than an Umbran serving beast—a hollow shell, bereft of identity and will, pierced and adorned with inexorable marks of her bondage. Enslaved by chains unseen, devoid of autonomy, these wretched beings exist solely to fulfil the carnal desires of others. Her essence would be destroyed and refashioned into an object of endless submission and abuse until she perishes by my will. Indeed, she shall live for as long as I see fit."

"She... ohhh... would never glimpse the depths of my secrets. She would never lay eyes upon the child again, reborn to another, it would no longer be hers. The hope she once clung to, the memories she cherished, would be erased from thoughts." She gasped, her body shuddering with the intoxicating thrill of her own cruel vision.

"This forbidden and abhorred state of utter servitude, long banished and condemned by all, would be her fate. Her ceaseless, obedient servitude would be her unending testament to my sovereign will."

Her breath jagged like shards of drakenglass, her pleasure intensified further. “Indeed, I would have deceived her initially, but this time…mmm..., she would know that I speak the truth. My eyes would tell her so. She would place her trust in my words and comprehend... ahhh... that I offer her final choices."

"Cease this monstrous cruelty!" he screamed, his voice breaking with desperation and horror. "You may be a goddess, but these would be the acts of a true villain. I will have nothing to do with you! If you dare act upon any of this, I swear I will dedicate my life to finding this woman and protecting her!"

His words trembled with unyielding defiance as he continued. "I am certain of my defeat in your hands. Even if hiding is not a hero's way, I will do whatever it takes to protect her until my very last breath." His vow echoed through the air, unwavering even in the face of her sadistic pleasure.

"CEASE YOUR BABBLING AND PAY HEED!" she commanded, her eyes locking onto him with such force that he was rendered entirely immobile. "Know that this would be the moment. For the first time since she came to know of me, she would... mmm... CHOOSE to abandon her obsession with me?"

The champion stood fully paralysed as she continued, "She would grovel at my feet to save the infant, offering her very soul in desperation. Ahhh... spreading her legs willingly for my guards, imagining me as the sadist she has conjured in her pitiful mind. Her attempts to plead, reduced to incoherent mumblings by her mutilated tongue, would be both pathetic and insulting. She would forsake every shred of dignity, begging to be transformed into any creature, if only to save her child."

Tears streamed freely down the Champion’s face as he listened to the horrifying words of his goddess. He felt like prey under the gaze of a merciless predator, as he watched her pleasure herself with an almost sinister delight. Her erratic breathing and glassy eyes exuded a malevolence that had entirely shattered all illusions he had of the goddess he revered.

"Patience, the tale draws to its close," she gasped, her voice laden with dark, twisted joy, "the moment her pitiable, mutilated tongue seeks to burrow into the depths of my voracious, yearning folds..ahhh, when her attempts are thwarted by her inability to extend it past her lips, her complete inadequacy would draw my laughter, serving as the final hammer to shatter her spirit."

"Imagine my laughter echoing through the chamber as she makes every effort to perform the sordid act of submission I require." She gasped again, her voice filled with twisted joy. "Ahhh... even as she struggles with what little she has, unable to grasp my divine nub, she can only suck pitifully with her barely functional lips. Mmm... her tears fall freely, like the tears of blood I so desire, utterly broken, knowing there is no escape. Nngh... she realises her end is nigh."

The perverse pleasure that adorned the goddess's beautiful face felt profoundly vile to him. Desperately, he longed to avert his gaze, to flee, to fight, yet her command held him captive, forcing him to bear witness to her depravity. Each moment weighed heavily upon him, rendering death seemingly preferable to complicity in her malevolent schemes. But then, he remembered he was his mother’s son, and his despair transformed into a burning resolve. Though he knew not how, he knew that it fell upon him to stop her, to defy this... this abomination, and to protect the innocent, no matter the cost.

"I know your thoughts, my Champion, but this story does have a happy ending. Well, for one of us at least," she gasped, pre-empting his response. Her fingers delved deeper with each twisted word. "As she endeavours to pleasure me, my laughter and my essence mingling with her tears... Ahhh yes. When her slave collar finally arrives, she will make her first and only unsolicited plea to me."

She paused, her gaze piercing his soul, her fingers momentarily still. "She would pause her pathetic service to look me in the eyes and beg of me. I would not need her to speak to understand that she wanted me to protect her, no… THE child. Remember well that as I said before, it would not be hers any more. She was entrusting her heart to her most bitter enemy. She would surrender entirely—no future, no choice, no vengeance. Her one fragile hope would be that I, her tormentor, would have compassion for an innocent. In return, I would promise that a kind and devoted mother would love and cherish the child once reborn. It would be the sole act of kindness I would afford her."

She returned to pleasuring herself with renewed fervour, her fingers exploring rhythmically within her perfect folds, each movement eliciting a gasp of dark delight. "What if I told you that at that moment, ohhh… she would stretch back to sit on her knees. Place her hands on her lap and give me her neck. The last silent words she would mouth would be, 'I hold you to your promise!' before the collar snaps around her neck.”
"My dear champion, it would be at that fateful moment that her eyes would glaze over. Her story would finally end," she said with a flourish.

But clearly, she couldn’t stop just there, "Oh, but I would still have one final insult to bestow upon her. It would be then that I would choose to reveal my true essence to her. Mmm...I would let her feel my divinity penetrate every fibre of her being. In that moment, her mortal body, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of infinity, would fail, she would fall to the ground, and her heart would have stopped. The fallen wretch would fall one last time before I would claim her as my own in perpetuity."

She slowed for a moment before suddenly, a warm smile unexpectedly graced her features, leaving the champion stunned by the sudden change. “The child would be reborn and even thrive; She, too, would be reborn—into servitude as I decreed. Her death would not absolve her of her terms, but once her twenty years pass, perhaps I might bestow upon her the opportunity for vengeance. Did I not tell you this was a happy ending for at least one of us? I never did proclaim that it would be for ONLY one.”

-Continued in Chapter 4-