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The torches in the common cell sputtered with a rancid smell, a mixture of low-quality animal fat and the accumulated sweat of fifty men condemned to die.
Varka, the titan of Mondstadt, the mercenary whose mere presence could quiet even the noisiest taverns in the north, sat on a limestone block that oozed an icy dampness.
The metal of the shackles that bound his wrists was thick, forged from iron that had already begun to corrode his skin. He wore only a subligaculum, the minimal garment of coarse linen that barely covered his groin and was fastened around his broad hips with cracked leather straps.
His muscles, sculpted by frontier battles and tests of survival in the most dangerous forests and cities, gleamed in the flickering light, revealing a monumental physique that stirred murmurs among the other captives.
Anyone who saw the scars on his rough skin would think the same: he had escaped death's clutches more times than he could count. Varka was proud of every single one of them. They made him the warrior he was.
Beside him, a veteran gladiator with tanned skin and circular scars across his torso watched him with weary eyes. His name was Castor, a man who had survived three summers in the arena of that cursed city.
"If you keep pulling the chain like that, you'll only get your fingers broken by the guards before you even set foot in the arena, stranger," Castor said, speaking with a dying monotone, as if dragging out the words because his tongue was heavy. "Brute strength won't save you from the whip here."
"I don't belong in this rat's den," Varka growled, his strong, determined voice echoing off the dungeon walls. "I was ambushed on the way." My men were massacred in our sleep. I am not a slave, I am a free man. They will not chain me forever. I will get out of here, and then I will kill all these damned wretches.
"We were all something before the empire's galleys dragged us to Natlan or the east," another warrior chimed in, a colossus named Theron, whose thighs and calves were as wide as oak trunks. "Now you're just circus fodder. If you want to keep your head on your shoulders, I suggest you swallow your pride and bend your knees when the lanista enters that door. Believe me, you don't want to be considered a rebellious pet."
"My sword has brought down feudal captains and monsters of the steppes," Varka retorted, narrowing his pale eyes, fixed on the dark corridor. "I will not kneel before men who hide their faces behind bronze helmets and leather whips." The moment I have an iron blade in my hand, I'll slit their throats.
"That's what everyone says on the first day," Castor sighed, stretching out his arms, covered in thick veins and burn scars. "But the sand swallows words fast. If you try to attack the guards, they'll impale you with ten spears from behind the bars. You won't see the sun. Obey now. Win your battles. Only the living have a chance of escaping this empire of death and ash."
"Obey?" Varka let out a dry, contemptuous laugh. "I've lived by my own rules for as long as I can remember. My body doesn't move to the tune of a master's commands."
"It will if you want to see your mountains again." Theron stepped closer, letting the light illuminate his chest, covered in thick hair and welts from whippings. "This city is no ordinary fiefdom. It's ruled by a bloodline of cold-blooded demons. The emperor and his six princes." They all feed on the pain generated in the arena. If you show weakness or excessive defiance before the game, they'll throw you to the beasts without giving you a weapon. Is this how the great mercenary of the north wants to die? As food for the wolves in the pit?
Varka remained silent for a moment.
He himself had heard many rumors about the rulers of that place. It was never in his plans to get so close, much less to be one of the many warriors trapped by their power.
Unfortunately for him, there was no escape when he found himself surrounded by a hundred armed men who then dragged him away from his freedom. His entire life had been free, from birth until that moment.
It was an unforgivable oversight that landed him there.
To be treated like a slave.
But Varka knew he wouldn't stay in that place forever. The shackles would eventually break, and when they did, he would have his chance.
"Tell me about that family," Varka demanded, relaxing the tension in his arms for the first time, though his fists were still clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. "If I'm going to play their game, I need to know whose head I'm supposed to cut off when the time comes."
“The six princes are butchers,” Castor explained in a whisper, glancing at the gates of the corridor to make sure no sentries were nearby. “The five eldest are iron giants, strategists who lead legions and sometimes descend into the arena just for the pleasure of dismembering champions. They are strong, ruthless, and loud. They are worthy sons of their father, the emperor. But they are not the worst.”
“Is there anyone worse than a bloodthirsty giant?” Varka asked skeptically. In his entire life, he had fought all kinds of monsters. And he was certain that the big ones were always the worst. The ones he had to behead from the start before they crushed him.
However, a couple of times he had to deal with another kind of man. Ones who didn't possess brute strength or large muscles. Ones who were calmer and used their brains instead of their fists.
“The youngest,” Theron replied, a shiver running down his broad shoulders. “Prince Lohen. He’s the sixth son. If you saw him in the royal box, you’d think he was a fragile creature, a delicate youth draped in silks and jewels. His skin is so pale he looks as if he’s never seen the sun, and his hands are as delicate as a cupbearer’s. But he’s a viper that coils around his enemies’ chests before they even feel the poison.”
“A viper is still something I can crush with my boot,” Varka said, straightening his back.
“Don’t be foolish,” Castor warned, grabbing him roughly by the shoulder. “His brothers use the axe and the sword; Lohen uses his mind and intrigue. They say he’s had entire generals executed with just a whisper in the emperor’s ear. He watches the gladiators with the hunger of a collector searching for a piece for his purposes.” If his gaze falls upon you, pray to your gods, for your destiny will no longer be yours.
"We'll see if his poison can penetrate my skin," Varka concluded, closing his eyes to focus on the distant creak of the arena gates beginning to open. "The person capable of bringing me down has yet to be born. And the princes of this cursed city will be no exception. Not even that Lohen fellow. I will run him through with my sword as soon as I have the chance."
Castor and Thoren exchanged a glance. The older man shrugged and gave up. There was no point in continuing to heap warnings on someone who chose to ignore them. Perhaps that man with enormous muscles, blond hair, and blue eyes was stronger than they thought. Perhaps this was the opportunity they had been waiting for all this time.
They would only have to wait and let time decide Varka's fate.
[…]
The days of confinement passed quickly. Varka, guided by his instincts and the serious advice of the other gladiators, decided to appear submissive at first. He suppressed the burning rage that coursed through his veins and allowed himself to be trained like any other slave.
That didn't stop him from attracting suspicious glances from the guards and the lords.
Or from the other gladiators.
His origins were no secret to anyone. His history. How he had fought in more than one army for a few coins as a mercenary. Also, all the blood that had slipped through his fingers. For this reason, people didn't usually trust him so blindly. No. Everyone there was on alert, despite his apparent submission. They were waiting for the moment he would explode and tear them all apart without remorse.
Even so, they couldn't stop the activities in the arena. And since the news had spread that he had been captured and was now nothing more than a slave trapped on the battlefield to entertain the wealthy, they didn't seem to want to miss the opportunity to exhibit him, as if he were just a wild animal.
And so the great day arrived.
The crash shook the wooden beams of the hypogeum.
The midday light fell like a golden axe blow upon Varka's blue eyes as the heavy iron grating rose with a clanking of chains.
The air of the battlefield was saturated with sand, marble dust, and the metallic, insistent smell of blood spilled in the preliminary fighting. Thousands of voices roared from the stands, a shapeless mass of senators dressed in white wool togas striped with purple, commoners in raw linen, and imperial guards in bronze breastplates that glittered under the relentless Natlan sun.
Varka advanced with a determined stride, feeling the hot sand between the toes of his bare feet. In his right hand, he wielded a heavy gladius, a short, double-edged sword that, given his immense stature, seemed little more than a long dagger; on his left arm, he carried a rectangular wooden scutum reinforced with iron bands. His body, almost entirely exposed by the tight black leather subligaculum that sculpted the imposing musculature of his buttocks and thighs, immediately became the center of attention. Scars from past battles glistened with the sweat that already seeped from his pores.
From the center of the oval arena, Varka looked up at the imperial box. There, surrounded by crimson silk curtains, sat the ruling family.
Varka couldn't help but wonder how long it would take him to reach them and turn that place into a bloodbath. But dwelling on that was foolish. First, he would have to get past countless guards. However, at that very moment, he swore it to himself. He would destroy every last member of that family that had stolen his freedom. It was all he had. The only thing that made him who he was. And if they had dared to take it from him, then they would have to pay for such an offense with their blood.
By sheer instinct, and because of everything he had heard, his eyes searched for the sixth prince, and he found him.
Lohen was reclining on purple velvet cushions, wearing a translucent white silk robe that revealed one of his pale shoulders, adorned with gold bracelets that mimicked the shape of snakes. His long, silky hair framed a face of aristocratic, almost androgynous beauty. He seemed completely uninterested in what was happening there, as if his presence were more out of obligation than by choice.
The trumpets sounded again, announcing the rivals. From the opposite end of the arena, two colossi advanced, dragging their weapons. They were the emperor's champions, twin brothers known as the Beasts of the South. Their bodies were coated in grease to prevent grasping, wearing only heavy bronze belts and subligaculi reinforced with metal scales that covered their groins. One of them carried a spiked mace that threw sparks as it grazed the stones on its edge; the other wielded an enormous falcata, a curved blade designed to sever limbs with a single blow.
It all happened too fast.
A few shouts and the combat began without preamble.
The twin with the falcata lunged forward with surprising speed for his imposing physical mass. The curved blade whistled through the air, aiming for Varka's neck.
The mercenary reacted instinctively: he raised his scutum, blocking the blow with a metallic clang that rattled the bones of his arm. The impact was so brutal that the wooden shield creaked, forcing Varka to stumble back two steps, leaving deep footprints in the sand.
Before he could regain his balance, the second twin appeared from his left flank, bringing the spiked mace down in a downward arc. Varka threw himself to the ground, rolling on the scorching sand as The spikes of the mace sank into the spot where his legs had been a second before. Dust rose, blurring his vision for an instant. He leaped to his feet, but the first brother's falcata was already returning; the blade grazed his chest, opening a thin line from which bright red blood spurted and began to trickle down his taut abdomen.
The crowd roared at the first sign of blood in the arena.
In the stands, Lohen leaned forward, resting his chin on his bejeweled fingers, his gaze fixed on Varka's wounded body.
Varka roared, a sound so savage it momentarily silenced the nearby stands. The pain of the wound only served to ignite the fury he had kept suppressed since his capture.
The two brothers flanked him again, moving with the synchronization of expert hunters. The one with the mace delivered a sideways blow intended to shatter his ribs.
Varka didn't use his shield this time; instead, he stepped into the path of the blow, closing the distance to negate the mace's reach. Varka's massive shoulder slammed into the colossus's chest, a clash of flesh and bone so tremendous it echoed throughout the amphitheater. The twin gasped for air and staggered.
Seizing that split second, Varka plunged his gladius with all his might into the enemy's exposed thigh. The steel pierced the muscle and severed the artery; the colossus let out a cry of agony as a torrent of dark blood soaked the arena. The falcata's brother, enraged by his twin's wound, attacked desperately, unleashing a series of vertical slashes that forced Varka to use his scutum defensively. The blows shattered the shield's wood, breaking it into pieces.
With his left arm free but unprotected, Varka dodged a downward slash that opened a gash across his right thigh. The sand grew slippery with the combined blood of the combatants. The colossus, wounded in the leg, struggled to his feet, leaning on his mace, his eyes bloodshot. Varka knew that if he allowed them both to attack him again at the same time, it would be the end.
Using his agility, Varka dodged a circular strike from the falcata and positioned himself behind the wounded brother. With a swift and ruthless movement, he wrapped his left arm around the dying colossus's neck, using him as a human shield just as the other brother unleashed a desperate slash. The falcata sank deep into his own twin's back, piercing his flesh. The colossus gasped and lay limp in Varka's arms.
Using the weight of the corpse, Varka pushed him forward, causing the surviving brother to become entangled in his twin's limbs and lose his balance for a moment. That was all the titan of Mondstadt needed. With a powerful leap that exposed the musculature of his back and buttocks, Varka landed on the last champion. The gladius descended like lightning, plunging straight through the enemy's collarbone, seeking the heart.
The colossus's eyes widened, he exhaled in a final, bloody gasp before his body lay motionless on the Natlan arena. Varka rose slowly, panting heavily, his torso covered in sweat, dust, and the blood of his victims mingled with his own. The gladius dripped steadily. He raised the weapon to the sky, offering death to the stands.
The amphitheater erupted in a deafening roar. Thousands chanted his name, acknowledging the birth of a new god of the arena. But Varka ignored the cheers of the crowd; his eyes went straight to the crimson box. Lohen had slowly risen to his feet. His slender hands clapped in a measured rhythm, while an enigmatic and wicked smile played across his thin lips.
The viper had found its new prey.
[…]
In the hypogeum, slaves and lesser gladiators celebrated the return of the wounded titan with shouts and banging on the bars.
There was extra food and jugs of watered-down wine to commemorate the fall of the Beasts of the South. However, the celebration was abruptly cut short when the heavy doors of the main hall opened, revealing four Praetorians dressed in full dress armor and purple silk cloaks. The commanding officer, a man whose face was hidden behind an iron mask, pointed his staff at Varka.
"The gladiator of the north," the officer said in a voice devoid of emotion. "Prince Lohen demands your presence in his private chambers. Move."
Castor stared at Varka, his eyes wide with fear, shaking his head in a silent gesture that reminded him of the warnings he had received in the cell.
Varka, however, merely wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand and stood, allowing the guards to guide him through the underground passages to the imperial baths.
There, the air was warm and fragrant with myrrh and jasmine. Several submissive-looking slaves removed his bloodied leather and lowered him into a large white marble tub filled with warm water.
With sponges and aromatic oils, they washed the sand and blood from his muscles, applying healing balms to the cuts on his chest and thigh.
The wounds were superficial for a man of his build, and the treatment immediately relieved the burning sensation. Once cleaned, they fitted him with a new subligaculum, this time crafted from high-quality black silk with silver threads woven into the edges—a garment that obscenely accentuated the whiteness of his skin and the size of his lower limbs.
The Praetorians escorted him through corridors carpeted with Liyue tapestries to the bronze doors of the sixth prince's chambers.
As they opened, Varka found himself in a sanctuary of opulence. The floor was covered in mosaics depicting mythical battles, and the air was thick with smoke emanating from several golden censers.
Lohen sat on the edge of an immense four-poster bed, surrounded by silk sheets. His robe was so fine that it revealed the slender lines of his body, a stark contrast to the mass of muscle and scars that Varka represented. The jewels on his neck and ears jingled as he raised his head to watch the mercenary enter.
"Leave us alone," Lohen ordered the guards in a soft voice, yet one imbued with absolute authority that caused the Praetorians to withdraw instantly, closing the heavy bronze doors behind them.
Silence settled between the two men, a palpable tension that cut through the space like a taut steel wire.
Varka stood in the center of the room, arms crossed over his massive chest, observing the creature before him with a mixture of surprise and distrust. Up close, Lohen seemed even more fragile, almost ethereal, but his eyes possessed a fixity that belied any weakness.
"So this is the monster from the north that destroyed my favorite champions," Lohen said deliberately, rising to his feet with slow movements. "I expected a mindless savage, but I see you have the gaze of a man of knowledge."
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Prince," Varka replied, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings. "But I'm not a monster. I'm a free man trapped in your mass grave because of some thieves."
Lohen tilted his head to one side, his smile widening slightly.
"You're more imposing up close," he remarked softly. "You're... very large, Varka. Larger than I expected."
Varka narrowed his eyes, unsure how to interpret the prince's words. Each one felt like a dagger draped in silk. As if crafted to wound, yet subtly camouflaged so as not to preempt the attack.
"I'm just like any of your other slaves."
"Oh, I highly doubt you're an ordinary slave, Varka." Lohen approached silently, the hem of his robe brushing the tiled floor. "Slaves plead for their lives or weep for their homes. You, on the other hand, eyed our box as if calculating how many steps it would take to reach our necks. I appreciate that lack of submission. It makes things all the more interesting."
"If you know what I was calculating, you should keep your distance," Varka warned, tensing the muscles in his thighs as the prince stood inches from his chest. "I'm not a toy."
"And who says I want you like a toy?" Lohen extended a slender hand, his bejeweled fingertips brushing the fresh scar on the northerner's chest, causing Varka to gasp at the cold touch. "Sometimes, a prince needs something far sharper than an ordinary sword. He needs a beast unafraid to get its hands dirty with blood."
"Your brothers command entire armies," Varka said, trying to ignore the sweet, intoxicating scent emanating from the young man's skin. "Why would you seek out a chained mercenary?"
"My brothers are fools who believe the world is ruled by the edge of an axe." Lohen slowly circled the titan's body, letting his gaze travel over the immense breadth of his back, the defined lines of his shoulders, and the powerful curve of his buttocks covered by black linen. "They think they are strong because they have men who will die for them. They don't understand that true power lies in knowing who wields the blade that will cut the thread at the precise moment."
“You’re playing a dangerous game.” Varka turned his head to keep him in his field of vision, feeling the room’s heat begin to oppress him. “Vipers are usually crushed by those who don’t understand intrigue.”
“Vipers only die if they allow the enemy to see them before the attack.” Lohen positioned himself in front of him again, closing the distance so that Varka could feel the prince’s breath on his chin. “And I’ve been very careful to keep my venom hidden behind this silken facade of weakness that my father finds so amusing. Don’t you think it’s an advantageous position? All my brothers think I’m the weakest link in the family, so they fight amongst themselves and plot each other’s deaths, leaving me in the background. Isn’t that funny?”
“I don’t care about your family squabbles.” Varka tried to take a step back, but the proximity of Lohen's scent, a blend of sandalwood and exotic Natlan flowers, seemed to have slowed his reflexes. "I just want my freedom. I'll fulfill my commitments in the arena, and when you least expect it, I'll leave this mad city."
"No one leaves here willingly, Varka." Lohen let out a low laugh, a soft sound that made the hairs on the back of the mercenary's neck stand on end. "The emperor doesn't release men who fill his coffers with blood. Your only ticket out of this empire is in my hands. If you cooperate with me, I'll give you more than your freedom. I'll give you enough gold to buy an entire kingdom in the north."
Varka's eyes widened. He hadn't expected such an offer. He didn't understand what this seemingly fragile young man was after, but the way he smiled made it quite clear that it wasn't anything good. It was a viper, its fangs bared, ready to bite and drip its venom.
"In exchange for what?" Varka's voice grew hoarser, a strange heaviness settling in his limbs as the prince's gaze seemed to pierce his defenses.
"In exchange for your absolute loyalty," Lohen said, letting one of the straps of his silk robe fall, exposing his pale, smooth chest, devoid of any blemishes. "I want you to be my sword in the shadows. The man who carries out the designs I cannot openly perform."
"I am not a hired assassin for cowardly princes." Varka gritted his teeth, fighting the intense attraction the young man's body held for his most primal instincts. "If you want to kill your brothers and your father, take a blade and face them in the arena like a man."
"You are so predictable with your honor." Lohen leaned forward, pressing his slender body against the titan's hard, defined abs, letting Varka feel the softness of his skin. "Honor is an invention of the weak to keep the strong from devouring them. In this city, the only thing that matters is who's left standing amidst the palace ruins. And today... when I saw you in the arena, I couldn't help but think how good you'd look by my side, when I'm the only one left alive in this family. Don't you think... we'd look good together, surrounded by the blood of my brothers?"
"Get away from me, Lohen," Varka growled, though his hands didn't move to push him away; his fingers clenched, torn between the urge to shove him away and to crush that pale flesh against himself.
“Why should I back away?” The prince raised his gaze and stood on tiptoe, his thin lips mere millimeters from the warrior’s chin. “I see the way you look at me, Varka. Your eyes reflect the hunger of the beasts that dwell in your forests. You can’t hide it. You long to tear through this silk and discover what lies beneath the fragility you so despise.”
“You don’t know who you’re playing with,” Varka warned, feeling Lohen’s scent obliterate the last vestiges of his reason. “If you untie me, no chains in this palace will be able to contain what I am.”
“Then untie yourself,” Lohen challenged in a malicious whisper, running his tongue over his lower lip. “Show me the fury of the north that destroyed the Beasts of the South. I want to see what the man who will rule my arena is capable of. The man who will help me break my own chains.”
And then, Varka's control broke.
With a guttural roar that erupted from the depths of his being, the Mondstadt mercenary extended his massive hands and seized Lohen by the waist, lifting him off the ground as if he were a feather. His lips crashed against the prince's with savage violence, a hungry kiss that sought to claim the young man's mouth with the ferocity of a conqueror seizing a walled stronghold.
Lohen let out a stifled groan that immediately transformed into a choked laugh against Varka's teeth. His slender arms wrapped around the titan's neck, allowing the tide of muscle and scars to pull him toward the center of the large four-poster bed. Their bodies hit the silk sheets with a heavy crunch, shattering the pristine cushions.
Varka positioned himself between the prince's legs, his monumental body completely obscuring the pale figure of the youngest son of the dynasty, whose limbs were long and slender. With a swift, rough movement of his calloused hands, the mercenary tore Lohen's silk robe, scattering the white fragments across the bed like petals of a flower withered in a storm. The young man's body was exposed in the light of the braziers: a creature of dazzling whiteness, slender yet endowed with a feline elasticity that seemed to invite desecration.
"I was warned about how dangerous you are," Varka growled, his gaze never leaving the exposed skin. His eyes lingered longer than was prudent on Lohen's erect nipples. He felt the urge to squeeze them until he cried.
Lohen licked his lips and smiled slightly.
"And what do you think? Do I really seem dangerous to you? Look at me, Varka. You could break me, and I wouldn't be able to do anything to stop it.”
Varka narrowed his eyes.
"You're lying. I know you can. All it takes is one scream from you. Or maybe one of those daggers you have hidden under those cushions in the corner. You're not as defenseless as you seem."
The realization hit Lohen, and instead of being upset at being caught, he was actually quite the opposite. He seemed even more excited.
"I definitely wasn't wrong..." he murmured, sliding another foot down.
"Which?" Varka raised an eyebrow.
"Choosing you. Making you my man."
"I'm not your man."
"By the end of the night, you will be. You won't be able to leave here without claiming me as yours. And once you've tasted me, I swear to you by all the gods, you will belong to me."
"You're a damned viper, Lohen," Varka gasped, his breath a hot bellows that pounded against the young man's face as his hands roamed over the prince's slender thighs, squeezing the flesh so hard that his fingers left pink marks on his snowy skin. "I know what you're doing, and let me tell you, it's not the behavior I expected from a prince."
"So what do I do, according to you?"
"You're using your body to buy my will, to turn me into your hunting dog."
"So what if that's the case, my beautiful brute?" Lohen let out a laugh, a display of pure satisfaction at seeing the savage desperation he had managed to awaken in the warrior. "The deal is already sealed in your blood. You can't back down now. Your body already belongs to me, and your mind will follow closely behind."
"My mind will never be yours." Varka lowered his head, sinking his teeth into the base of the prince's neck, biting the flesh hard enough to draw a drop of red blood that gleamed like a ruby against the pale skin.
Lohen arched his back with a sharp groan, a mixture of pain and delight that further fueled the fire that consumed the warrior. His slender hands slid down Varka's torso, searching for the laces of the black silk subligaculum that bound the mercenary's lower body. With swift, skillful movements, the prince undid the knots and pulled at the garment, stripping the titan of his last linen defense.
Varka's member sprang free with a force, revealing a monstrous expanse of flesh that matched the dimensions of its bearer. It was an immense penis, thick and broad, covered in thick veins that throbbed with every beat of his racing heart, with a dark, prominent glans that denoted the man's maturity. The thickness of its base was such that Lohen had to open his eyes wide, gasping in genuine surprise at the magnitude of the flesh erected before him.
How could he even walk with such a large, broad thing dangling between his legs?
It was as if everything about this man was made for destruction and harm. And now it was there, ready to destroy Lohen. He did not flinch. The glistening tip of Varka's penis, slick with pre-seminal fluid, told him everything he needed to know about the gladiator's state of arousal.
"By the gods of the arena," Lohen murmured, a lascivious, hungry smile spreading across his face. "I knew you were a giant, Varka, but this... this is a tool designed to destroy empires. Do you think it will destroy me too?"
Without waiting for the mercenary to reply, the prince slithered across the sheets with the agility of a serpent, kneeling between Varka's massive thighs. His slender hands encircled the base of the immense member, feeling the searing heat emanating from the taut flesh, and without hesitation, he opened his mouth to receive the tip of the phallus.
Varka let out a muffled groan, his hands digging into the mattress with such force that the fabric creaked under the pressure of his fingers.
Lohen's expert tongue began tracing the corona of the glans with slow, circular movements, savoring the pre-lascivious sensation that emanated from the cleft.
The contrast between the prince's delicate mouth and the monstrous thickness of the member was obscene; Lohen had to stretch the corners of his lips to their limit to swallow barely a third of its total length, his cheeks sinking with each rhythmic suck that sent waves of pleasure down the mercenary's spine.
"Damn it, Lohen... stop..." Varka pleaded, his voice cracking with desire, feeling his savage instincts about to unleash him prematurely. "Don't play with my patience. I'm not a nobleman of your court to be entertained with courtesan tricks."
Lohen looked up without interrupting his rhythm, his eyes gleaming with utter shamelessness as he continued using his saliva to lubricate the length of Varka's member, producing wet, luscious sounds that filled the silence of the chambers. With a swift movement of his lips, he pulled away for an instant, a thread of saliva and semen connecting his lips to Varka's penis, and let out a low laugh at the gasp of frustration that escaped the gladiator's lips.
"Are you afraid of the pleasure a fragile creature can give you, giant of the north?" Lohen taunted, wiping a drop of saliva from his chin with his bejeweled finger. "I thought the men of Mondstadt could withstand any storm. This is just a spring breeze."
"I am the storm, boy." Varka grabbed his shoulders with animalistic brute force, lifting him from the bed and forcing him onto his stomach in a position of utter submission.
The prince let out a delighted laugh at being subdued in such a rough manner.
Varka stretched out his arm and took one of the alabaster flasks resting on the nightstand, breaking the wax seal with his teeth.
It was a thick, aromatic oil, extracted from the medicinal plants of Sumeru, used by nobles for body massages.
The mercenary poured the contents onto his palms and began to slowly rub Lohen's thighs, then slid toward his entrance with quick but efficient movements, knowing that the sheer size of his member required careful preparation if he didn't want to tear the young man's flesh.
His fingers moved nimbly, without maintaining a fixed rhythm. Sometimes they were slow, sometimes fast. Varka heard him gasp, saw him writhe as his fingers sank deeper, preparing him for something longer and thicker. It was going to be difficult. Lohen's body was slight, and his hole tight. It felt like his fingers would break from the pressure of the wet flesh against them.
That wasn't going to be enough.
Varka's tongue trailed down the prince's pale back, licking the sweat that was beginning to seep from his pores, before focusing on the roundness of his buttocks. Patiently, the mercenary began to slowly eat Lohen's ass, inserting his expert, wide tongue between the moist folds, widening the entrance with each deep lick that made the prince let out gasping moans and bite the sheets to stifle a scream. All the while, he continued to spread it further with his fingers.
"You're an animal, Varka... a fucking wild animal," Lohen gasped, his hands gripping the silk pillows desperately as Varka's face buried itself between his buttocks, devouring him with a lust he had never experienced.
“You summoned me to your cage, Prince,” Varka replied, his voice smothered by the dampness of another’s flesh. “Now bear the consequences of having a hungry beast in your bed.”
The gladiator showed no mercy. He moved his lips and tongue with astonishing skill. His experience was obvious. His body wasn’t just adept with the sword or any other weapon; it was equally adept in bed, at giving pleasure to his lovers. He had had many of them along the way. However, he had never imagined that he would ever have a prince beneath his sweating body. It was like a gift from heaven. Lohen’s soft skin was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, as was his sweet scent. It was unlike anything he had ever encountered before.
“I think that’s enough,” he murmured, giving one last lick to the pink entrance that throbbed with need. It was so obvious that he wanted to be defiled as soon as possible.
"Do it, damn it," Lohen demanded, his breath ragged, his forehead beaded with sweat. "Fill me with your cock. Give me all your semen, become my man."
Varka stifled a groan at those words and positioned himself behind him, lifting the prince's hips so they were level with his pelvis. He pressed the tip of his thick penis against the lubricated entrance and, with a firm, decisive thrust, began to sink into Lohen.
Pain and pleasure mingled in a piercing cry that Lohen couldn't contain. The immensity of Varka's member stretched the walls of the canal to the limit of its biological capacity; the pale flesh of the prince's abdomen visibly tensed, revealing the elongated bulge of the phallus advancing through his insides like a hot iron rod claiming its territory.
"By the gods... it's too much... you're going to break me, Varka!" Lohen cried, his eyes widening in genuine panic at the sensation of absolute fullness that threatened to tear him apart inside.
“You won’t break, viper,” Varka growled, his hands clamping down on the young man’s hips in a grip that left purplish finger marks on his skin. “You have the flexibility of your kind. Bear the weight of your own ambition.”
The mercenary began thrusting with a brutal, steady rhythm, each slam of his hips sounding like wet applause against Lohen’s buttocks.
Sweat began to pour down Varka’s chest, dripping onto the prince’s pale back, creating a glistening patina that reflected the torchlight.
The passion turned savage, devoid of any courtly refinement; Varka moved with the force of a battering ram breaking down a fortress gate, forcing Lohen to take every inch of his thick, full flesh.
Seeking a position that would allow for greater depth, Varka grasped Lohen by the armpits and rolled him onto his back, lifting his slender legs onto his own shoulders.
From this position, the gladiator could observe the prince's face, a mask of pure ecstasy and torment, his lips parted, a thin trickle of saliva escaping, his eyes turned toward the vaulted ceiling.
With each deep thrust, Varka's phallus struck the bottom of Lohen's belly, causing the young man's abdomen to rise subtly in a terrifying and obscene ridge.
The prince no longer laughed; his fingers dug into Varka's biceps, searching for a foothold amidst the storm of flesh that was consuming him.
Orgasms began to follow one another uninterrupted for the younger prince, his pale member ejaculating spontaneously onto his own belly without anyone touching him, driven solely by the internal stimulation that the titan of Mondstadt exerted on his deepest organs.
"Tell me, Lohen... tell me what you're really after with all this," Varka demanded between heavy gasps, pausing for a moment to keep his member buried to the hilt inside the young man, feeling the moist walls contract around his swollen flesh. "You wouldn't give me this pleasure just for fun. What do you want from me?"
Lohen raised his head with difficulty, his breath a ragged whistle, and his dark eyes reflected a cold lucidity that survived the ecstasy of the flesh.
“I already told you,” he replied with difficulty, shifting his pelvis and trying to force Varka inside him again. “Do it again.”
“No.” Varka gritted his teeth. His punishment for the lack of truth affected him as well. “I won’t move until you tell me what you really want.”
Lohen took a deep breath. His throat was dry and his vision blurred. He could feel the heat of that enormous body that completely enveloped him clinging to his skin. It was too much. It was suffocating him with pleasure.
He needed it so much.
“I want… I want you to kill them all, Varka,” the prince confessed in a whisper laced with deadly poison. “I want you to use that strength that destroyed the Beasts to slit the throats of my father and my older brothers. I want their heads on silver platters so I can sit on the throne of this cursed city.”
Varka let out a savage growl, a confirmation of what his instincts had already warned him about.
The viper wasn't looking for a lover; he was looking for an executioner to do the dirty work while he remained hidden behind his silk curtains.
But in that moment of unbridled, animal passion, the mercenary from Mondstadt didn't care about being used. The prospect of drenching the imperial palace in the blood of the tyrants who had chained him was a reward that satisfied his own thirst for revenge.
He could have both.
He wanted both: his revenge and the pleasure of using that body beneath his own as he pleased.
"If that is your wish, little viper, it shall be granted," Varka declared, his pale eyes gleaming with a dangerous light. "But the price of my services will be high. I will not settle for your gold."
"Ask me for anything you want... anything you want, my beautiful brute," Lohen gasped, a triumphant smile crossing his lips despite the pain caused by the immobility of the immense member. "The empire will be ours. Give it to me and you can take everything you want. There is nothing I cannot give you. Everything here will also belong to you."
“I want this body,” Varka said, resuming his slow, torturous thrusts that made Lohen let out a long, broken moan. “I want you to open yourself to me like this every time I return with my hands stained with the blood of your enemies. No matter what you do, while everyone else bows down to you, you will bow down to me to take my cock in this hot hole. I want to be the sole owner of the flesh that will rule Natlan. Do you understand?”
“That… that will be a pleasure, my beautiful gladiator.” Lohen let out a laugh that turned into a shout as Varka resumed his thrusts with renewed force, seeking the end of the shaft.
The climax arrived like a burst of lava in the middle of the winter night. Varka groaned, a sound that seemed to crack the room's tiles, and plunged one last time to the hilt, emptying a thick, hot torrent of seed deep inside the prince.
Lohen arched with a final violent spasm, his legs trembling on the giant's shoulders before collapsing completely limp on the sheets soaked with sweat, oil, and the fluids of their carnal battle.
Silence returned to the sixth prince's chambers, broken only by the heavy breathing of the two men.
Varka did not withdraw immediately; he lingered for a few moments over the young man's body, savoring the languor of victory.
He realized, with the cold clarity that follows pleasure, that Lohen would remain a cunning viper, trying to use him until his dying day, but the titan of Mondstadt didn't care.
He had a mission, he had a weapon, and above all, he had the promise that imperial silk would always shatter before the fury of his steel.
He knew he would have to be wary of Lohen. Once he was no longer useful to him, the viper would likely try to inject him with its venom, but when that moment came, Varka would be ready.
He would seize him by the head, just as he had done with other vipers throughout his life, and then he would take him again on those same sheets.
Lohen didn't know it, but he had awakened and made a pact with a beast that was only waiting for the right moment to tear him apart.