The Game - Chapter 1
Character List
Wally peered at the sign before him, brushing the fog from his glasses. The blocky letters seemed to glare: REMOVE ITEMS FROM POCKETS AND PLACE INSIDE. He glanced down at the dumbwaiter yawning open at his feet, framed by an ornate wooden carving that could have belonged in a palace. The vestibule itself was warm and tasteful, paneled in dark walnut.
On either side of him, heavy doors loomed: the one he had just entered, closing behind him with a strange double-latch and a faint echo of the storm outside, and another, a massive oak affair with frosted glass that concealed whatever lay beyond.
He knew what he had to do. With a resigned sigh, he emptied his pockets into the dark interior of the dumbwaiter: wallet, cellphone, pack of gum. Finally, he produced a black envelope, neon pink letters spelling his name, and slid it in alongside the rest.
The dumbwaiter door closed with a soft thud, followed by the crackle of hidden speakers. A distorted voice hissed through the static. “Wallace MARROW,” it said, the words jerking unevenly, “DO YOU AGREE TO PARTICIPATE IN TODAY’S EVENTS NO MATTER THE COST?”
A cold squeeze gripped his chest. His pulse spiked, and for a moment every instinct screamed to flee. Yet he stayed rooted, knowing he could not turn back.
“Yes,” he said, voice cracking.
“THEN BE PREPARED TO PAY THE PRICE!” The vestibule shuddered. The floor seemed to fall away beneath him. Lights streaked past the frosted windows, and the world shifted—the manor’s foyer vanished. He was descending inside an elevator, not the entrance hall of the mansion.
The ride felt interminable, and when it finally stopped, the frosted window brightened. Wally stepped out into a vast room dominated by a grand wooden staircase. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls, heavy with books, and his eyes were immediately drawn to a metal door and a large window to his right.
Then he noticed the other guests. Seventeen men, almost all astonishingly handsome, mingled through the space. Some lounged on plush sofas, crystal tumblers in hand; others stood, chatting and laughing. In a corner, four young studs in varsity jackets clustered around a short, grizzled older man wearing red suspenders and a whistle.
Wally moved forward cautiously as the elevator doors whispered closed behind him, rising once again. On a tray nearby, an assortment of alcoholic beverages glimmered. He selected one, sniffed it warily, and then took a cautious sip. Whiskey. Smooth, sharp, exactly what he would expect from a meticulous host.
“Hey, new guy!” a friendly voice called, and Wally turned to see a striking man approaching. Dirty blonde hair, bright blue eyes, a neatly trimmed beard. His fitted blue shirt clung to the contours of a muscular torso; sleeves rolled up to reveal tattooed forearms, jeans stretched over well-muscled legs and contouring a heavy basket as well.
“Name’s Shawn. I saw you come out of the elevator. You’re number eighteen,” he said, shaking Wally’s hand with easy confidence.
“I’m Wallace,” Wally replied. “But everyone calls me Wally.”
Shawn’s grin widened. “I figured I should introduce myself. Us old men have to stick together, right?”
Wally laughed. “Old men? You look half my age.”
“Yeah, 35 is young in the grand scheme of things, but I still feel older than these other guys,” Shawn admitted with a shrug. A glance around the room confirmed his point—all the men, aside from the coach in red suspenders, looked barely into their twenties.
“There’s one more left to arrive,” Shawn said, gesturing to a nearby video screen. Guests Remaining: 18/19.
Wally raised an eyebrow. “Nineteen? Odd number.”
Shawn smirked. “Weird number. Weird night.”
Two men approached, dark-haired, bearded, impossibly attractive. “Hey, boys,” Shawn said, shaking each of their hands. “Wally, meet Alexi and Marco.”
Alexi was imposing—six feet tall, 230 pounds of coiled muscle, dressed in a tight black Nike tank and matching leggings, bright orange sneakers. He had short-cropped black hair, dark, Slavic features. “Welcome, Wally. Looks like Shawn broke the first rule of Beard Club—no one without a beard.” His voice carried a thick Russian accent.
Shawn waved a hand dismissively. “Beard Club’s over. It’s the Old Man Club now.”
Marco, taller and leaner than Alexi, extended a hand next. His skin was richly tanned, slicked-back hair, tattoos creeping up his neck. Open black shirt that emphasized his golden pectorals, perfectly fitted jeans with a mouth watering mound at the front. “How old are you, Wally?” he asked, his words lashed with a Spanish accent.
“Sixty-four,” Wally said. Marco’s spicy cologne drifted over him. The handsome latino flinched. “Ay, man, I’m twenty-nine! Don’t lump me in with the old geezers. I liked Beard Club better.”
Wally chuckled, feeling a little more at ease.
A sharp DING silenced the room. All eyes swung to the elevator. The screen now read 19/19.
The doors opened, and a collective gasp filled the air. “Holy shit,” Shawn whispered. “It’s Landon Bishop.”
Wally’s gaze followed the figure emerging: square-jawed, sandy-blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, frame impossibly sculpted, sweater stretched taut across powerful muscles. Immediately, men surged forward, handshakes, hugs, and more than a few lingering touches.
“Who is he?” Wally asked, bewildered.
Shawn blinked. “You’re joking. You don’t know Landon Bishop? Captain Valor in the Titanforge movies?”
“I don’t see movies that much,” Wally admitted. “I mean, I used to, when I was with–”
“Look how they are clamoring around him,” Shawn interrupted with a smirk.
Wally gazed over at the crowd. At least a dozen men surrounded Landon, shaking his hand, feeling his huge muscles. Not only that, Landon appeared to be openly flirting with them as well.
“Is he… you know?” Wally said.
“Into men? Yeah.” Shawn said. “It was a big deal, actually. He came out last year. But he still manages to sell out the theatres. Also a really nice guy, too.” He clucked his tongue, “And still single, if you can believe it.”
“Thank you! Thank you! Yeah, it’s great to be back in my home town again,” Wally heard Landon say to the crowd of guys as he dodged hugs, backslaps and more than a few gropes.
Landon’s impressive muscles filled out his ribbed grey shirt. His tasteful black dress pants also did little to hide his thick legs and a sizable bulge in the front.
Wally looked on as the big Hollywood star laughed, flirted, charmed. Even as an A-lister, he seemed effortlessly approachable, his massive frame filling his clothing in all the right ways.
Then the lights flashed. A crackling, distorted voice emanated from hidden speakers: “Welcome, Guests! With the last addition of famed Hollywood superstar Landon Bishop, it is time for us to start.”
Wally swallowed hard. He had no idea what he’d stepped into, but he knew, without a doubt, there was no turning back.
The men settled across the library, their restless chatter dimming as all eyes turned toward the monitor. With nowhere else to direct their attention, they perched on couches and chairs, or leaned against the paneled walls, crystal glasses still in hand. Landon Bishop lounged casually against the darkened glass window opposite them, his posture effortlessly commanding.
Then the screen flickered to life. A distorted voice filled the room.
“Today I have invited you all here for a very special contest,” it said. “You will be competing—together, and as individuals—to unlock a hidden fortune. If you reach the end of my puzzle rooms, one hundred million dollars in cash will be yours.”
The monitor changed, and a man appeared: coveralls clinging to a stocky frame, a grotesque leather pig’s head strapped over his own. He stood in a shadowed chamber before a mountain of money, a spotlight blazing down upon it. With a flourish, he gestured at the fortune.
“This is but one part of the prize that awaits.”
A low murmur rippled through the crowd. The wealth was staggering, but the masked figure’s eerie presence unsettled many. Eyes darted nervously between strangers.
“My name is Pigman,” the distorted voice continued. “Your esteemed host. I have devised puzzles, trials, tests of body and mind, to determine which among you deserves this treasure.”
Then came a pause. A grin seemed to curl beneath the mask.
“To begin, I will ask our most recent guest to enter the chamber beyond the glass.”
A sudden light flared behind the darkened window, and the space beyond revealed itself—a rectangular chamber painted with strange murals, its floor divided into raised square tiles. Landon startled, twisting to face the very glass he’d been leaning against. At the same moment, the heavy door beside him hissed open.
“Landon, please proceed.”
Applause and whistles filled the room. Landon gave a theatrical bow, flashing his movie-star smile, and stepped inside. The door sealed shut behind him with a final, metallic slam.
A digital clock lit up on the wall: twenty minutes, counting down.
“Landon Bishop,” Pigman’s voice crooned. “You play the invincible Captain Valor. Tonight, we shall see just how invincible you truly are.”
“At your service,” Landon said. He looked at the crowd. Some of the men shouted out, but it was clear that the sound only went one way. Landon looked puzzled for a moment, “Can you hear me?” He said, to which some of the onlookers nodded, while a few shouted they yes, they could. Landon shook his head. “I can’t hear you guys – but I guess that makes sense.”
“Shall we continue?” The pigman said, irritation creeping in his voice. “The murals and sketches on the walls hold the clues,” Pigman explained. “Step on the correct sequence of tiles, and letters will reveal themselves on the screen for your fellow contestants to use in the next challenge. Step wrong, and the sequence resets. Twenty minutes. Starting… now.”
The timer began its relentless march.
Landon smirked as though it were child’s play. He crouched low, thighs straining against his pants. Several men in the library murmured to one another, trying to figure out the clues themselves, though their words could not penetrate the soundproof glass. Wally, standing at the edge of the group, felt a flicker of relief. Perhaps this was all theatre—an extravagant, harmless escape room.
Ten minutes passed. Landon depressed four tiles correctly, the letters “HE” and “ME” blazing across the monitor. Sweat had begun to bead across his temple; even heroes, it seemed, strained under pressure.
The speaker buzzed back on, and the screen switched back to the room with the money: It was Pig-Man.
“Let’s make this more interesting. Landon: I will add one minute of time for every article of clothing you remove. However, you will pay a price if you choose to do so. The difficulty and stakes will dramatically increase if you go into overtime. Do you accept these parameters?
Landon looked at the crowd and laughed. “I think I know what they want.”
The room exploded with whistles and laughter. The gathered hunks obviously wanted to see what the big musclestud was packing. “Take it off!” someone shouted.
Landon didn’t hesitate. He peeled off his sweater in one smooth motion, tossing it aside. The crowd erupted. Beneath it, he wore nothing: his rippling, golden torso came into view. Bulging arms, a massive set of pecs and wide shoulders that tapered down to a tight, muscled waist. Wally’s breath caught in his throat.
One minute was added to the clock. Then, from two vents at the side of the room, cascades of water began to flood into the space. Landon quickly turned around, the expanse of his muscled back flexing in the light, to look at the noise. Within seconds his feet were soaked, the water swirling and soon reaching his ankles.
Some men chuckled nervously, but most were enthralled, their eyes drinking in every inch of the celebrity’s body. Landon grinned, as if the whole thing were a stage play made for him. He toed off his shoes, tugged away his socks, then hooked his thumbs in his waistband. In one fluid motion, he shucked his pants.
Gasps and laughter filled the library. Wally’s eyes followed helplessly. Landon’s legs were staggering—quads bulging with muscle, calves the size of footballs. His ass curved high and tight beneath the thin stretch of his boxer briefs.
The clock ticked up five more minutes. The water swirled to mid-calf on the superstar, but the crowd barely noticed. They were transfixed.
Landon played to them now. He flexed a bicep deliberately, pecs bouncing as though he were on stage at a bodybuilding show. The boxer briefs clung to him indecently, the fabric stretched to its limit, and more than one man leaned forward in his seat, biting a lip.
Wally’s mouth had gone dry. His pulse thundered.
“You boys want to see this meat?’ he said, his voice carrying over the speaker in the library. The men erupted in cheers.
Then, with a smirk that sent a wave of excitement through the room, Landon hooked his thumbs once more into the band of his briefs. He dragged them down slowly, deliberately, eyes locked onto someone in the crowd.
Wally’s eyes widened. Landon wasn’t just putting on a show—he was staring at someone. Wally followed his gaze through the throng of men. There, in the back, stood the dumpy coach in red suspenders, arms crossed, belly jutted forward, eyes fixed on Landon with a hard, resentful snarl.
Wally turned back to face the hunk. Landon smirked at the crowd's reaction, loving the attention. He hooked his thumb into the waistband of his boxer briefs, pushing them down his thick legs dropping them into the water. The room erupted in whistles and cheers as he revealed the tight, baby-blue thong he wore underneath. The sheer fabric could barely contain his manhood as it sprang free. Hanging nearly to mid-thigh, his cock threatened to tear through the fabric, his heavy nuts low and tight in the barely-there underwear.
Landon turned slowly, giving the crowd a 360-degree view of his god-like body. Rivulets of sweat streamed down the deep grooves of his abs, his V-line disappearing teasingly beneath the tiny thong. His ass flexed as he moved, each globe a perfect, high, round sphere of taut muscle. He looked like a Greek god carved from marble, except he was very much flesh and blood, and very much alive.
Another minute was added to the clock. Landon blew a kiss to the crowd and got back to work. However, progress was still slow. Another ten minutes went by, and he’d only been able to light up one more letter: “HE AME” was displayed on the screen.
Landon started to look frustrated. The crowd shouted words of encouragement, even though they couldn’t be heard. Then, the timer paused at five minutes.
“Landon Bishop – Captain Valor – it looks like my little puzzle has gotten the best of you. I now come with a final offer. If you are confident that you can complete the rest of the puzzle in five minutes, you are free to do so. But I also offer you an alternative: If you strip off your remaining clothing and manage to pleasure yourself to orgasm before the timer hits zero, you will have won.”
Landon smirked, his hand already groping his massive cock. The crowd cheered and laughed at the sight.
“However, failure to one or the other once the timer ends will count as a loss. The room will be filled with water and I will release flesh eating piranha.”
A ripple of shock went through the room. Landon’s smirk hesitated for a moment. Then, he laughed: “Save those fish for dinner,” he grinned, obviously taking the threat as a joke.
Wally relaxed a little after feeling a knot of tension release in his stomach. Yes – surely the threat it was just in jest. Some dark humor to match the macabre setting. The Pigman was clearly just trying to egg on the achingly hot musclestud.
“Your time starts now. Choose wisely, Landon!”
The clock began its countdown.
Landon grinned. He was Captain Valor, after all. He couldn't back down from a challenge, no matter how depraved or dangerous.
Landon slowly rubbed his hands down his rippling torso, grinding his hips, and gripped the length of his huge, throbbing cock through the baby-blue thong. He’d made his choice.
The crowd roared their approval, a cacophony of whistles, cheers, and lewd catcalls filling the air. Landon once again hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his thong and yanked it down, freeing his enormous dick. His heavy, cum-filled balls, each one the size of a tennis ball, swung heavily as he kicked the fabric away.
Landon grabbed his cock with both hands, stroking the thick shaft as he turned to face the crowd. He pumped his hips, fucking his fist as he put on a show, the flared head of his meaty footlong cock slurping in and out of his fist. He moaned. Wally was captivated as he watched, drinking in the sight of every vein, every twitch of his massive meat. At 6’1 and 240lbs of muscle, the golden stud was a sight to behold as he stood there, his incredible body on full, lewd display for the men.
"Fuck yeah, stroke that big dick!" someone shouted.
"Milk those fucking balls, Landon!” another man said.
Landon gritted his teeth, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead as he stroked his manhood with urgency. Even though he couldn’t hear them, the crowd's cheers spurred him on, despite the bite of the icy water that swirled around his legs.
Through the glass, Landon's gaze once more locked onto the fat, red suspenders-wearing coach. The man's eyes were glued to Landon's body, his expression a mix of resentment and reluctant arousal. Landon smirked, focusing his lust and rage into his stroking motions.
“You like that Coach? Remind you of my time on the wrestling team?” Landon grunted, pumping his cock. He brough one arm up – bicep thick and swollen – and pinched his quarter-sized nipple. He threw his head back and groaned as he did so, before looking back at the Coach once more.
For his part, Wally was enthralled with the spectacle but couldn’t quite understand the focus between the Hollywood superstud and the slovenly coach in the back. There was a faint prickle on the back of his neck. Questions.
Landon's massive cock throbbed and pulsed in his grip, the thick shaft veined and engorged. He stroked it with ruthless abandon, fingers barely able to close around its immense girth. Droplets of pre-cum spurted from the tip and into the rising water with each pump of his hips. The clock behind him ticked down ominously. Only two minutes left.
With his free hand, Landon reached around and grabbed a handful of his own muscular ass, squeezing the rock-hard globe. He shoved two fingers past his puckered hole, plunging them deep into his own rectum. The crowd roared as they watched him finger himself, their hero debasing himself for their twisted pleasure. Landon bent forward as he finger fucked himself, his cock throbbing at the intrusion.
“OH FUCK that feels GOOD!” The big hunk groaned, pushing his face up against the glass, his eyes staring at the Coach once more. “Bet you want this hot ass all for yourself, huh Coach?” he said. The other men laughed and looked over at the fat old man, some of them jeering and catcalling.
“Save some of him for us, Coach!” Aleksi shouted out from a corner. The man in red-suspenders remained expressionless, even as Landon moaned and pumped his heroic cock.
Turning attention back to the show, Wally could see how Landon's balls, each one the size of a cue ball and churning with backed-up cum, slapped heavily against his thighs with each thrust of his fist along the length of that huge footlong cock. The sheer mass of them, the way they bounced and swung, was a testament to the ungodly load Landon was no doubt about to unleash.
Landon's strokes became more frantic, more desperate, as the timer raced towards zero. He stood up and pounded his meat rythmically, like a piston. Some of the other men in the library also began to grip their own prodigious endowments at the sight. The crowd went quieter now, with a few moans here and there as they openly gawked at the golden musclegod pounding his hot cock.
Finally, climax: "Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" Landon roared, his voice strained with pleasure. His cock jerked and throbbed in his grip, the bulbous head an angry purple and pulsing with need. He could feel his orgasm building, his balls drawing up tight against his body as they prepared to unleash their massive load.
The crowd then went wild, a cacophony of yells and cheers filling the room. They could see Landon's cock pulsing, could see the desperation in his eyes as he kept his gaze on the Coach and finger fucked himself.
With a deafening roar that shook the very walls, Landon pushed his two fingers deep into his asshole and squeezed his enormous cock like a vice. With his eyes shut, he leaned backwards, his entire body flexing obscenely. Thick ropes of cum blasted from his throbbing member and coated the water and the glass window with hot sperm. Jet after jet of white jizz sprayed from his cock as he rode out his mind-blowing orgasm, his muscular body convulsing with the force of it.
Landon’s eyes opened. They were wild and staring straight into the Coach's through the glass. His cock jerked and spasmed, pumping out further spurts of cum. It was as if his balls had been saving up for weeks, and now they were unleashing a flood of baby batter.
The crowd went absolutely berserk, screaming and cheering as they watched their hero unload. Men pounded on the glass, envious and aroused by the sheer display of masculine power and virility. Wally himself couldn’t help but feel his own cock lurch and throb at the sight of the huge musclehunk spurting out a titanic load of jizz.
As the orgasm subsided, Landon slumped back against the wall, his chest heaving and his cock still twitching with aftershocks. The room was a mess of water and cum. Landon looked down at his cum-covered body, then back up at the coach. He scooped up a handful of jizz coating his rippling abdominals and slurped it into his mouth, licking his lips.
“Uh, guys –” Wally said, trying to get his voice heard above the crowd as the men pumped their fists. “Guys – I don’t think he… The timer! It ended just as he was–”
Then, the crackling of the speaker. The room went quiet.
“That was quite the performance, Landon. Too bad you won’t win any awards for it.” It was Pigman, his ugly visage back on the video monitor.
Landon’s brilliant smile cracked for a moment. “What do you mean?” He said. He stood straight and turned around, his gaze fixed on the timer. “I came before the timer ended!”
The speaker crackled once more: “Unfortunately you didn’t finish your little show until after the timer ended,” the Pigman said. “Goodbye, Landon.”
With a metal roll, the vents in the room opened. Water began pouring in at an unfathomable rate. The nude hunk looked on in disbelief.
“What the FUCK?! NO! I CAME BEFORE THE TIMER ENDED! YOU FAT PIG FUCK! LET ME OUT!” He roared. But the water wouldn’t stop. Landon looked at the flow in horror. He swung himself around and started pounding at the window. “GET ME OUT OF HERE!” He screamed.
The other men looked on in disbelief. Some looked frantic. “We have to help him” Wally yelled out. He looked over at a shirtless blonde hunk in a white tank top and pointed at a chair. “Hey! You! Grab that desk chair! Smash the glass!”
The blonde looked at Wally and nodded. He ran over to the desk and grabbed a chair. “Wally’s right!” Shawn said from a corner. “Everyone, find something to smash the glass with!” He cried out as he headed to side table. He picked it up overhead and made his way to the window. Both men pushed their way through the crowd and slammed the furniture into the glass. It shook, but it didn’t break.
A great roar filled the room. It came from the hidden speakers. The screech of loud feedback screamed into the ears of the crowd. It was Pigman: “LISTEN UP YOU FUCKS: Any attempts to save the GOLDEN BOY OF HOLLYWOOD will be met with INSTANT DEATH for ALL OF YOU!” The host yelled out. Right on cue, the monitors lit up: the grotesque pig-faced man stood next to a giant metal canister with a skull and bones painted on it.
“YOU SEE WHAT I AM CAPABLE OF. DO NOT TEST ME.” He said, his voice harsh and throaty. The monitors turned off.
“PLEASE! OH GOD!” Landon cried out. The water was at his waist now. He was up against the glass, his muscular body pressed against it, his huge cock drifted in the current, a string of sperm still trailing from the tip.
Then, there was a series of metal thumps and clangs. Landon’s eyes went wide. He spun around to look at the vents. Flashes of wet, grey skin could be seen as the deluge poured from the openings. Piranha were being dropped into the flooded room.
“NO – NO!” Landon screamed. In a panic, he pressed his muscular back against the window, his meaty ass cheeks spreading slightly as he braced himself. The cool glass was a stark contrast to the feverish heat of his skin, slick with sweat and cum. Even as he watched the morbid scene, Wally couldn’t help but feel his cock throb at the sight of those thick, mounded glutes.
The crowd and Landon watched in horror as a dozen more piranhas rained down from the vents, their slimy bodies wriggling and thrashing as they hit the water. The creatures circled the huge musclehunk like a pack of ravenous wolves, their razor-sharp teeth glinting hungrily.
Suddenly, a searing pain ripped through Landon's thigh. He screamed as he felt a piranha's jaws clamp down, its teeth sinking deep into his muscle. Blood clouded the water as the fish thrashed, tearing a chunk of flesh from his leg. Landon spun around and slammed his fists against the glass. “HELP ME! GET ME OUT OF HERE! FUCKKK!” He yelled in desperation.
More piranhas swarmed in, emboldened by the scent of blood. They attacked. Landon cried out again as a piranha latched onto his balls, its jaws sinking into the tender, cum-filled sack. The pain was excruciating, radiating through his entire groin. He clutched at his crotch, trying to pry the vicious fish off, but it only bit down harder. Others chomped their jaws onto his hands and fingers, biting off chunks of flesh, severing some. His screams were inhuman now as his heavenly muscles were chewed from his body by the ravenous fish.
“OH GOD! MY BODY! MY PERFECT FUCKING MUSCLES! AAAUUGGHHH!”
Blood swirled around his muscular thighs as more piranhas closed in, their teeth tearing into his flesh. They gnawed at his calves, his ass, their razor-sharp jaws shredding his skin like a thousand tiny knives. Landon pounded further on the glass, fists bloodied and stumped with gore, his screams echoing in the room as he watched his blood cloud the water.
“HELP ME! PLEASE! ARRGGGHH!!! NOOOOOO!!!”
Through the red haze of pain, he saw the fat coach still leering at him through the window, a twisted smirk on his face. Landon wanted to scream at him, to beg for help, but he couldn't find his voice. His throat was raw from screaming, his lungs burning for air.
“GET ME OUT! THEY ARE RIPPING ME APART! AAAAAHHHHH!”
The water rose higher, now lapping at Landon's chest. His massive pecs heaved as he gasped for breath, his abs clenching in agony with each twitch and spasm of the piranhas tearing at his flesh.
The pain was unbearable, but it was nothing compared to the agony that exploded through his groin as a piranha sank its teeth into the base of his enormous cock. Landon screamed, a strangled, inhuman sound, as he felt the fish's jaws clamp down, biting deep into the sensitive flesh. His cock jerked and spasmed, spurting the last of his seed into the bloody water as the creature began to tear it away from his body. The others soon joined, and a frenzy began as they shredded his huge cock and virile balls into nothing but pulped flesh.
“NOT MY COCK! OH FUCK! NOOOO!! AAUUUGGGHHH! HELP MEEEEE!”
The room was almost filled to the top. Landon took several, desperate gasps of air as the fish started to chow down on his musculature and gore into his body. His muscular thighs, once so powerful and strong, were now a shredded mess of exposed flesh and pulsating muscles. The piranhas ripped into his quads, his hamstrings, their teeth sinking deep into the thick cords of sinew and meat. Landon's legs gave out, his knees buckling as the fish tore away chunks of his once-mighty muscles, leaving him a gibbering, bleeding wreck.
As his vision began to darken at the edges, the huge Hollywood superstar’'s last coherent thought was a desperate, anguished scream. "AUGGHHH NOOOOOOOOO!" The sound echoed through the chamber, a final defiant roar from the once-great Captain Valor. But it was too late. The piranhas were inside him now, tearing into his organs, his guts spilling out in a glistening, steaming mass below the water as the creatures feasted on his insides
Landon's screams dissolved into wet, bubbling gurgles as the piranhas swarmed over his once-handsome face. He felt the sharp sting of teeth sinking into his cheeks, his nose, his chin. His eyes, those piercing blue orbs that had melted so many hearts, exploded in a spray of blood and mucus as the fish tore them from their sockets. The creatures ripped away his ears, his lips, his tongue. They gnawed at his teeth, snapping them like piano keys as they tore his jaw clean from his skull. Landon's head lolled to the side, nothing more than a bloody, fleshless mess, as the piranhas shredded the skin and sinew from his neck and throat.
As his lifeblood drained away, the fish turned their ravenous appetites to the rest of his body. They ripped into his muscular torso, tearing away the thick slabs of beef that had once been his most prized assets. His pecs, his abs, his lats - all shredded and consumed as the creatures feasted on his flesh. Landon's organs were next. His lungs, his heart, his liver, his intestines - the piranhas tore into them with gusto, their razor-sharp teeth shredding the delicate tissues as they fell from his body cavity. Bits of flesh and organ matter floated in the bloodied water, swirling around the dead hunk. His spine arched grotesquely as the fish sank their teeth into his backbone, the sharp bones cracking and splintering like kindling.
The men looked on in sickened awe at the scene before them. The window was now a pink curtain of water as the fish devoured the huge musclestud. Wally watched as the evil creatures swirled around in a tornado of flashing silver scales. He could barely make out Landon’s form. Yet it took only a few minutes before the fish started to disperse.
There were sounds of vomiting and gasps from the crowd as the fish came out of their frenzy. At the bottom of the flooded room, swaying gently in the current, were the remains of Landon Bishop, Hollywood’s biggest superhunk, now nothing more than a flesh-stippled skeleton. His handsome face was gone, replaced by a grotesque skull, jaw hanging open in a silent scream, a detached eye hanging from the socket, until it, too, was quickly nicked away by a piranha not quite satiated from it’s meal of studmeat.
The lights in the room beyond the window clicked off. There was silence in the library. The speaker crackled on.
It was Pigman. “Gentlemen,” he said with obvious glee in his voice, “Welcome to THE GAME!”
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