Author's note
What are good and evil in the realm of the gods? Are we mere puppets, or do we mortals possess something that even they desire? Why propose a test with impossible answers? How do we define purpose and will in the face of divine malice? As always, I, the humble chronicler, await your thoughts, desires, and comments.

Chapter 4: Look into her eyes!

Aelorian stood there motionless and unable to move. Horrified and unable to fathom Atremitra's motives or even understand her ways, his words failed him entirely. Lumoria's champion was powerless even as he was forced to bear witness to her sadistic pleasure, even as she casually recounted her intended acts of demonic cruelty. She radiated true malevolence, yet her last few words seemed to drive home a deeper message—one that was at the elusive cusp of his grasp.

"My dear champion," she purred as languidly as she continued to pleasure herself. "Spare me your salty tears, for you have a vitally important question to answer. Do you still stand against me, even as I have told you that she may yet find her deserved end?"
His tears had their own story to tell, though. They would only continue to stream down his face as he looked upon her with disbelief. She may have driven a stake through his soul, but the fire of defiance began to flicker and come alive in his eyes. Paralysed though he was, he noticed that his hand was resting beside the dagger he always carried. He quietly began to summon every ounce of his strength to will it towards the hilt.
"A DESERVED END! Speak not of such deceptions. You, who were second to none in my heart—even above my own revered mother—held a place of honour. Yet you have taken that very heart and shattered it with your words and actions.”

Artemitra's smile broadened, and her teeth bared wolfishly. "First her and now you. I am the arbiter of life and death, not the custodian of your cloying hearts. It is neither my inclination nor my obligation to attend to your pitiful feelings. I care not for your petty dreams. I do not desire to partake in your pointless wishes, and I certainly feel not a thing for your pathetic resolutions unless they serve MY divine schemes."

She paused momentarily, deep in thought. "Hmm... Pour forth your prayers and conjure such a goddess from the deepest depths of your imagination, if such divinity can even be imagined. Pray with the intensity of a universe, with every fibre of your being, as if you could create her through sheer will. Pray as if you were the very fabric of the world itself, desperate to free your weapon and wield it against fate. We shall see if your fervent pleas can breach the divine threshold and bring forth such a power"

Her instructions further confused the champion. She demanded that he pray to avert the very future she had decreed. Though events were yet to unfold, this was Artemitra, and her words invariably came to pass. He did not require prayer; he needed resolve.

Summoning all his courage, Aelorian spoke out, “You speak of events as though they await their time. Yet for you, the mistress of ages, they are already immutable. To you, past and future are without distinction. But this—this is the present.”

He paused, his eyes narrowed as they bore into hers with his now loud and unwavering sense of defiance. "I refuse to surrender this present... This moment, to your villainy. You are deserving of punishment, and she of redress. I am certain these are but a fraction, and I pledge my life to uncover and protect all others who have borne the brunt of your malevolence. I, Aelorian, son of Lysara, swear to defy even the gods themselves until amends are made for those harmed by your wicked actions.”

Artemitra beamed, her eyes only darkening further. "However pointless your oath, it pleases me to hear that you stand as her son first. Your hand lingers on your blade—but it serves you no purpose at this moment. Conviction alone defends you now. Use it with caution, for I await with great anticipation your honest appraisal of my intent and actions. Speak honestly but temper your words with caution, for in my presence, they bear significant consequences. A lesson well-learned by many before you, though none so profoundly as the former general."

Aelorian understood the threat behind her words well. Clearly, it was a promise of retribution should he speak beyond his remit. "Why is my judgement of concern to you? Clearly, you are the wielder of the greatest power known, capable of forging destinies as you see fit. What value does my 'pitiful' mortal opinion hold?"

Artemitra looked him deep in his eyes as she replied. "For in the grand tapestry of all that is, the duty falls upon me to test you mortals with the challenge of impossible choices. Mettle, spirit, and grit are many a word for that singular essence that resists my absolute authority. It is the one attribute I find most...mmm... exhilarating. Call it my indulgence, my vice, or even my perversion—regardless, these trials fulfil a divine... my divine purpose."

"You call this a trial?" the Champion spat even as his voice trembled with anger. "This is no divine trial. Your actions would be sheer malice. A mother in despair and her fragile newborn should not be the focus of your merciless amusement! No matter her past transgressions, no one deserves such vile retribution...EVER!"

Her smile widened further. "But a trial it was and a trial it continues to be. Assume, if you will, that I willingly bestow upon you the power to judge me. Recall every heinous act I have committed and those yet to come. Understand that you cannot change their course, yet I will hear your judgement. Whether I act upon it is for me to decide. Whether I unleash my wrath upon you should your judgement prove excessively severe is also within my purview. Yet, hear you, I will."

Her threat in her words was as clear as day. He would need to tread carefully indeed. He would need to speak the truth, but he would also need to state it in a manner that ensured his survival. Foolish heroism would serve him no purpose. But any form of acquiescence on his part, any form of dishonesty before such cruelty, would become the unravelling of his soul.

He became aware that his hand had grasped the hilt, and his fingers were gradually mustering the strength to curl around it. He was no longer entirely immobilised. He needed only to keep her distracted enough to find a way to break his bonds. Taking a slow, purposeful breath, he met her gaze with all the courage he could muster.

"If I truly held the power of judgement, I would find you guilty of extreme and unwarranted cruelty. Your redemption would rest solely in her forgiveness. I wish upon all the gods that one day she may have this opportunity and that she treats you with the kindness you never extended to her."

Artemitra smiled with a touch of scorn. "Here I expected rage, a call to arms, only to receive rejection and a plea for me to beg for mortal kindness? Ha, champion! Such weakness is unbecoming." Suddenly, Aelorian realised the bonds had given away, and he could draw his dagger from its sheath. Yet as he was freed, he instantly knew that violence was not the answer.

He stood and stared into her eyes with sorrow. "I am no longer angry, only filled with deep disappointment in my misplaced faith in you. From now on, I shall count the days until the end of the war, for on that very day, we shall part."

As he turned around to leave, she called out to him, her voice almost a plea this time: "Do not depart yet. Look upon me one last time before you arrive at your final conclusion. I must share one last profound truth with you." After what he had experienced, he only desired to walk away, but nonetheless, he turned back towards her to hear her out.

"Thank you, my Champion, for this small mercy," Artemitra's voice appeared to crack as her eyes turned watery. "I vow to you that she shall soon have her appointed moment."

Her smile grew sorrowful as she continued, "Though I am infinity itself, this mortal guise remains, by choice, bound by the rules of your kind: capable of feeling pleasure, pain, joy, and heartbreak. The dagger in your grasp can indeed end this shell's existence. Now that I share this truth with purpose and willingness to accept the consequences, I have bared not just my breast but my heart—a target for your blade. Understand that Queen Orphidora breathes her last if Aelorian so wills it."

In this moment of clarity, Aelorian grasped the enormity of his choice—a truly impossible one. To drive his dagger home or to stay his hand? He perceived that taking her life would be no righteous path. His relief at her death was not worth the ceaseless torment it would cause to countless others if the war did not swiftly conclude. She was essential, yet he could no longer stand by her side. This was his resolution, and he would honour it.

"You serve a significant role in this world. You are a pillar whose fall would bring great calamity to many a million. But Artemitra, the name alone I call you now, for you have tainted the title of 'goddess'. You have shown cruelty that exceeds all bounds of justice. You have lost my respect. I shall fight on until the war's end, for many lives depend upon it, but once complete, I shall depart from your side."

Aelorian paused, letting the gravity of his words settle before continuing. "I shall journey to Umbra Terra, assist in their rebuilding, seeking atonement for the sins you have cast upon me with your mere presence. Conceal her as you might, I will search for her, and I will strive to ensure she lives a full and meaningful life. Though the former general may have been cruel, she is no longer he. I refuse to partake in this cycle of cruelty any longer."

With a heavy heart, he made his final statement, "You have unequivocally shown that you are not governed by our values. Your actions are steeped in malice and deceit. There may be a hidden lesson buried deep within your intended actions, but I have lost all desire to engage with it or trust your oaths any longer. You bestowed upon me a sense of purpose, which your deeds have now ripped away.”

Just as he finished speaking, the world around them seemed to shimmer and distort. Time itself appeared to slow down as the wall behind Atremitra rippled, and a silhouette began to take form. As it moved closer, it started to coalesce and out walked a dark-haired vision.

She was a mesmerising blend of Lumoria’s radiant glow and Umbra Terra’s shadowy allure. Her tresses cascaded like a river of midnight silk, flowing gracefully to frame her pointed ears and deep, grey eyes. Those haunting orbs bore the beauty of Umbra Terra—eyes that invited and ensnared with their eternal, unwavering gaze.

Her body was a living work of dark, seductive art, almost profane in its appeal. Though not as tall as the goddess, she was meticulously curved, and sculpted to ignite the basest passions. Her lips, full and wickedly inviting, were akin to those of Ekaksha, the legendary temptress. They seemed purposed for intimate sin, ready to envelop any throbbing desire with a smile that whispered of filthy, unbridled pleasure.

Her magnificent breasts and sumptuous hips were barely obscured by a robe so tantalisingly short and tight that it adhered to her form as if it were a second skin. The fabric plunged deep, revealing an expanse of lush cleavage that seemed to call out to be worshipped and touched. Her nipples poked provocatively through the thin material, leaving nothing to the imagination.

Her midriff was revealed, showcasing a flawless, sculpted waist and an inviting belly button that teased of unspoken pleasures. Her hips, wide and voluptuous, embodied raw, primal desire, demanding to be filled and marked by seed. As she moved, her shapely derrière swayed with a seductive, intoxicating rhythm. It beckoned to be held and ravished, an open invitation to claim, defile, and reverently worship.

The goddess, a true paragon of regal beauty, was, at this moment, entirely eclipsed by this primal temptress whose raw magnetism dominated the space. Aelorian felt his pulse quicken. Though every rational fibre in his being yearned to leave, an enigmatic force compelled him to stay, and he was certain it did not emanate from the goddess.

Unbridled lust surged through his veins. His manhood throbbed insistently, fit to burst, his mind spiralling into a haze of primal longing. She was desire incarnate, a walking dream of insatiable need. Though his mind conjured images of countless fabled beauties, none could compare to her living manifestation of every man's most carnal cravings.

Her smile, initially warm upon meeting his gaze, quickly turned wicked as her glance drifted towards Artemitra. Yet, just for the briefest of moments, her eyes flickered back to his, and he thought he noticed the faintest hint of a blush upon her cheek as she took note of his arousal. Her eyes lingered upon the prominent bulge straining against his garments before swiftly darting back to meet his gaze, now ablaze with a newfound sense of control.

Without breaking eye contact, she enveloped Atremitra from the side and drew her into a kiss of scorching passion. Her touch was authoritative, as though she was claiming what was rightfully hers. Even as she devoured her prey with her hands and lips, her eyes remained locked upon his. Granting poor Aelorian the privilege and, more significantly, the torment of watching her in the act.

The newcomer's hand slid down to Artemitra's bared breast and grasped it roughly. Her fingers found a distended nipple and pinched it hard, causing the goddess herself to gasp audibly, "Ahhh!"

Her eyes met his again, this time lingering in a gaze that seemed to stretch the seconds into minutes. In that fleeting eternity, Aelorian saw in her what could only be described as pride mingled with a surprising hint of embarrassment. Her eyes appeared to trace an involuntary path downward until she seemed to realise that she was staring at the outline of his arousal once again.

This time though, she appeared keen on retaining control and let her gaze deliberately travel back to his eyes like a lingering caress as it moved past his chest, only to notice that his eyes were transfixed on her breasts. Aelorian watched, captivated, as her blush intensified, her cheeks aflame with a deeper red. Her nipples, impossibly, seemed to harden further, almost daring him to look longer, to succumb to the allure she wielded.

The air between them was charged, but as if willing herself to break the spell, she snapped her attention back to her captive.
Then, with an authoritative yank, she seized Artemitra by her hair, pulling her head back and exposing the vulnerable arch of her neck in an unmistakable display of dominance.

The break in their eye contact was a release for Aelorian, yet the images—the gasp, oh that gasp—would forever be seared into his mind. Even with her attention diverted, he could feel her presence, her strength radiating everywhere.

Artemitra's eyes had clouded over, swathed in a fog of her own submission as she was unceremoniously spun around, her balance faltering. In a brutally decisive motion, her robe was ripped open. The dazed goddess simply stood there, bare and completely exposed, while the woman moved deftly to secure her wrists behind her with one hand.

Displayed in full—naked, vulnerable, and arousal evident as she began to gush, rivulets of desire dripping down her thighs—Artemitra was entirely at the mercy of this overpowering presence.

With agonising deliberateness, the woman moved her own robe aside, averting her gaze from Aelorian as she unveiled her massive, veiny, and throbbing member. One that dwarfed even Aelorian’s own rather impressive shaft, so immense that it promised to bring as much agony as ecstasy. Its sheer size and monstrous presence hung heavily in the air.

Her free hand moved in front of Artemitra’s lips, just beneath her chin, and with a voice like poisoned honey, she commanded, "Spit." Artemitra, lost in the throes of whatever this was, dredged it from the depths of her throat, her eyes rolled back in swirling ecstasy as she obediently leaned forward, slobbering onto the woman’s hand.

This woman wasn't simply establishing her dominance—she was displaying the depth of her absolute conquest. The mighty Artemitra, she who controlled destiny itself, was completely under her command.

Aelorian couldn't help but wonder if the word 'woman' was even fit to describe this magnificent being. One who appeared to be the embodiment of lust itself, yet one who made even him feel inadequate. Nevertheless, the word seemed most fitting, for he couldn't shake the strange sense of maternal kindness emanating from her as he continued to watch the events unfold.

Despite her most wicked actions at that moment, she still radiated a warmth and empathy that felt uncannily familiar. Even now, as she stood as the most dominant force in that space, she seemed to consciously avoid his gaze since the moment he witnessed her reveal her most impressive endowment, almost as if she intuitively understood the insecurities the sight may have awakened in him.

Yet, unabashed and unyielding in her command, she continued as she pleased. Lathering her now spit-soaked sabre, the woman hefted Artemitra’s leg and, without a moment’s hesitation, rammed herself into her. Artemitra squealed a mixture of pain and pleasure etched across her face. Each gasp was almost a scream now—her body impaled upon the thick staff. Suspended by her bound hands, Artemitra's flawless breasts swung violently with each deep thrust, utterly demeaned.

The woman’s voice sliced through the heated air, venomously seductive, "Keep spitting out your tale, my wretched whore. He is owed every filthy detail. Hold his gaze and show him how far you've fallen." Artemitra’s mind, lost in a sea of blistering pleasure, managed to meet the champion’s bewildered gaze as she moaned out, “Yes, mistress.”

Bent forward, her breasts dangling and violently defiled before her champion, she had gasped the words that would shatter his entire understanding of divinity. The astonished champion stood motionless, helplessly watching the event unfold as the goddess's eyes cleared and focused on him once again before she parted her lips to speak.

"Yes, mistress, nghhh... continue. It feels so 'appropriate' to be beneath you, ohhhh. Yesss. Harder, mistress... until my thoughts are but a haze, until I am but a puddle at your feet!" Artemitra moaned, her body quivering with each relentless thrust.

Her bound hands were pulled tightly behind her, legs splayed apart, head tilted upwards to ensure she could look upon her champion as she spoke. Trembling with uncontrollable pleasure, her nipples, hard as diamonds, bounced and swung in rhythm with her every gasp.

"My champion, what if I told you that the bastard general had, at last, found a means... ohhhh... to defeat me in the most delightfully twisted of ways?" she panted out, her voice breaking as she was thrust deeper into her tainted bliss.

The champion felt his grasp on reality slipping. "Look at the woman behind me... Ohhh YES! Harder, mistress! Please, I beg you, make me weep in bliss! I BEG YOU... DON'T EVER STOP! LOOK into HER EYES. What do you see?"

Aelorian's eyes were overwhelmed by the scene unravelling before him, his arousal so intense that it bordered on excruciating. It took him a moment to fully grasp Artemitra's command before he could shift his gaze to the woman behind her. Those eyes, no longer a cold grey but a warm hazel, were so familiar and comforting—despite now shining with an unsettling triumph. They were eyes that felt like home, the eyes of his mother!

His mind flooded with vivid memories: her gentle hands tenderly tending to his scraped knees, the soothing warmth of her presence as she applied balm to his wounds with loving care. He remembered her gentle embrace on freezing nights, a fortress against the biting cold. Her lullabies, tender and melodic, carried him into a peaceful slumber. She had sacrificed endlessly, often going without so he could thrive and flourish. It was she who had moulded him into the paragon of virtue and honour that the world admired so much.

Now, in this surreal moment, his mother was indeed a being greater even than the goddess herself, yet everything felt contorted and bizarre. The woman, who had nurtured him with such boundless love, now wielded a ‘manhood’ far larger than his own as she thrust into the goddess with unrelenting power. He watched as she plundered Artemitra's most intimate depths, causing the goddess to scream and moan like a creature in frenzied heat. Aelorian's mind struggled to process the reality before him, teetering on the edge of something dark.

The irony was inescapable—his very own mother was now the literal bigger man. Yet she was not her, not exactly. He was not certain why, but he knew that, but he was certain that the mystery would unravel itself further. Yet rather than be rational, he found himself violently drawn to her.

His emotions roiled within him like a tempest. He wanted to seize her lush, inviting lips, forcing them apart to sample the intoxicating sweetness within. His hands would ravage her magnificent breasts, squeezing and kneading as he bit down on her nipples to draw out fervent cries of pleasure. Her legs would be spread apart...

Yet even as he gazed at her ploughing the goddess' field, his primal urges exploded. He wanted to wrap his hand around it, to rip it from her, to claim it as his own. He saw her on all fours, utterly exposed to him, her prick dangling provocatively. He imagined gripping it firmly, demanding she surrender it to him, tormenting her by denying her release unless she agreed to his every term. Her voice infiltrated his thoughts, pleading, begging him to take it. "No," his mind cried out, "NO!"

Desperately, he tried to avert his gaze. He tried to reject the depraved allure that was drowning him from within. But his treacherous body would only betray him as it was entirely ensnared by the debauched spectacle. Torn between the deep love for his mother and the insatiable hunger to own this woman, he found himself incapable of walking away.

His hand drifted to his britches almost unconsciously, pulling out his rigid sceptre, already weeping with desperate need, as he stood there—an unwilling captive to primal needs at war with his every principle. He began to stroke himself, each movement a betrayal of his convictions, yet he was powerless to stop, lost in this forbidden desire.

"Champion! What do you... Oh, please, mistress, it hurts," Artemitra squealed as Lysara, his mother, delivered a reverberating slap to her behind. "Quiet, wench! Time does not favour your dithering, for he is in torment. Your title is but dust before me. Perform as I command! Acknowledge your defeat! Declare your disgrace!" His mother roared, plunging mercilessly into the whimpering goddess.

"Aelorian, Son of the indomitable Lysara. Behold the ultimate triumph of General Thalor. Bear witness to the subjugation of the greatest deity by the ‘fallen wretch.’ I am entirely at her mercy, reduced to nothing at her feet... oh... mmmm... more... Yes, YES! I am yours, utterly! The shame... the bliss... so much pleasure... YES! I cannot flee. I find no desire to!"

Lysara continued to pound into her with ruthless force, each thrust rippling through the goddess's once-majestic form, now reduced to a trembling, bound wreck incapable of resistance. Sweat mingled with her tears, streaming down her face as she was utterly filled and used. The echo of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, mingling with the goddess's gasping moans and fruitless wails. "I didn't tell you to stop or drown yourself in pleasure yet—NOW FINISH THE STORY, HARLOT!" Lysara bellowed, forcing the shuddering goddess into further submission.

Artemitra's words stumbled out in breathless gasps, her face contorted with a mix of shame, pain, pleasure, and something that might have been love. Each phrase was relentlessly disrupted as she spoke, "You... ahhh... are the child of Lysara, formerly General Thalos and the first mortal Avatar of the goddess Niyathera. The goddess of... nghhhh... desire, purpose, and will. For it is... mmm... from desire that purpose is awakened, and from purpose... nnghh... that will is forged. It is the power of will that gives one... ahhhh... the strength to defy, define, and... ohhh... defeat destiny. Defeat me... ohhh!!!!! YES!!!! For I am... mmmph ... destiny itself."

"Now, strumpet, attend to your champion!" Lysara, or perhaps now Niyathera, commanded. "Show him the depth of your submission."
Artemitra turned her pleading eyes toward Aelorian. "Come hither," she implored. He hesitantly approached, his steps slow and uncertain. As he came closer, she bent forward, greedily swallowing his phallus with clumsy but fervent desire. Sucking and licking with desperate need, she moaned and gagged around his girth, even when she was being relentlessly battered from behind. The wet, obscene sounds of her mouth, mingled with the slick, rhythmic slapping of Lysara's thrusts, filled the air.

Without realising it, Aelorian's hands found her head, guiding her motions. He knew his part in this debased spectacle, though not yet why. Consciously, he ensured that he grasped her firmly, letting the scene mirror Artemitra's earlier, twisted account. The irony was not lost on him—this was the very scene she had depicted happening to the fallen general she would torment.

"She has lived amongst us forever, yet it is today that she first truly manifests. Be the blessed spectator to her birth, be evidence of her first great victory. This moment, you are living witness to the ascent of the greatest of us," Artemitra managed to speak before resuming her fervent task. Her gags and muffled sounds punctuated her every word, and her mouth eagerly returned to its humiliating service.

The goddess's words reflected her pitiful state. "Blessed champion of... oh MY!!! In this moment, in this present, you glimpse into the past and the future... oh, YES! YES! as she desires it! You witness the debasement of the goddess of victory... mmmm... yesssss. You see the fulfilment of the purpose of this magnificent woman... OHHHH!!!!!!!"

As Artemitra's words dwindled into a bawling crescendo, she spiralled into a heart-shattering, near-endless orgasm, her body quaking uncontrollably. Aelorian, his hands firmly grasping her head, held her in place as her spasms reverberated through her. Despite being overpowered by the relentless force behind her, she clung to her task, heedless of her own ecstasy.

"Do not spill a drop!" Niyathera commanded, shoving Artemitra's head deeper onto Aelorian's throbbing cock. The spasming goddess, driven by her own frenzied climax, sucked him with a ferocity that seemed almost ravenous. Aelorian felt himself teetering on the precipice, her desperate need sending him over the edge. With a triumphant growl, he exploded into her mouth, his seed overflowing her trembling lips.
At that very moment, Niyathera succumbed to her own climactic wave. Her body convulsed with an exquisite force, her eyes rolling back into her head as she let out a guttural wail of pure, unrestrained pleasure.

The very air seemed to tremble with the violent intensity of their shared euphoria. Artemitra, still desperately devoted to her service, struggled to contain the torrent of Aelorian’s release. Niyathera’s command went unheeded as Aelorian’s seed overflowed and dripped from Artemitra’s still-trapped lips. Each drop split was a testament to an indulgence that defied all limits.

Several moments passed as the new goddess regained her breath. Niyathera's grip on Artemitra remained firm, yet the fervour in her actions had softened. Her eyes, rich brown only moments ago, had returned to their earlier grey. Aelorian, still reeling from the climax, watched as the scene before him seemed to shift. The realisation dawned on him slowly—she might have been his mother moments ago, but now, this was undoubtedly Niyathera—a goddess whose existence he had only now come to comprehend.

There was a brief hesitation in Niyathera's eyes, a flicker of warm hazel when she saw Aelorian, but they swiftly returned to their steely grey. A blissful, almost predatory smile spread across her lips as she leaned into the fallen goddess, her tongue lapping up his seed that had overflowed from Artemitra's lips, savouring every droplet with a slow, sinful delight. Then, without pause, she seized Artemitra's sullied mouth in a rough, primal kiss. Nearly comatose from the overwhelming ecstasy, Artemitra offered no resistance.

After what seemed like an eternity, Niyathera reluctantly broke the kiss and cast a lingering look at Aelorian. She slowly slid a finger into her mouth, sucking on it seductively as a wicked smile, laden with a thousand sinful teases, radiated from her. Relishing the moment, she turned her gaze towards Artemitra and raised the goddess's face close to hers. Her voice, still sultry but as gentle as a spring breeze, carried the tender declaration that would seed many a legend "I forgive you, my love."

-Continued in Chapter 5-