"KidPinoy you're Done!"

 The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood, the sour stench of fear, and the acrid smoke of burning buildings. The crater that once was the city square was now a pit of despair, a testament to the eight-hour battle that had just ended. In its center, a trembling, glistening figure struggled against the weight of an entire army. Kidpinoy, the Shield of the Philippines, was broken.

His black compression gear was shredded, hanging in tatters like funeral shrouds. The iconic black eye mask was askew, one lens cracked, obscuring the eye that wasn't already swollen shut. Beneath the ruins of his tank top, his legendary sun-kissed physique was a canvas of bruises, welts, and deep lacerations. His ten-pack abs, usually a symbol of his unyielding core, were now a roadmap of abuse, twitching spasmodically as if trying to ward off the next blow.

The ground beneath him was a mess of mud, blood, and the thick, pearly fluid of his own repeated, forced ejaculations. He was down to a single, loincloth-like scrap of fabric, barely containing the organ that had become the instrument of his downfall.

Orbath, the Old Orc Sorcerer, hovered above, his form wreathed in a malevolent, purple aura. The ancient god Cthulhu pulsed within him, his voice a discordant symphony of a thousand damned souls. "Behold!" Orbath’s voice boomed, echoing not just in the air but in the minds of every person watching from the shattered windows and ruined streets. "The so-called 'Light of the Philippines'! His sacred chi, a sun that once burned so brightly, now a dying ember. And we hold the bellows."

He gestured to the crude, pulsating mark just below Kidpinoy's navel. "A simple sigil of lust and release. It turns his own body against him. Every thrust, every touch, every shameful thought we force into his mind becomes a lever to drain his life force. His invincibility was a dam, and his virginity was the wall holding back the flood. We did not break the dam, gentlemen. We simply opened the floodgates."

Kidpinoy coughed, a wet, ragged sound, spitting out a mixture of saliva and blood. His vision swam. He could see the leering faces of the villains he had spent years vanquishing—Gorilla Grim, who had once tried to topple the San Juan Bridge; the Smiling Fiend, a serial killer he’d captured in Quiapo; the Shadow Leech, who fed on the city’s electricity. They circled him like vultures, their eyes gleaming with sadistic glee.

"Still fighting, bayani?" a gravelly voice chuckled. It was Bolg, the Orc Lord, a mountain of green muscle and scars. He stepped forward, his massive, erection a grotesque parody of power. "Your body still responds. Even now, it craves release. How... pathetic."

Bolg grabbed Kidpinoy by the hair, lifting his head. The hero’s handsome face, now a mask of pain and grime, was forced to look at the monster. "We know everything," Bolg growled, his hot, foul breath washing over Kidpinoy’s face. "We watched you for five years. We saw you train, saw you patrol, saw you visit her."

Kidpinoy’s good eye widened in horror.

"Rose," Bolg whispered, the name a poison dart. "Such a beautiful name. Such a pure, unsuspecting girl. Did you think you could keep her a secret? Did you think your 'blessed abstinence' would protect her, too? We were going to wait. Wait until your wedding night. Imagine the power... taking you while she watched, taking your sacred seed in the most sacred of moments. But we grew impatient."

He released Kidpinoy’s hair, letting his head thud against the crater floor. "Besides, why should she have the first taste of your 'potency'?" Bolg sneered. "We are the ones who broke you. We are the ones who deserve your final, milky tears."

A collective, hungry growl rose from the surrounding army.

Bolg positioned himself, the thick, dark head of his cock pressing against Kidpinoy’s entrance, still slick with his own semen and the fluid from the violated prostate. "Now, Filipino Milk Bull," he roared, a title meant to strip him of his heroism and reduce him to a breeding animal. "Show your new masters how grateful you are."

With a brutal, single thrust, Bolg sheathed himself entirely within Kidpinoy’s body.

Bien Regalado—the man beneath the mask—screamed. It was a raw, guttural sound that tore from a place deeper than his throat, a place of shattered pride and violated sanctity. The pain was immense, a white-hot tearing sensation, but worse was the feeling of his own body betraying him. The mark below his navel flared with dark light, and his cock, which had been softening in exhaustion, sprang back to full, painful hardness. It throbbed, weeping a continuous, clear fluid.

"Look at him!" Orbath cackled from above, his voice amplified. "The hero's body has a mind of its own! It knows its master now!"

Bolg began to move, a slow, punishing rhythm that was less about pleasure and more about domination. Each thrust was a declaration of conquest. He wrapped one massive hand around Kidpinoy’s throat, squeezing just enough to cut off his air, to make his vision tunnel. With the other, he began a brutal assault on Kidpinoy’s abs.

Thud. "This for the Makati bank heist." Thud. "This for the Subic Bay raid." Thud. "This for every one of my men you turned to dust."

With each punch, the air was driven from Kidpinoy’s lungs. Gastric acid and bile, mixed with the semen that had pooled in his stomach from earlier violations, were forced up his esophagus. He choked, spewing the foul mixture over his own chest and chin. The humiliation was a deeper wound than any physical blow.

"You see, boy?" Bolg grunted, his own hips pistoning, slamming his pelvis against Kidpinoy’s battered ass. "Your famous 'impenetrable' abs feel very different from the inside, don't they? They are soft. They are weak. They are just meat."

Two other figures slithered into Kidpinoy’s blurred field of vision. The Smiling Fiend, a wiry man with a perpetual, terrifying grin, and Gorilla Grim, a hulking brute with simian features.

"His face," the Smiling Fiend hissed, his fingers tracing Kidpinoy’s jawline. "So noble. So resolute. Let's see how resolute it looks when my cock is down his throat."

Gorilla Grim grunted in agreement, grabbing Kidpinoy’s head and forcing his mouth open. "You always had a clever tongue, hero. Let's see if it's as clever as my cock."

The Fiend forced his way in, his length gagging Kidpinoy, the taste of his precum acrid and salty. Grim, meanwhile, began to assault his nipples, biting and twisting them with his large, yellowed teeth, sending sharp, electric shocks of pain through Kidpinoy’s chest.

Bolg’s pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more frantic and animalistic. He could feel Kidpinoy’s internal muscles fluttering, the hero’s body preparing for another climax against his will. "That's it, Bien," Bolg snarled, using his real name to deepen the psychological torture. "Your body knows what's coming. It knows it's about to give up more of its precious life force. Your Rose would be so proud to see her hero now. A leaking, whimpering whore for monsters."

The words were the final catalyst. Kidpinoy’s body seized. His back arched off the ground, a strangled cry escaping him around the Fiend’s cock as he erupted again. The orgasm was violent, wracking his entire frame, but it brought no relief, only a deeper wave of exhaustion and despair. Bolg roared in triumph, pulling out just as Kidpinoy climaxed, his hot, thick seed splattering across the hero’s chest and abs.

The moment he was released from Bolg, Gorilla Grim flipped Kidpinoy onto his stomach. The hero’s arms were too weak to push him up. Grim mounted him, entering him with a single, brutal shove that made Kidpinoy’s vision flash black. The Smiling Fiend, denied his throat, moved to Kidpinoy’s other end, grabbing his still-throbbing, perpetually hard cock and beginning to pump it with a ruthless, practiced rhythm.

"His balls," the Fiend giggled, his other hand kneading the heavy, aching sac. "They feel so full. So potent. Even after all this, he has more to give. What a magnificent creature."

Grim fucked him with the brute force of a machine, his heavy balls slapping against Kidpinoy’s thighs. The Smiling Fiend’s hand was a blur, twisting and stroking, his thumb pressing hard against the sensitive slit of Kidpinoy’s cockhead. They were working in tandem, a well-oiled engine of violation designed to wring every last drop from him.

"Imagine, Bien," the Fiend whispered, his voice a venomous hiss in Kidpinoy’s ear. "We’re all going to have our turns. Every single one of us. The demons you exorcised, the monsters you slain, the aliens you repelled. They all want a piece of the great Kidpinoy. They want to taste your blood, your cum, your very soul. And when we are done, when you are a hollowed-out shell, we will present you to your city. We will show them that their god is dead."

Kidpinoy’s mind, a fortress for 25 years, began to crack. Illusions, spun from Orbath’s dark magic, flickered at the edge of his consciousness. He saw Rose, her face tear-streaked, watching him from the crowd, her love turning to disgust. He saw the faces of the old heroes, the ones who had blessed him, their expressions turning to ash. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the visions were inside his head.

He felt Grim’s cock pulse deep within him as the brute roared his release, filling him with a scalding, oily heat. Before the orc could even pull out, the Smiling Fiend was there, replacing his hand with his mouth, sucking and milking Kidpinoy’s cock with an expert, punishing suction.

The pleasure was an agony. It warred with the crushing pain, the bone-deep exhaustion, the utter desecration of his spirit. His body, loyal only to the dark mark and the relentless stimulation, convulsed once more. The Fiend drank deeply, not spilling a single drop of the hero’s thick, milky seed, before pulling back with a satisfied sigh.

"My turn," a new voice rumbled. It was one of the alien monsters, a creature of shifting chitin and slime. It produced a thick, phallic appendage from its own body, glistening with a corrosive lubricant.

Bolg grabbed Kidpinoy’s head again, forcing him to look. "You see, Bien? The line forms. Your body is no longer yours. It is a public convenience. A temple for us to desecrate."

The alien creature entered him, its texture completely alien, its movements serpentine and twisting. The Smiling Fiend and Gorilla Grim moved to his front, the Fiend grabbing his hair and forcing his head to the side, while Grim simply sat on his back, his immense weight crushing the air from Kidpinoy’s lungs.

"His cock," Grim grunted, watching the perpetual erection throb. "It never goes down. It is a testament to his cursed vitality. We must drain it completely."

The Fiend produced a small, cruel-looking device. "A ball pump. We’ll see how much air we can force into his precious sac before it bursts."

Kidpinoy’s scream this time was one of pure terror. He fought, a last, desperate flare of his indomitable will. His legs kicked weakly, his arms flailed, but he was pinned, a butterfly on a board. The Fiend attached the pump to his cockhead, and with a sickening creak, began to force air into his urethra and bladder.

The pain was beyond anything he had ever imagined. It was a deep, internal pressure that made him feel as if he were about to explode from the inside out. His cock, impossibly, grew even harder, the veins standing out like thick cords.

"Look at him!" Orbath’s voice sliced through the agony. "Even now, his spirit resists. But his body... his body sings for us. It is a symphony of submission."

The alien creature’s movements became more frantic. The pump was cranked again. Kidpinoy’s world dissolved into a kaleidoscope of agony and forced ecstasy. He felt a climax building, a supernova of sensation that promised to obliterate him.

"NOW!" Bolg bellowed.

The creature released inside him. The Fiend, seeing Kidpinoy’s body convulse, removed the pump and took the hero’s cock into his mouth, swallowing the violent, unstoppable eruption. Grim squeezed him, grinding his weight down.

Kidpinoy’s consciousness flickered. He was drowning in sensation, in filth, in the absolute loss of self. He felt his very essence, the sacred chi that made him Kidpinoy, being siphoned away, drawn out with each spurt of his seed, with each violation of his body.

They were not done.

They dragged his limp, trembling form from the crater. His one good eye was glazed, seeing nothing. His body, once a symbol of strength, was now a floppy, broken doll. They shaved his head with a jagged rock, pulling out clumps of hair and scalp. They shaved his armpits and pubes, laughing as they held up the tufts of hair like trophies.

"His strength is gone," Orbath declared, descending to stand before the broken hero. "His light is extinguished. All that is left is a vessel. An empty, used vessel."

They brought out a giant stone mortar and pestle. It was a crude, ancient tool of execution. They lifted Kidpinoy’s body and placed him inside it. His legs were splayed, his broken form fitting perfectly in the concave stone.

Bolg took the pestle. It was as thick as a tree trunk. He raised it high above his head, the heavy stone casting a shadow over Kidpinoy’s exposed, ruined body.

"The Filipino hero," Bolg announced to the silent, horrified city. "Bien Regalado. The man who was Kidpinoy. Let this be a lesson. There is no light. There is no hope. There is only us."

He brought the pestle down.

The impact was a wet, crunching explosion. Kidpinoy’s body was crushed into the stone. His legendary abs, his ribcage, his pelvis—all were pulverized in an instant. A final, choked scream was ripped from his throat, a sound of a soul being torn from its moorings. A geyser of blood, semen, and viscera erupted from the mortar, coating Bolg’s legs.

The pestle rose again. And again. And again.

Grinding him. Obliterating him. Turning the hero into a crimson, bone-strewn paste. With each impact, a last, pathetic spurt of fluid shot from the ruin of his groin, until there was nothing left to drain.

When Bolg finally stopped, panting, he looked down at the slurry in the mortar. There was no sign of the handsome, resolute hero. Only a wet, red mess.

But the desecration was not yet complete.

From the ruins of his home, they retrieved a tattered Philippine flag. They did not honor it. They bunched it into a ball and, with brutal force, stuffed it deep into the cavity of what was once Bien Regalado’s mouth, choking the last vestiges of air from his lungs.

Then, using chains forged in dark magic, they hoisted what was left of him into the air. He was not a body anymore, but a collection of broken parts held together by sinew and dark sorcery. They spread his arms and legs, chaining him to the highest wall of the city, a grotesque, broken crucifix against the bruised twilight sky.

Bolg stood before the assembled, weeping populace, his voice a triumphant, soul-crushing roar.

"BEHOLD YOUR CHAMPION! HIS LIGHT IS GONE! HIS HOPE IS ASH! THE PHILIPPINES IS ORC PROPERTY NOW! LET THIS BE THE FIRST OF MANY MONUMENTS TO OUR VICTORY!"

Below, the people screamed. Not in triumph, but in a collective, unending agony. The hero was dead. The light was gone. And the darkness, absolute and utter, had finally won.