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7
Zanika
He throwsme to the dusty ground. I glance around and see that I am in a courtyard. Among the decorated marble and palm trees I see a collection of what I can only describe as torture devices. I barely have time to even guess what any of them do when the massive, masked Anubis rips off the top part of my dress. My breasts bare, he takes me to a stockade. I have not seen one of these since I was a child. I struggle the best I can in my already weakened state, but it is no use against his size and strength. He forces my throat onto the curved wood, and when I refuse to put my hands in, he forces them into place as well.
He slams the stockade shut and I am left in the most vulnerable position I have ever been in, my ass up in the air, tits hanging out, and head and wrists securely fastened. I feel the bastard ripping off the rest of my dress, leaving me completely naked. He even rips off my mother’s medallion and disgustedly throws it into the dirt. My face turns red with anger as my body trembles with fear. He circles around to my front after giving my ass a quick slap with his open hand.
“It will learn to have no shame. It will learn to submit without question.”
This dude is off his fucking rocker. What the hell is he talking about ‘it’? I am a human being, and he is treating me like I’m an inanimate object that he can mold to his liking.
He walks over to a small kiln a few yards away. From the fire, he lifts a metal rod with the same brand I saw on many of the girls’ asses inside. I start shaking my head frantically.
“No, please don’t, please,” I beg him, but I already know that it is no use. I cannot see his expression beneath his black wooden dog mask, but I can see that my begging is making his cock hard. I almost throw up in my mouth thinking that I will have to be servicing that penis for the rest of my life or suffer the pains of violent torture.What have I possibly done to deserve this?I ask the god Ra in the sky. I stare up at his bright being and silently pray to him to let me get out of this somehow.
Time is almost moving in slow motion as tears well up in my eyes as I realize that I will have no choice but to submit. I will only be able to take so much pain. Everyone cracks at some point, and when I do, there will be no turning back. I weep for the person I used to be, for the future I once dreamed of having as a free, independent woman. I cry out in despair, salty tears filling my mouth as the false god reaches my position with his red-hot brand.
Out of the corner of my blurry vision I see movement. I see a large figure emerging from the darkness of the palace. The lump in my heart doubles as I think that another one of these fuckers has come out to join in the breaking of the new slave girl. Then, just as the heat of the poker starts to become unbearable on the skin of my backside, I see that it is not a cult member at all. It’s, it’s…
I realize now that I have gone insane. I am so weak that my mind is creating a delusion for me to escape into even before the torture has started. I blink my eyes wildly, trying to make the figure go away, but it won’t go away. I see Anubis. I see the lord of the dead, king of the underworld, carrying a flaming sword and storming in my direction. Not some cheap mask sewn onto a face, the actual fucking Anubis!
I hear the brand drop from fake Anubis’s hands with a clang onto the marble floor. I see the real Anubis lift the fake one by the throat against the wall. He looks at him and roars in his face, and a fiercer growl I have never heard in my life. He drops his flaming sword and brings his hand up to the mask of my torturer. He tears the stitched-on mask from fake Anubis’s face excruciatingly slowly, while staring directly into his face. The voice of the cult leader is no longer loud and booming, but more of a high-pitched shriek. One by one the stitches are torn from his face, blood staining the wall.
The mask ripped off completely, Anubis drops him to the ground. Half of his face has come off with the mask, which now lies on the ground beside him covered in blood and gore. Fake Anubis inadvertently pisses down his thighs when the real Anubis picks up his flaming sword and plunges it into his abdomen, slicing it open. The innards of the fake god slip out of his skin onto the dusty ground. He pathetically tries to control them and push them back in before he falls face first into the dirt, now sodden with blood.
The real Anubis turns to me and stares into my face for a long time. He does not look at my body but directly into my eyes. I see the rage in him subsiding and changing into something else. I’m not sure what it is exactly, but it does not make me feel scared. It makes me feel… safe.
He walks over and releases me from the stockade. He lifts my dress and hands it to me. I quickly put it back on the best I can, but it is difficult to cover yourself completely with a ripped dress. I pick up my medallion and clench it tightly in my hand.
The reality of the moment sets in as I stare into the eyes of the actual Anubis. This can be no one else. He looks exactly like every painting and statue of him I have ever seen, down to the royal-blue headdress. I feel nothing but supreme gratitude for this blood-soaked figure of death. When I look into his emerald-green eyes, I don’t see the gaze of a warrior, though; I see something else, something that makes me feel at ease.
Without saying a word, Anubis places his large hand on my cheek and brushes it gently. Then, as if waking from a dream, he snaps out of his stare and pulls his hand away swiftly. He turns around and walks off, leaving me standing among the torture devices and dead body of the man who tried to be a god. I pinch myself to see if I’m dreaming, but I don’t wake up. I still haven’t ruled out the going insane option, but all of this sure feels real. I can’t think of anything else to do other than follow him inside and see what else he has been up to about the palace. I hope he’s killed every last one of them.
