Chapter 73
Written by Bayzo Albion
"Food, work, mindless distractions… then more food, booze, smokes. The same loop," I muttered for the second time, staring past her shoulder into the void, as if repeating it might help me understand why I kept living it.
"Ah… I… aaah…" she breathed out, her voice trembling before finally fading into a quiet gasp as exhaustion washed over her, leaving her still and spent.
I gazed up at the ceiling, sweat trickling down my temples, carrying away any lingering thoughts of purpose.
"What's the point of any of it?" The words escaped me unbidden. "I feel like an animal. Life controls me—I don't control a damn thing."
I was a slave to instincts, to cravings, to this endless cycle. Freedom? What a joke. Just an empty word, a dangling carrot the world used to keep us chasing illusions. Or maybe death was the real freedom? But even that... I couldn't grasp it. Probably just another loop, pitch-black and eternal.
I stepped outside, my skin still slick with sweat, welcoming the cool evening breeze that whispered across my bare chest. The sun dipped low, painting the unfinished rooftops in bloody crimson hues. The slave women toiled on, mechanical as clockwork gears. A few glanced my way—not with lust, but with calculation. I was their provider, their source of life. A fruit-bearing tree in human form.
But hadn't I once been more than that? A real person?
I strained to remember who I'd been before this paradise, before the power and the endless parade of bodies. Had life tasted different then? Sweeter, sharper? The memories blurred, dissolving like ink in water, as if this realm was methodically erasing my old self.
My mind softened, kneaded like dough by invisible hands. Reflection slipped away, replaced by a numb, weary pleasure. Yet deep down, something rebelled—quietly, stubbornly.
I sank onto a cold stone, watching one slave offer water to another from a clay bowl. Their bodies were sculpted perfection, like living statues, but they stirred nothing in me now. Just a faint, aching sadness.
"I'm like a god," the thought flickered through my mind. But there was nothing divine about it. Just dominance over the weak. Repetition. Emptiness laced with fleeting highs.
What if paradise wasn't a reward, but a test? A crucible to see if we'd devolve into beasts when handed eternity. What if this infinite flesh wasn't for joy, but to strip away our essence? Where did pleasure end and torment begin?
"Time to change something," I said to the empty air. Silence swallowed my words.
The wind, scented with sawdust and fresh-cut wood, wrapped around me like a silken shroud. I wandered toward the lake, its surface mirroring the forest's ancient secrets. Maybe the water remembered what I'd forgotten.
I leaned over the glassy expanse and met my reflection. It grinned back, though my face remained stone-cold. A mad cackle bubbled up from my throat, villainous and fractured.
"Ah... ha-ha-ha!" The sound shattered the quiet. "Without suffering, there's no true pleasure! I need to suffer... to taste life again! Suffer or die—which one's the real freedom?"
From the shadows and fading light, the Forest Queen materialized behind me, as if woven from twilight itself. Her fingers grazed my chest, trailing downward with deliberate slowness. She enveloped me from behind, her skin cool as the lake's depths, her breasts pressing against my back in a silent reminder of intimacy's edge. We stepped forward together, and the water embraced us, coiling around our legs, drawing us deeper into its womb.
"Silence..." Her voice was a faint murmur, like wind through leaves. "Your pain... it has a flavor."
Her touches weren't fueled by raw passion—they flowed like a river, inevitable and commanding. My body yielded, and the forest's magic spoke for us both. Not in words, but in primal urges. Not lust, but ritual.
As we reached the peak of the ritual, something within me surged outward—a burst of light instead of breath. It didn't fall into the water; magic held the glowing particles suspended, each one shimmering in the sunset like fragments of a newborn star. They swirled lazily in the air before drifting toward her, dissolving into the darkness of her core like sparks returning to their source.
She drew back just enough to meet my gaze.
"Now you're part of me," she said evenly. "But are you free... or just in a new cage?"
I had no answer. I only watched the ripples spread across the water, as if the world itself held its breath, pondering whether we'd drown in this union or emerge reborn.
"Enough moping," I said, forcing a grin. "As they say, to stay sane, you gotta fake a little crazy. It frees the soul... washes away the grime and that sticky, suffocating energy."
"And what now?" she asked, eyeing me with subtle doubt.
"No clue..." I shrugged.
I slipped into the forest. Sometimes, to stay sane, you have to let the wild swallow you whole. I wandered between the towering trunks, listening to leaves whisper overhead, roots gripping the earth like they were holding the world together.
One tree caught my attention—a massive sentinel with bark cracked like an old woman's skin. I touched it, feeling the rough texture… and, of course, my brain tossed out a ridiculous image of some hero falling for a magical tree spirit.
"Nope," I muttered, stepping back fast. "Not going there. Not today."
The tree stood silent. The forest echoed its quiet. Only the wind teased the branches, creaking like mocking laughter.
I smirked but pressed on. I didn't know what I sought: oblivion, peace, or some fresh weirdness to eclipse the old. Maybe the forest waited for my confession—that I wasn't fleeing madness, but myself.
It should have been simple: enjoy the life handed to me. Food, tranquility, women, power... I had it all. But the fuller the cup, the more glaring the void at its bottom. It was light as ash, viscous as tar, seeping through me, snuffing out any spark of joy.
Why? What was broken in me?
"What if I don't want this paradise anymore?" I whispered. "What if none of it's real? What happens if I stop obeying... even myself?"
The thoughts frayed and died. I didn't want to think anymore. I grabbed my sword and dove into the underbrush, slashing at monsters like they were manifestations of my doubts. I hacked until my muscles screamed, breath tore from my lungs in gasps, the world narrowing to strikes, shrieks, and sprays of crimson.
My feet carried me into a cavern, ancient stone walls dripping with decay and forgotten bones. I tore open chests, shattered locks, as if ripping seals from my own chained soul.
And it... helped. Just a little. Breathing came easier. I emerged not as a hero, but as a man who'd survived another inner demise. I trudged onward, the emptiness humming softer now, though it lingered like a shadow.
Lost in the woods, she burst onto the path like a shadow given flesh. Tall and commanding, with legs that seemed endless, she moved with predatory grace in a sleek black military uniform that hugged her curves like a second skin. The thick fabric cinched her waist, a silver-buckled belt accentuating her hips. The collar lay open, revealing pale collarbones that stood out stark against the dark attire.
Her face was sharp, carved by a master blade: high cheekbones, a pointed chin, lips full and glistening as if stained with wine—or blood. And her eyes... steel-gray daggers that sliced through the air, piercing straight to the core, leaving me exposed without a whisper of magic.
Her hair cascaded long and straight, raven-black, framing her shoulders and dancing in the breeze like living night. It draped over the uniform, tracing every contour of her form.
She was a paradox: ice and fire bottled together. The rigid uniform didn't conceal her femininity—it amplified it, making her allure impossible to ignore, a temptation wrapped in discipline. Each step radiated a warrior's poise and a predator's challenge.
This wasn't just a woman; she was a gauntlet thrown at my feet. Beauty that repelled and ensnared, promising to dismantle you piece by piece if you dared approach.
"Freeze. Who are you?"
I opened my mouth, but her hand was already on her sword hilt. Her stance was unyielding, movements precise... and yet, dangerously captivating. Perfection too flawless to trust.
She advanced, her cold eyes dissecting me like a specimen.
"Maybe you're not a monster," she drawled, each word deliberate. "But you're... intriguing."
Her voice hung in the air like a loaded trigger. Something stirred inside me—not fear, not pure desire, but a premonition. The next battle wouldn't be in the wilds or caves. It would rage within.
And perhaps she was the mirror I'd shatter against.
She lunged without warning—swift, accurate, radiating unshakeable confidence. Her every strike bore the mark of rigorous training, iron discipline, and an innate savagery. Astonishingly, she dominated utterly; even my legendary dodges failed. She anticipated my moves before they formed, closing gaps with seamless strides.
With each blow, resistance felt futile. But what stunned me most... I started enjoying the thrashing. Not the pain itself, but the intoxicating blend of humiliation and arousal it sparked. My mind amplified the impacts, envisioning her dominance as absolute, unbreakable.
I leaned into the role, hamming it up like a performer: feigned weakness, exaggerated winces, theatrical pleas. In that pretense lay liberation, shedding layers of my former self.
"Don't hit me... it hurts," I whimpered, lacing my voice with mock vulnerability.
She paused for a heartbeat. Those steel eyes raked over me from above. Then, with elegant poise, she lifted her booted foot and ground my face into the dirt. The heel pressed cold and merciless against my cheek.
"You wear worthlessness well," she intoned, her voice glacial, laced with a predator's delight in her supremacy.
In that instant, I knew: I was her plaything. And maybe, just maybe, that's exactly what I'd been craving.
She leaned closer, her gaze appraising every inch of me. Her breath brushed my ear, warm and commanding.
"It's dangerous for someone like you to wander the woods alone, hunting monsters..." Her smirk cut like a knife. "Especially when you're so... delectable."
Her words coiled like a silken noose, tightening with promise. In her eyes burned an ancient hunger—not of the flesh, but of conquest, the thrill of a huntress tasting her prey's vulnerability for the first time.
I wonder sometimes—what kind of writer is scripting my life? Maybe I just need a new author.
But then again… why am I even making excuses?
I sought pain, and here it is.
In my previous life, I ran from it.
But after losing all pain in paradise…
I began to crave it again.
And that night, she and I stayed together for a long while—sharing a closeness that stretched far into the hours, intense and unbroken, as if neither of us wanted the moment to end.