KidPinoy Aftermath #8

 The light. So bright. It burned behind his eyelids, even squeezed shut. Was it the sun? No, not the sun. Too harsh, too close. Studio lights. Yes, the cold, artificial glare. They wanted him seen. Wanted this seen.

Kneeling. Why kneeling? Should be standing. Always stood. Defiance. Strength. KidPinoy stood tall. Now… wet stone biting into his knees. Floor slick with… what was it? His sweat? His tears? No, something else. Thicker. Warm.

Semen.

The word floated in the haze. Shame. A tidal wave of it, crashing over the wreckage of pride. They’d said it. Made him say it. “Filipino… semen fountain…” The sounds echoed in the vast, hollow chamber of his skull.

He was Bien. Just Bien. seventeen. Still seventeen. It felt like a lifetime ago. Before this. Before they found the secret. The source. Infinite chi, they’d called it. Unyielding power. The strength of his ancestors, channelled through… this.

His body twitched. A phantom ripple ran through the muscles in his abdomen, taut and sore. Still there, the muscles. Didn't they take those too? No. Just drained the fuel. Left the empty shell. Still hard. Still… leaking.

A fresh warmth bloomed on his thigh, tracing a hot, sticky path down the sun-kissed skin. Another pulse. Unbidden. Unstoppable. His cock, thick and engorged from endless, brutal stimulation, continued its slow, relentless weep. Dripping onto his own skin. His chest. His chin. A horrifying, never-ending fountain of his own defeat.

He remembered Rapis’s face, contorted with glee. Rapis, who spoke of power, of breaking legends. He was the legend broken.

KidPinoy... broken hero... yours...

The words tasted like ash. True, though. Painfully, undeniably true. Mastermind’s touch, calculating and cold, tracing the lines of his bicep, marveling at the power he was systematically dismantling. Cultist’s laugh, high and manic, tightening the clamps. Beast’s relentless, brutal rhythm, driving him to this state.

They were filming. He felt the heat of the camera on his face. Heard the low hum. They wanted the world to see. See the protector, the unyielding force that had kept the city safe, reduced to this. A kneeling, weeping, leaking boy.

A hand, rough and strong, seized his hair, yanking his head back. Rapis. His eyes, cold and triumphant, bored into Bien’s.

“Look at the camera, KidPinoy,” Rapis’s voice boomed, amplified by the microphones set up around them. It wasn’t just for them anymore. It was for everyone. “Let them see you. See what you are now.”

Bien’s eyes, blurry with tears and exhaustion, struggled to focus on the black lens. It felt like staring into an abyss.

SLAP!

The force of the blow snapped his head to the side, fire erupting on his cheek. His ear rang. Rapis’s handprint bloomed red on his dark skin.

“Still proud?” Rapis sneered, grabbing his hair again, forcing his head back forward. “Still think you’re a hero?”

Bien’s throat worked. The words were hard to find, buried under layers of humiliation and agony. “No… Not… hero…”

SLAP!

The other cheek this time. Tears streamed freely now, tracing paths through the grime and semen coating his face.

“Good,” Rapis growled, satisfaction lacing his tone. “Answer the questions, boy. Tell them the truth about yourself. Tell them what we’ve made you.”

He felt a nudge from Beast, a heavy hand on his shoulder, pushing him further onto his knees, closer to the camera. Cultist cackled nearby, adjusting something just out of Bien’s blurred vision – the clamps again? The prospect sent a fresh wave of nausea through him.

Mastermind’s voice, smooth and insidious, cut through the haze. “Tell us, ‘KidPinoy’… tell us about this ‘infinite chi’. How did it feel, knowing all that power… came from this?” A gesture towards his groin.

The thought was like a shard of glass in his mind. Power… came from… this. All the strength, the speed, the ability to mend bones with a touch, to shatter steel with a punch… it wasn’t just training. It wasn’t just will. It was… seed. His vital fluid. The very essence of procreation, twisted into a weapon.

Before this, it felt… natural. A boundless wellspring. He never questioned it. Just used it. Defended the innocent. Fought the wicked. Never knowing the source. Never knowing it could be… tapped. Drained. Profaned.

“Felt… strong,” Bien whispered, his voice thick and broken. “Didn’t know… came from… this…” Another involuntary pulse, warm and shaming, coursing down his leg.

SLAP!

“No excuses!” Rapis roared, his face inches from Bien’s. “You are this! You were always this! A walking spigot of power! A mere vessel!”

He felt his body shudder, a deep, convulsive tremor that started in his core and rippled outward. His muscles strained, not with power, but with the desperate, futile effort to stop it. To stop the flow. To reclaim some small part of himself.

Mastermind ran a hand along his ribs, tracing the definition of his intercostals. “Remarkable physique,” he murmured, not to Bien, but to the others. “Years of training, yes, but imagine the inherent vitality… fueled by this unique metabolic process. A living energy factory. Shame to let it go to waste defending the common rabble.”

Beast grunted in agreement, his eyes fixed on Bien’s still engorged cock, watching the slow, steady drips fall onto the stone floor, pooling around his knees. “More useful… for us.”

Cultist leaned in, his face alight with fanaticism. He reached out, not touching Bien, but gathering some of the thick, white fluid from the floor on a fingertip. Bien flinched violently, a whimper escaping his lips.

“The sacred essence!” Cultist crooned, lifting the finger to his lips. He tasted it, a disturbing mix of reverence and depravity on his face. “The very fount of strength! Imagine the possibilities… consumed… harnessed…”

Bien gagged, bile rising in his throat. The ultimate degradation. His power, his very life-force, treated like a commodity, a grotesque sacrament.

“Tell them, KidPinoy,” Rapis pressed, his voice chillingly calm now, the public facade back in place. “Tell them why we have you here. Why the city… is now ours to command.”

Bien’s mind struggled to process. The city? What had they done? Oh. Right. The threat. Their power relied on his. Draining him wasn’t just about defeating him. It was about removing the source of his protection, making the city vulnerable. Or perhaps… threatening to unleash the opposite of his power. Some dark perversion of the chi? He didn’t know. He just knew they were using him.

“The city… is… vulnerable,” Bien stammered, the words heavy on his tongue. “Without… KidPinoy… you have… no defense…”

He saw the flicker of triumph in Rapis’s eyes.

“And who took KidPinoy away?” Rapis prompted, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Who rendered him… incapable?”

They were forcing him to confess his defeat, his violation, to the world. Each word was a stab wound to the last vestiges of his spirit.

“You… all of you,” Bien whispered, looking from Rapis to Mastermind, then to Cultist and Beast. “Mastermind… Cultist… Beast… Rapis… You broke me… You… violated… KidPinoy…”

He felt a surge of heat, not from shame this time, but from a sudden, sharp pain in his testicles as Cultist gave the clamps another deliberate twist. A guttural cry tore from his chest. His body convulsed, his back arching involuntarily.

His cock, rigid with forced arousal and constant assault, pulsed violently. A thick, viscous stream of semen shot out, splattering against the cold stone floor, against his own bruised and aching thighs, against the front of his dark, sweat-soaked trousers. It slicked his abdomen, dripped onto his hands which were tied behind his back, leaving warm, sticky trails.

The villains watched, their expressions a mix of clinical observation and predatory delight.

“See?” Mastermind said, his voice laced with cold victory, directed at the camera. “The well is deep. But not inexhaustible. And the process… is quite taxing. How long do you think your hero can keep this up? How long before he’s truly empty? Before the city… falls?”

Rapis knelt down, closer to Bien’s level. He reached out, trailing a finger through the fresh pool of semen near Bien’s knees. He brought it to his nose, sniffing.

“Potent,” he declared, looking directly into the camera. “The essence of a protector. Defeated. Subjugated. Reduced to this… this pathetic, fertile mess.”

He stood up, wiping his finger on Bien’s shoulder, smearing the fluid onto the dark, sinewy muscle.

“This is what your hero is now,” Rapis’s voice was a chilling pronouncement. “A symbol. Not of hope, but of our absolute power. We will drain him. Drain him until there is nothing left. And as he empties… so too will your city wither and die.”

Bien’s head hung low, his chin resting on his chest. He couldn’t bear their eyes. Couldn’t bear the camera. Couldn’t bear the sickening, constant wetness on his skin. The shame was a physical weight, pressing down on him, crushing the last fragments of defiance.

He was KidPinoy no more. Just Bien. Just a boy. Unmade. Profaned. A machine forced to churn out his own destruction. A semen fountain, broadcasting his brokenness to a world that had trusted him. The rhythmic pulse from his body continued, a slow, shaming drumbeat in the desolate silence of his mind. Drip. Drip. Drip. The sound of a hero’s end. The sound of a boy’s violation. The sound of power turning into weakness, one viscous drop at a time. His own essence, his own undoing, coating his chiseled, seventeen-year-old body. A living monument to their cruel victory. And there was nothing he could do to stop it. Nothing at all. Just… exist. And leak.