The one thing I want most, in the whole of the Lands, is to kill my father. To defeat him in epic single combat, prolonged and sweaty, before he dies in my arms, bleeding and bettered. Before an audience of kings and minstrels, of our lovers and wives, of our slaves and our scribes. For all to watch the death of Francis Crackerjack the Great Minotaur Hero at the hands of his son. For all to say that I was the greater warrior. For important historians to measure our dicks alongside each other and say that mine was the longest, the fattest, and stank of a manlier musk.
Above all desires and lusts I hold this. I long to butcher my ol' papa.
The biggest obstacle to this is that he died before I was born.
He died, as all Minotaurs do in their time, conceiving an only son. He died conceiving me. Absorbed, dissolved and digested by one of the dirty pussies that festooned the Tauriarch's rancid extradimensional carcass.
Haven't found a work around for this yet. Haven't yet found a way to kill someone who's existence inside linear time has never corresponded with my own. Haven't given up either.
Sometimes I think that must have been why I signed up to fight in the Idea Wars, y'know?
'Course, no cunt's got any fucking idea why they really signed up to fight in the Idea Wars. Once the Winning Side won and became the Only Side then all any Mind is capable of remembering is signing up out of a zealous belief in the ideas that won. That was what victory meant. The prize was absolute and retroactive. All I remember, all any of the troops can remember, is passionately subscribing to the Doctrines of the Shamans and Enchanters. I took the shilling and served my tours because I needed to make truth true.
But what if the real reason was that I thought I might meet my dad out there, you know? Outside of Linear Time, outside of 'Local Conceptual Space', far from these Lands of Lust and Pain. Across time, through simulation and simulacra, over the rainbow and through the wardrobe. Marching over those strange battlefields, soaked with blood and cerebral fluid. There, way out there in the greatest over there, I stood the best chance of meeting and killing my dead father.
Never worked out that way. It was a long shot, even if it was the shot I was taking.
The War ended. Consensus Reality was codified. And I came home to the Lands of Lust and Pain.
Spat out in Punctured Cityscape of Old Confidence, there to live for a handful of years amongst the kobald and bunnygirl tribes that abided in the ruins. Stayed there until my marriage broke down completely. So much of our relationship had been about being the power couple in our squad that it couldn’t survive the peace. Ours had been a wartime marriage. We parted from each other and departed from the home we’d tried to build in the Cityscape. I headed for Ligature. Vanessa went back to the sea.
The desert kingdom of Ligature proved perfect for me. I roared at the land and the land roared back, meeting my savagery. Maybe I’ll look back on Ligature as my glory days, as a time when I was free to express my most bestial and carnal nature and to receive the maximum satisfaction from doing so. Previously I’d been an adventurer, a soldier, and a husband. In Ligature I was just a fucking huge Minotaur.
Across the rolling dunes and from glittering Oasis to nefarious souk, I lived day to day, making ends meet as a mercenary, a bodyguard, a slaver, a warlord, or a very unsubtle assassin. Probably killed twice as many people in Ligature as I did during the war. Four times as many if you count all the sluts I fucked to death with my massive cock. Barely a waking hour passed without me spilling blood or shooting cum, and my renown and prestige grew.
Could have lived like that forever. Except you can't live live that forever. I loved doing sidequests and side hustles, being the muscle. Being a hero to the people I'd helped and a monster to my victims. Being loved and feared in every café and fighting pit. After ten years I was a local legend in every locality in the Ligature and, once that's you, then you either have to stop being a local legend and become something bigger or find a new locality. I'd out-levelled the area. Rutt the Minotaur loved busting skulls for drug dealers and whoremongers, or protecting small communities from bad guys and packs of monsters, but Rutt the Minotaur had got to the point where Rutt was just too big a deal to hire for shit like that. You can't walk into a negotiation with your muscle being the guy who saved Oasis-48 from the Cancer Genies, or who famously raped every member of both beach volleyball teams while they were playing in last years thrilling cup final. That's overkill. It send the wrong message.
I was no longer the guy for the shit I wanted to be the guy for. I was too big a guy. Always my fucking problem.
It was time to head for somewhere where I wasn't so big. Signed up to guard a merchant caravan heading to Forfeiture's capital. I was unknown there. Could start again from the ground up. Forfeiture was a more orderly, legislated kingdom that the chaotic alliance of Oasis-States that made up Ligature so I didn't expect to fit in quite so well, but I needed new adventures. My choice was either leave and carry on being a thug, or stay and find myself becoming a Prince.
So the journey to Forfeiture was to make me smaller. It worked too well. British Robots from nine galaxies away attacked the merchants I was paid to protect. They slaughtered them all and forced me to flee in shame from an enemy of such a higher power level that I was put to shame. Worse yet, as I ran from the massacre, I glanced upon an oppai loli slave bitch who was somehow killing one of the monsters that had defeated me.
I'd never felt smaller or weaker.
Staggering wounded, broken and exhausted over the Forfeiture/Ligature border into the village of Spetlamu, I promised myself that the next people I saw I would murder and fuck. I hadn't actually stuck my wanger up a girlie since previous year's beach volleyball final, but the next cunt I saw was getting it hard without mercy or restraint.
By the time I'd reached the Lever family's farmhouse, I'd calmed myself a little. Enough to restrain myself a moment or two before getting straight down to cathartic slaughter and fatal sexual assault.
Those few moments were all Tatiana Lever needed to take my dick in her hands and pleasure it better than anything had since Vanessa's tentacles.
I didn't understand it then but, but the time I'd jizzed three times all over her appealing face, butter-blonde curls, and 36J slutbags something else had happened for the first time since Vanessa. I'd fallen in love.
