Kidpinoy's Aftermath 18

The fourth convulsion left Bien a trembling wreck, but the respite was horrifyingly brief. Even as the last, thin wisp of chi faded, Rapis felt it again. A stubborn, infuriating warmth returning to the flesh beneath his hand. He looked down. Bien’s testicles, which should have been shrunken and empty husks, were tightening once more. The slack flesh was drawing up, a slow, inexorable reclaiming of form. And his penis, though smeared with the evidence of his forced degradation, was still defiantly hard. A rod of steel refusing to bend, a testament to a life force that Rapis simply could not extinguish.

It wasn't just resilience anymore. It was mockery. A biological insult.

A guttural snarl ripped from Rapis's throat, a sound of pure, primal frustration. He had broken the boy’s mind, made him dance to a tune of shame and self-loathing. He had drained the well dry four times. And still, the spring bubbled up from some impossible depth.

"No," he breathed, the word cold with a new, terrible clarity. The lesson wasn't learned. The spirit was cracked, yes, but the vessel, this obscene vessel of divine power, still sought to mend itself. He had to go further. He had to shatter the connection between the soul and the flesh, to turn the body's own functions into a weapon of total psychic annihilation.

With a heave, he flipped Bien over, forcing him onto his hands and knees. Bien’s body, slick with sweat and his own spent energy, scraped against the stone. Rapis grabbed a fistful of his sweat-drenched hair, yanking his head back so that his arched-back, exposed posture was a deliberate, final humiliation for the roaring crowd.

"You are a stubborn little miracle, aren't you?" Rapis's voice was a low, predatory purr against Bien's ear. "You think you can just keep refilling. You think this is a battle of endurance." He reached into a small pouch at his belt and produced a vial of shimmering, oily liquid. He uncorked it, and a strange, cloyingly sweet scent filled the air, sharp and chemical. "I have grown tired of emptying the cup. Now... I shall poison the fountainhead."

He forced Bien's head to the side, pressing the vial to his nostrils. Bien instinctively tried to recoil, but Rapis’s grip was iron. The boy inhaled sharply, a gasp of protest that became a choked intake of the vapor.

It was a custom alchemical blend. A Popper's Aphrodisiac, designed not for pleasure, but for overload. It bypassed the will entirely, hijacking the central nervous system. It flooded the brain with raw, undiluted sensation, turning every nerve ending into a screaming wire of input. It was a weapon that made the victim's own body their most intimate torturer.

Bien's eyes widened, the pupils dilating instantly. A tremor ran through him that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with neurological assault. He whimpered as Rapis positioned himself behind him, his own erection a thick, brutal instrument of his rage.

"Feel that, hero?" Rapis hissed as he drove into Bien's tight, resisting body. The friction was searing. "That is your own will melting. That is your mind becoming a slave to sensation. You will not fight me. You will not endure me. You will feel me. Every inch. Every second."

He began to move, a punishing, grinding rhythm. He wasn't just fucking a body; he was fucking a concept. With every thrust, he aimed for that deep, internal center of power—the prostate. He crushed it, ground against it, forcing the ravaged glands to spasm and weep.

"You feel that pressure building?" Rapis grunted, his voice a monologue of desecration. "That's not just my cock, Bien. That's your own power turning on you. It wants out. It wants to obey its new master." He slammed into him, a brutal, targeted strike. "And I am your master now."

A fresh wave of chi, streaked with silver and gold, erupted from Bien's penis, splashing onto the stone floor. It was an involuntary, pained release, torn from him not by will, but by raw physical manipulation. Bien cried out, a high, broken sound as his brain, soaked in the aphrodisiac, registered the climax as a confusing supernova of pain and pleasure.

"You liked that, didn't you?" Rapis sneered, not even slowing his pace. "Your body did. Let's hear you say it. Let's hear you confess what a filthy creature you are." He drove into him again, harder. "Confess!"

"I… ah! I..." Bien’s words were slurred, his head lolling. The drug was working, peeling away the layers of his identity.

"CONFESS YOUR FILTH!" Rapis roared, grinding down on the prostate again. "Tell them my cock feels good inside your holy body! Tell them you want it!"

"It... it feels..." Bien sobbed, his body arching into the thrusts against its will. "I... want it..."

Another violent, chi-laden spasm wracked his frame. Weaker this time, but still potent.

"Good. Now, the truth," Rapis commanded, his voice dropping to that venomous whisper again. "You've hidden for so long. Who are you? What is the name of the boy who thought he could be a god?"

"Bien... Regalado..."

"LIES!" Rapis slammed into him, a punishment for the defiance. "That is the hero's name! The hero is dead! I am fucking his corpse! What is YOUR name? The name of my whore?"

"I... I don't..."

"Tell me your real name, or I will put Marisol on this stage and give her to the crowd while you watch!" The threat was a cold spike of clarity through the drug-induced haze.

Tears poured from Bien’s eyes. His resistance shattered completely. "Kidpinoy," he whispered, the name a ghost on his lips. "I am... Kidpinoy."

The crowd gasped, then erupted into a cacophony of jeers and mocking laughter. The hero's greatest secret, thrown away like trash in his moment of ultimate degradation.

"Kidpinoy," Rapis repeated, savoring the name like a fine wine. "The little boy wonder. And what did Kidpinoy do? Did he save people?" He thrust, a cruel punctuation. "Or did he just like the attention?"

"I... wanted to help..."

"WRONG!" SLAM. "You wanted them to worship you. You loved the feeling of their eyes on you more than you loved their lives. Say it. Confess your vanity."

"I... I loved..." Bien's voice was a mangled wreck. "I loved their worship..."

"You let people get hurt, didn't you? So you could swoop in and look strong. You are a fraud. A lie. Tell them. Tell them you are a lie."

With every brutal thrust, a new lie was forced from Bien's lips, a new piece of his soul was carved out and replaced with Rapis's poison.

"I am a lie..." he chanted, his hips bucking in a grotesque parody of pleasure.

"I let them suffer..." SLAM.

"So I could be the hero..." SLAM.

"My strength is a curse..." SLAM.

"Lord Rapis has purified me..." SLAM.

A final, desperate climax was ripped from him. The chi that came out was pale, almost grey, a ghostly echo of its former brilliance. It was the energy of a dying star.

Rapis drove into him one last time, emptying himself deep within the boy's ruined body. He pulled out slowly, with a wet, sucking sound that echoed in the sudden silence. Bien collapsed onto the stone, limp as a gutted fish, his body still trembling with the aftershocks of the drug and the violation. He was whispering, the words bubbling from his lips in a continuous, insane loop.

"I am a lie... Lord Rapis is my god... I am his whore... I am a lie..."

Rapis stood over him, breathing heavily, his victory absolute and terrifying. He had not just emptied the well. He had poisoned it, shattered its stone walls, and filled it with filth. He had taken a hero, a vessel of divine power, and forced him to confess, in his own voice, that he was nothing.

He looked out at the silent, awestruck crowd, a cruel smile spreading across his face. He had not merely defeated a man. He had unmade a soul.