Butchering of DragonKid #4

Act I: The Ash of Manila’s Gate

The sky over the wasteland just outside Manila did not weep; it burned. For twenty-four hours, the horizon had been a strobing furnace of golden draconic fire and violet demonic lightning. The soil, once fertile coastal clay, was now a glassed, smoking crater-scape, choked with the charred, rotting carcasses of tens of thousands of low-tier demon thralls. They lay in mountainous piles—rent apart, decapitated, dissolved by holy chi.

In the center of this apocalyptic charnel house stood Dragonkid.

For over two decades, he had been the indomitable aegis of the Philippines. Handsome, flawless, possessed of a sculpted golden-brown physique that seemed carved from divine marble, his very presence was a promise of safety. His long, black-and-gold hair, usually floating majestically in the updraft of his infinite chi, now hung in matted, blood-soaked clumps over his face.

He was entirely nude.

His legendary dragon-scale armor—an organic extension of his skin that had deflected artillery shells and elder-demon blades alike—hung in tattered, peeling remnants. Thick, golden-red blood dripped from his broad chest, his washboard abs, and his powerful thighs. Yet, despite the exhaustion that threatened to liquefy his bones, his stance remained unbroken. His chest heaved, his heavy breaths drawing in the sulfurous, ash-choked air.

"Is... is that all?" Dragonkid’s voice, a rich, resonant baritone that had once calmed millions during typhoons and monster invasions, was now raspy, raw from screaming battle cries for a day straight. He spat a mouthful of dark, viscous golden blood onto the scorched earth. "I have... slain your legions, Ocarius. Come out... and face the protector of this land."

A low, vibrating rumble shook the glassed earth. It wasn't the sound of an earthquake; it was a laugh. A wet, slithering, mocking sound that seemed to come from every direction at once.

From the thick, purple smog of the demonic rift, four figures emerged.

At the front was a nightmare made flesh. Lord Ocarius had changed. Once, he had been a pathetic, bloated, balding human—a disgraced former professor of occult studies whose jealousy of Dragonkid’s perfection had driven him to strike deals with the deep hells. In those days, he was a fat, ugly joke, easily thrashed and sent scurrying back into the shadows. But now, the dark pacts had matured.

Ocarius had transformed into a towering, half-man, half-snake monstrosity. His upper torso was a mass of corded, ash-gray, demonically infused muscle, but his face was a sickening blend of his former sneering, chubby human visage and a hooded king cobra. His lower body was a massive, thirty-foot coil of iridescent black and violet scales that dragged along the ground with a sickening, heavy slither. His yellow, slit-pupil eyes burned with centuries of accumulated malice and petty, vindictive triumph.

Beside him stood his three deadly serpent generals:

Anak, a hulking, nine-foot humanoid python with shoulders broader than a doorway, his arms ending in massive, crushing talons, his tongue flickering constantly.

Boa, the slender, sickeningly beautiful male serpent demon whose skin dripped with oily, glistening secretions. His eyes were heavy, bedroom-lidded, and his lips were curled into a perpetual, mocking pout. He was the master of poisons, his very breath a haze of mind-melting aphrodisiacs.

And Cobra, the terrifying, multi-headed serpent fiend, whose three distinct hoods hissed in a chaotic, overlapping chorus of mockery.

"Look at him," Ocarius hissed, his voice a grating, wet baritone that carried the weight of a thousand dying souls. "Look at the great 'Aegis of the Orient.' The 'Unbeaten Champion.' Look at you, Dragonkid. You look less like a god and more like a slaughtered hog waiting for the butcher’s hook."

"You... transformed yourself into a worm, Ocarius," Dragonkid snarled, trying to summon the golden chi to his fists. He took a step forward, but his knees buckled. A sharp, agonizing spasm shot through his lower abdomen.

Boa giggled, a high-pitched, effeminate sound that made Dragonkid’s stomach churn. "Oh, look, Lord Ocarius! The little dragon thinks he can still fly. Tell me, hero... how does your blood feel? Is it hot? Is it... boiling?"

Dragonkid gasped, his hand flying to his crotch. To his absolute horror, despite his catastrophic physical exhaustion, his thick, heavy, nine-inch dragon-shaft—normally flaccid and tucked away beneath his spiritual armor—was brutally, unnaturally erect. It was rock-hard, throbbing with a violent, purplish-golden hue, and from the slit, a steady, thick stream of glowing, pearlescent semen was slowly leaking, dripping onto his scraped knees.

"What... what did you do to me?" Dragonkid gasped, his vision swimming. The air he had been breathing for the last three hours wasn't just ash—it was laced with Boa's signature Wyrm-Lust toxin.

"Do to you?" Boa slithered closer, his smooth, scaled hand reaching out to cheekily pat Dragonkid’s sweat-slicked cheek. Dragonkid tried to bite him, but Boa easily snatched his hand back, laughing. "I merely unlocked your potential, sweetie. You’ve kept that magnificent, virile body so pure, haven't you? Twenty years of celibacy. 'I must preserve my essence for my one true love,' you whispered to the cameras. Well, my poison turns that precious, hoarded chi into pure, unadulterated, overflowing lust. Your dragon heart is pumping all your remaining life force straight to your cock. Every drop of sweat, every breath, now feeds your erection. You are literally bleeding your power away through your own desire."

"S-Silence, demon!" Dragonkid roared, trying to swing a heavy, golden-infused fist at Boa.

But before the blow could land, Anak, the giant python-demon, moved with blinding speed. His massive, taloned hand clamped around Dragonkid’s throat, lifting the 220-pound hero off the ground as if he were a ragdoll. Dragonkid’s legs kicked uselessly in the air, his hard, leaking shaft swaying pathetically between his muscular thighs.

"Let... go of... me..." Dragonkid choked out, his hands clawing at Anak’s iron grip.

"He's so light now," Anak rumbled, his deep voice vibrating through Dragonkid’s chest. "Where is that infinite strength, 'protector'? I remember when you threw me into a mountain three years ago. Now, you’re just a shivering, naked little worm."

Ocarius slithered forward, his massive coils wrapping around Anak's legs, elevating his ugly, half-snake face until he was eye-to-eye with the choking hero. He reached out with a long, clawed finger, tracing the line of Dragonkid’s jaw down to his collarbone, digging his sharp nail into the flesh until golden blood welled up.

"Twenty years, Dragonkid," Ocarius whispered, his breath smelling of rotted meat and venom. "Twenty years of you placing your boot on my neck. Twenty years of the public laughing at me while they worshiped your flawless, handsome face. 'The savior of Manila,' they called you. 'The golden boy.' They wrote songs about you. They made statues of you. And now... look at you. You are completely bare. Your secret is out."

Ocarius’s yellow eyes drifted down to the throbbing, leaking erection.

"We always wondered how a mere mortal could possess such infinite stamina, such unbreakable skin," Cobra’s three heads hissed in unison. "The ancient texts spoke of the Divine Dragon’s Seed. The source of your invincibility isn't your spirit, hero... it's your semen. Your absolute celibacy was a tactical choice. The moment you spill your seed, your divine chi spills with it. And you’ve kept it locked away in those heavy, scaled dragon balls of yours for over two decades."

Dragonkid’s eyes widened in genuine terror. For the first time in his life, fear—cold, paralyzing fear—gripped his heart. They knew. The deepest, most guarded secret of his lineage, the vulnerability he had guarded with his very life, was laid bare.

"No..." Dragonkid whispered, his voice trembling. "Please..."

"Did the great Dragonkid just say 'please'?" Ocarius mocked, his face splitting into a wide, jagged grin, revealing rows of black, venom-dripping fangs. "Oh, the feast hasn't even begun, and you're already begging? No, no, no. We are going to dismantle you, piece by piece. We are going to strip away every single thing that made you a 'hero.' And then, we are going to milk you dry."

Act II: The Butchering of the Dragon

Anak slammed Dragonkid face-first into the glassed earth. The impact shattered the remaining remnants of his chest-scales, leaving his bare, muscular chest raw and bleeding against the hot, jagged stone. Before he could recover, Anak placed a massive, scaled foot on the small of Dragonkid’s back, pinning him down effortlessly.

"Hold him," Ocarius commanded.

Boa slithered over, landing gracefully beside Dragonkid’s head. With a cruel sneer, he grabbed Dragonkid’s long, luxurious hair, pulling his head back brutally so his face was exposed.

"Cry for us, handsome," Boa whispered, tapping Dragonkid’s nose. "Let the world hear those pretty lips scream."

Ocarius slithered close, his heavy shadow falling over the supine hero. "You think you're still a dragon? Let's strip away those pretenses. A dragon has claws. A dragon has fangs. Let's see how you look without them."

Ocarius grabbed Dragonkid’s left hand. Dragonkid’s fingers ended in sharp, golden, draconic nails—claws that could rend titanium.

"No! Stop!" Dragonkid thrashed, but Anak’s foot dug deeper into his spine, cracking his ribs.

Ocarius pinched the base of Dragonkid’s thumb-claw with his thick, black-scaled fingers. With a sudden, brutal twist, he ripped the golden claw straight out of the flesh.

A high-pitched, agonizing shriek tore from Dragonkid’s throat—a sound so raw and painful it echoed across the wasteland. Golden, glowing blood geysered from the raw, pink nail bed.

"Oh, yes! That's the sound!" Ocarius cackled, tossing the bloody claw into the dirt like a piece of trash. "Twenty years of frustration, washed away by a single scream! Again!"

Rip.

Another claw was torn free. Dragonkid’s body convulsed, his back arching off the ground despite Anak’s weight.

Rip. Rip. Rip.

One by one, Ocarius systematically butchered the hero’s hands. The once-beautiful, powerful hands that had saved thousands were now a mangled, dripping mess of torn skin and exposed bone, weeping golden blood into the ash.

"Please... I beg of you... no more..." Dragonkid gasped, his eyes tearing up, his spirit beginning to fracture under the sheer intensity of the physical and psychological torment.

"He's begging! He's actually begging!" Cobra’s heads hissed, snapping their jaws in delight. "The unbeatable hero is a crying little bitch!"

"We're not done, little lizard," Ocarius sneered. He reached down and forced Dragonkid’s mouth open, shoving his thick, scaled fingers past his lips. Dragonkid tried to bite down, but Ocarius’s demonic hide was too thick. With a tight grip, Ocarius clamped onto Dragonkid’s elongated, golden dragon fangs—the symbols of his royal heritage.

With a sickening, wet crack, Ocarius wrenched the left fang out. Dragonkid choked on his own blood, his body thrashing violently. Ocarius didn't pause; he grabbed the right fang and ripped it out as well, tossing both teeth into the dirt.

"Look at those pretty gums, all bloody and empty," Boa teased, rubbing his oily fingers over Dragonkid’s torn lips, smeary golden blood across his cheeks like grotesque makeup. "You're not a dragon anymore. You're just a broken, toothless little toy."

"And now, for the crown jewel of your draconic pride," Ocarius muttered, his yellow eyes shifting to the back of Dragonkid’s waist.

There, protruding from his lower spine, was his powerful, golden-scaled dragon tail. It was a limb of immense power, capable of shattering boulders and maintaining his perfect martial balance. Now, it lay limp, twitching occasionally in response to the agonizing pain racked through his body.

Ocarius grabbed the base of the tail with both of his massive, demonic hands. He coiled his lower snake-body deep into the earth for leverage.

"This is going to hurt, 'hero,'" Ocarius grinned. "But don't worry. We're going to put it to good use."

"No... no, anything but that... please! Ocarius!" Dragonkid cried out, his voice cracking, his proud demeanor completely shattered. He wept openly now, his tears mixing with the blood and grime on his face. "Please, spare my tail! I'll do anything! Please!"

"Anything?" Ocarius mocked, his grip tightening. "A bit too late for bargains, champion. Your reign is over."

With a guttural roar, Ocarius pulled.

The sound that followed was horrific—a wet, tearing sound of muscle, sinew, and bone being violently separated from the spine. Dragonkid let out a scream so loud, so filled with absolute, primal agony, that his vocal cords partially ruptured, ending in a wet, choking gasp.

With a final, brutal yank, the tail was ripped completely free. A torrential spray of golden dragon blood erupted from the gaping, ragged wound at the base of his spine. Dragonkid’s eyes rolled back, his body going limp as he slipped to the verge of unconsciousness.

"Wake up!" Boa hissed, slapping Dragonkid hard across his face, his stinging, toxic secretions forcing the hero’s eyes to snap open, filled with agonizing awareness. "You don't get to sleep through this, darling. The fun is just beginning."

Ocarius held the severed, five-foot golden dragon tail in his hands. It was still twitching, the muscular reflex alive even if severed. The golden scales glistened in the dim, purple light of the wasteland.

"Anak, flip him over," Ocarius ordered.

Anak grabbed Dragonkid by his muscular shoulders and flipped him onto his back. The hero lay there, completely exposed, his chest a bloody mess, his hands dripping gold, his mouth a ruined cavern of blood. And there, standing in stark, humiliating contrast, was his hard, throbbing shaft, still leaking the pearlescent dragon essence.

"Look at this magnificent sword," Ocarius sneered, poking Dragonkid’s erect cock with the tip of his newly severed tail. "Still standing proud, even when its master is broken. Let's see how much pressure it takes to make this fountain erupt."

Ocarius knelt down, his massive, coiled snake body looming over Dragonkid’s spread thighs. He took the thick, scaled base of Dragonkid’s own severed tail and coated it in the glistening, aphrodisiac-laced spit of Boa.

"You've never known the touch of another, have you, Dragonkid?" Ocarius whispered lewdly, his voice dripping with malice. "You wanted to save yourself for marriage? Let your enemy be your bride. Let your own flesh violate you."

"No... God, please, no..." Dragonkid whimpered, his hands twitching uselessly, unable to defend himself.

Ocarius didn't hesitate. With brutal, unyielding force, he thrust the thick, scaled base of the severed dragon tail deep into Dragonkid’s tight, virgin rear.

The violation was absolute. Dragonkid’s back arched so violently his spine made a sickening popping sound. A muffled, strangled scream died in his throat as the rough, golden scales of his own tail scraped against his inner walls, tearing the delicate tissue and forcing them to stretch to their absolute limits.

"Oh, look how tight he is!" Boa squeeled, clenching his hands in excitement. "The virgin hero! He's taking his own tail so well!"

Ocarius began to pump the tail in and out, utilizing it as a crude, massive dildo. Each thrust was deep, violent, and utterly devoid of mercy. The rough scales acted like a rasp inside him, but the agonizing pain was instantly warped by Boa’s poison, sending jagged, electric shocks of unwanted, overwhelming pleasure directly to his prostate.

"Agh! Ah! No! Stop... please... it hurts... it feels... no!" Dragonkid screamed, his mind fracturing as his body betrayed him. The unnatural, forced arousal was too strong. His erection throbbed violently, turning a deep, angry crimson-gold.

"Look at his balls!" Cobra’s left head hissed, pointing a scaled snout at the hero's groin. "They're covered in tiny, golden scales! Just like the legends said! His 'sacred dragon balls' are swollen, packed to the brim with twenty years of pure, undiluted chi-semen!"

"Let's squeeze them," Anak grinned, his massive, taloned hand reaching down. He cupped the heavily scaled, grapefruit-sized testicles of the hero, squeezing them crude and hard.

Dragonkid let out a high-pitched whine, his hips bucking instinctually against the tail violating his rear. "N-No! Don't touch them! Ah! The chi... it's burning!"

"Squeeze harder, Anak!" Ocarius commanded, keeping up the brutal rhythm of the tail-thrusts. "Let him spill! Let the god bleed!"

Anak squeezed with bone-crushing force. The pressure on his scaled testicles, combined with the deep, violating friction of the tail inside him, was too much. The mental and physical thresholds of Dragonkid’s legendary endurance collapsed.

"I'm... I'm going to... no! I can't! If I cum... I'll lose... everything!" Dragonkid sobbed, trying to hold back the tide of his own energy.

"Cum for us, hero!" Boa mocked, leaning down to lick the sweat from Dragonkid’s neck. "Give us your soul! Spill your godhood into the dirt!"

"Cum, you pathetic little lizard!" Ocarius roared, delivering one final, devastating thrust of the tail.

Dragonkid’s eyes went completely white. A low, vibrating hum, like a dying star, echoed from deep within his chest.

SPLURT.

With a violent, convulsive spasm, Dragonkid ejaculated.

It wasn't normal semen. It was a thick, glowing, blindingly bright golden liquid that shot feet into the air, pulsing with immense spiritual pressure. The sheer volume was staggering—a torrential, endless geyser of pure, condensed dragon chi that had been hoarded for twenty-two years of celibate training.

"Yes! Look at it fly!" Cobra hissed, his heads darting forward to catch the golden spray in their open jaws.

"It's so sweet!" Boa moaned, catching the glowing semen in his hands and rubbing it over his own face and chest, his skin instantly absorbing the radiant, stolen power. "It's like drinking liquid sun!"

Anak didn't stop squeezing, milking the scaled testicles like a farmer milking a cow, forcing wave after wave of the golden essence to erupt from the weeping, twitching shaft of the broken hero.

Dragonkid lay there, his body twitching in a state of continuous, forced ruin. Every time he ejaculated, he could feel his strength—his legendary invincibility, his speed, his very soul—being ripped out of him. His golden-brown skin began to lose its lustrous glow, turning pale and ash-gray. The remaining scales on his body began to wither and flake off like dead leaves.

"More!" Ocarius demanded, pulling the bloody, semen-slicked tail out of Dragonkid’s rear with a wet pop, only to thrust it back in even harder. "Don't let him stop! Milk him until his balls are dry shriveled prunes!"

"Ah! Ah! Ah!" Dragonkid shrieked, his voice completely ruined, reduced to a wet, pathetic rattle. He was being raped by his own body part, forced to ejaculate his divine essence into the mouths of his worst enemies.

He was no longer a hero. He was a farm animal. A breeding stud being systematically drained of his life's blood.

Act III: The Great Feast of the Horde

Hours passed in the wasteland, but for Dragonkid, time had lost all meaning.

The sun had set, and the sky was now a dark, bruised purple, lit only by the glowing pools of golden semen that littered the glassed earth. The demonic horde had gathered. Hundreds of lesser snake-fiends, succubi, and imp-lords slithered and crawled around the clearing, watching their masters desecrate the fallen savior of humanity.

Dragonkid was a shadow of his former self. His muscular physique had shrunk, the definition fading as his chi-rich muscle mass was digested by the demons. His hands were raw, blackening stumps. His mouth was a hollow, swollen ruin.

Yet, Boa’s poison kept him alive, kept his heart beating, and kept his cock perpetually, agonizingly hard.

He was currently suspended on a crude wooden cross, his arms bound by heavy, spiked iron chains that bit deep into his torn wrists. His legs were pulled wide apart, tied to heavy iron pegs driven into the ground, completely exposing his ruined groin and bleeding rear to the mocking gazes of the demonic army.

Ocarius sat on a throne of cracked skulls, his massive snake tail coiled beneath him. He looked younger, his skin smoother, his demonic muscles pulsing with a radiant, stolen golden aura. The dragon's essence had empowered him beyond his wildest dreams.

"Tell me, Dragonkid," Ocarius sneered, swirling a golden goblet filled with the hero's fresh semen. "How does it feel to know that your twenty years of 'purity' served only to make you the ultimate meal? If you had just slept with some human girl, your power would have dissipated slowly. But you kept it condensed. You made yourself a perfect, concentrated potion of godhood. And now, my generals and I are immortal."

Dragonkid’s head hung low, his matted hair obscuring his face. He didn't answer. He didn't have the strength to speak. His throat was coated in dry blood and dried, sticky semen.

"Quiet, are we?" Boa slithered up the cross, wrapping his slender, scaled body around Dragonkid’s chest, squeezing the remaining air out of his lungs. He leaned in, whispering in the hero's ear. "Your little fans in Manila are waiting for you, sweetie. They've been watching the broadcast. Did we mention we're streaming this? Yes! The entire world is watching their 'invincible' hero get used like a common whore."

A spark of desperate, pathetic anger flared in Dragonkid’s eyes. He looked up, his gaze landing on a floating, violet-glowing demonic eye hovering nearby—a scrying orb broadcasting his degradation to every screen in the Philippines.

"No..." Dragonkid croaked, a single tear cutting a clean line through the dried blood on his cheek. "Please... turn it off... don't let them see..."

"Oh, but they must see!" Cobra’s heads cackled, slithering up his legs. One of Cobra’s heads wrapped its jaws around Dragonkid’s flaccid, bleeding ear, biting down hard enough to tear the lobe. "They need to know that their god is dead. That there is no salvation. Only the Horde."

Anak walked over, holding a heavy, iron bucket. Inside were crude, rusted pliers and a butcher's knife.

"Lord Ocarius," Anak rumbled. "The human black market syndicates have contacted us. They are offering billions of dollars for pieces of the dragon. The cultists want his remaining scales. The rich want his skin for coats. The underground arenas want his bones."

Ocarius smiled, a sickening, wide stretch of his snake-like lips. "Sell them. But save the head. I want his head mounted on my palace gates. But first... strip him. Clean him of anything of value."

Anak nodded, a cruel grin spreading across his face. He grabbed the pliers.

For the next three hours, the wasteland was filled with the sound of Dragonkid’s choked, muffled screams.

Anak took the pliers and began to peel the remaining golden scales from Dragonkid’s thighs, his waist, and chest. Each scale was deeply rooted in his nerves; pulling them out was equivalent to flaying him alive. The lesser demons cheered, scrambling in the dirt to catch the discarded scales, fighting over them like rabid dogs.

Next came his skin. With the butcher's knife, Anak made shallow, precise cuts along Dragonkid’s shoulders and back, peeling away sheets of the golden-brown skin, leaving raw, red, pulsating muscle exposed to the elements.

Yet, throughout the entire process, Boa ensured the hero stayed conscious. He kept dripping his toxic saliva into the raw wounds, the burning sensation of the venom mixing with the excruciating pain, keeping Dragonkid’s nervous system in a state of hyper-active, white-hot agony.

And his erection remained. It was a grotesque joke—a raw, skinless, throbbing pillar of flesh, constantly leaking the last, desperate drops of his life force.

"Look at his balls now," Boa laughed, pointing to the heavily bruised, scaled testicles that were now drooping pathetically, nearly empty of their divine treasure. "They look like deflated leather bags. Let's give them one last squeeze, Anak. Let's see if we can get the very last drop of his soul."

Anak grabbed Dragonkid’s scrotum, twisting it brutally.

Dragonkid didn't even have the breath to scream. His body gave a weak, pathetic twitch.

Drip. Drip.

Two tiny, glowing golden drops plat-platted into the dirt.

The divine spark of the Dragonkid was officially gone. The infinite stamina was depleted. The invincibility was shattered. He was now nothing more than a mangled, skinless, toothless pile of meat, barely kept alive by demonic magic.

"Excellent," Ocarius rose from his throne, his massive coils untangling as he slid down to the base of the cross. "He is ready. Bring him to Manila. Let us show the sheep what became of their shepherd."

Act IV: The Desecration of Manila

The heart of Manila was silent.

The bustling metropolis, usually vibrant and loud, was a tomb. The streets of Rizal Park, once filled with families and vendors, were now packed with thousands of terrified, weeping citizens, forced at spear-point by legions of demon soldiers to gather around the central monument.

The great bronze statue of Dragonkid, which had stood proud in the center of the park for fifteen years, had been pulled down. In its place, a massive wooden platform had been erected.

At the front of the platform stood Lord Ocarius, his massive snake body glistening under the harsh, artificial lights of the television cameras. Beside him, his generals held a long, thick chain.

At the end of the chain, crawling on all fours like a dog, was Dragonkid.

The crowd let out a collective, gasping sob. Many looked away, covering their children's eyes. Some fell to their knees, praying to gods that had seemingly abandoned them.

The creature crawling on the wooden stage was unrecognizable.

He was completely naked, his body covered in raw, red, flayed patches where his skin and scales had been harvested. His hands were bound in heavy iron mitts to hide his clawless, mangled fingers. His mouth was swollen shut, dried blood sealing his lips, but those who looked closely could see the sunken cheeks where his legendary fangs had been violently ripped out.

At the back of his waist, a gaping, black-and-red hole marked where his magnificent tail had once been.

And, in the ultimate, crowning act of public humiliation, Boa’s poison still coursed through his veins. His raw, bruised, and swollen shaft was still held in a state of unnatural, painful erection, dripping weak, watery fluid onto the wooden planks as he was dragged forward.

"Citizens of Manila!" Ocarius’s voice boomed through the city’s emergency broadcast speakers, shaking the very glass of the skyscrapers. "Behold your god! Behold your savior!"

He yanked the chain. Dragonkid was pulled forward, his face slamming into the wooden stage. He groaned, a pathetic, muffled sound that was picked up by the microphones and broadcasted to millions.

"For twenty years, you bowed to this... this insect!" Ocarius sneered, kicking Dragonkid in his exposed, raw ribs. The hero gasped, coughing up a weak puddle of dark, normal red blood—the gold of his divinity completely gone. "You thought he was unbeatable! You thought he was pure! Look at him! Look how eagerly he took his own tail! Look how easily he gave up his 'sacred seed' to us!"

Boa slithered forward, grabbing Dragonkid by his hair and lifting his face so the cameras could get a close-up of his hollow, tear-streaked eyes.

"He fought so hard to keep his virginity," Boa mocked, his voice dripping with honeyed venom. "But in the end, he was just a greedy little whore. He couldn't help but cum for us, over and over again, until there was nothing left. Tell them, Dragonkid. Tell your people how much you loved it."

"P-Please..." Dragonkid’s voice was a barely audible whisper, but the microphone caught it. "Just... kill me... end it..."

The crowd wept. The despair in the park was so thick it was palpable, a delicious, intoxicating feast for the demonic horde.

"Kill you?" Ocarius laughed, a booming, terrifying sound. "Oh no, my dear 'hero.' Death is too merciful for a failure like you. You are going to live. You are going to live in a cage, at the entrance of my new palace. Every day, the survivors of this city will walk past you. They will see their protector, skinless, toothless, and bound, acting as a footstool for my generals."

Ocarius turned to the crowd, his yellow snake eyes burning with absolute, uncontested dominance.

"The age of heroes is over!" he roared, raising his clawed hand, which pulsed with the stolen, golden light of Dragonkid's chi. "The age of the Horde has begun!"

He brought his foot down, stamping hard onto Dragonkid’s raw, flayed back.

The once-invincible champion of the Philippines lay crushed beneath the boot of a demon, his body broken, his spirit annihilated, his pride forever dragged through the dirt. The golden light of Manila had gone out, leaving nothing but the long, dark shadow of the serpent.