The Wrath of Carrion: Part 1

The island of Kallandros lies roughly equidistant from southern Italy, western Greece, and the northern coast of Africa. Today, it is a hot, windswept crescent of land, rising abruptly from the azure sea. A tilted slice of ashen terrain, it is the remnant of an ancient volcano, which erupted spectacularly some 2,500 years ago—an eruption that would rival the famed Santorini Caldera. Now home only to bird colonies and scrubland, Kallandros has long been neglected by sailors, merchants, and explorers alike. It offers no strategic advantage for settlement, lies far from major trade routes, and contains no resources worth extracting. Its greatest allure, perhaps, is its scenery: sheer golden cliffs that rise hundreds of meters, lashed by wind, shrouded in fog, emerging from the sea like the walls of a fortress.

Yet despite its apparent insignificance, the island holds a multitude of secrets. In 1884, land surveys conducted by the Heliaran authorities—who at the time claimed a reluctant dominion over the worthless Kallandros —revealed ancient lava tubes on the northeastern rise of the crescent. When these passages were found to bear the markings of an ancient society, the authorities called upon the Royal Archaeological Society of London to conduct a detailed study.

In March 1886 archaeologists descended upon the island and discovered that these were no ordinary lava tubes. Far older than the 650 BC eruption, the tunnels had been shaped into corridors and halls, suggesting the existence of an advanced city-state. This discovery, remarkable in its own right, was eclipsed six months later by an even more extraordinary find: an intact library and record hall belonging to the civilization we now know as the Carrions.

The records of the Carrion library painted a vivid picture of ancient Kallandros as a fertile and thriving land. The island was once roughly elliptical, about fifty kilometers long and thirty kilometers wide at its broadest point, stretching northeast to southwest. Near its center rose Mount Skolax, a volcano whose slopes dominated the view from nearly every vantage. To the west lay broad plains and gently rolling hills, nourished by the river Lystra. Along the coast sat the gleaming marble city of Strovinium, home to the Strovians. To the east, the highlands were harsh: steep cliffs, basalt ridges, narrow valleys, hot springs, and sulfur pits. This was the domain of the Carrionum city-state.

For nearly four centuries, these two societies—so different in culture, appearance, and belief—coexisted in uneasy harmony, bound together by trade and necessity. The Carrions relied on the Strovians for agricultural produce and crafts; the Strovians depended upon the Carrions for the minerals, ores, and obsidian of the eastern highlands.

While their need for trade was the same, both city-states were vastly different in beliefs and practices. Prosperous in the fertile volcanic valley, the Strovinians built a shining marble city, using the waters of the Lystra river to irrigate vineyards and olive groves, with sophisticated aqueducts to carry fresh mountain water into their fountains and baths. Their society was one that was orderly, lawful, and beautiful — they saw the mountain as a divine forge, a sacred force that sustains life through ash and fire. Their people, by all accounts, were exceptionally beautiful. Most notably the men: in fact, some of the scrolls recount a legend that Adonis himself spread his seed across the western slopes of the volcano, from which the Strovinian men sprung from the earth. 

In contrast, the Carrions were apparently a race of squalid, ugly beings. Short in stature, round, and prone to horrific skin conditions and deformities, their appearance looked closer to pigs or hogs than people. Their city lacked the grand presence and colonnades that could be found in Strovinium to the west. The populace was hardened in their harsh terrain of basalt cliffs, black sands, and sulphurous springs. Rejecting the tenets of beauty and order of the Strovinians, the Carrions thrived in cruelty, chaos and malice. They saw the volcano as a god of wrath that must be fed with blood and suffering in order to power their hot springs, sulphur pools and rolling fogs. Where Strovians built their temples, homes and baths of white stone, Carrions carved their shrines and living quarters into jagged cliffs and lava tubes.

The fragile equilibrium of uneasy peace between the two societies ended with a volcanic eruption that devastated Strovinium’s fields and choked the Lystra river to a mere trickle. The Carrions seized the moment, obliterating the western city-state. Their victory, however, proved fleeting. Within a decade, a cataclysmic eruption destroyed most of the island along with the Carrions. Yet, thanks to their subterranean proclivities, a substantial record of the Dysmorria city-state endured.

For over a century, Victorian authorities, scandalized by the graphic and controversial nature of these findings, buried them in obscurity. By chance, I discovered the archive, hidden in the dusty catacombs of Oxford University. What follows is one of the most complete accounts of warfare, treachery, and tragedy from the ancient world. It chronicles the eruption of Mount Skolax and the final moments of the last Strovinian male. The account comes from The Histories of Menander of Carrion, Book VII—a Strovinian who defected to the Carrions as a youth, became a revered scholar, and witnessed the destruction of his people firsthand.

For today’s readers, I have translated the text and adapted the language to a modern style, preserving its power and drama. It is my hope that this story of an ancient island, its rival civilizations, and their ultimate undoing will captivate and endure.

Killing Kallias

It was the third day after the eruption of Mount Skolax when Kallias was summoned by the Emperor Eryx Magnus. The air in Strovinium still carried the taste of ash.Kallias felt it as he mounted the steps of the Palatium Skolacium. He was only nineteen, still marked as a cadet of the agōgē, but already his broad, muscular shoulders carried the breadth of a young soldier and his stride the steadiness of drill. His cape bore the simple red stripe of the academy, and though his sandals were scuffed from three days of hauling supplies to the stricken, he kept his head high as the guards escorted him through the bronze doors.

The Aula Regia was dim that morning, lit not by sun through the clerestories — for the sky was still choked with ash — but by tall oil lamps that cast shifting shadows up the marble columns. At the end of the hall, on the dais of white stone, sat Emperor Eryx Magnus. His bronze-and-marble throne gleamed dully in the half-light, the great mosaic of Mount Skolax behind him glinting in gold.

The emperor was not armored, but robed in white, bound with a crimson sash. Around him stood generals, magistrates, and priests, their voices hushed as Kallias approached and bowed.

“Rise,” the emperor commanded. His voice carried easily through the chamber, stern but not unkind. “You are Kallias, son of Menon. Trained in the academy, disciplined in the ways of our fathers?”

“Yes, Basileus,” Kallias replied, his chest swelling with both pride and trepidation.

Eryx studied him, his eyes drinking in the sight of the tanned youth. Kallias stood 5’10 and weighed 210lbs. He was – like all men in Viridium – a study in masculine perfection. A simple leather Pteruges, a defensive skirt of leather strips worn hanging from the waist, hung low on his hips, the spacing between the leather strips revealing the tanned, muscular skin of his thighs beneath and the swell of his loincloth. His upper body was bare, smooth-skinned, and sublimely muscled. His thick, mounded pectorals rose and fell in steady rhythm as he stood before the emperor. His face, still soft with youth, was hard in its expression: steely blue eyes stared ahead, the lines of his jaw tense. Dark hair fell in curls about his face.

Eryx locked eyes with the youth for a brief moment. Thoughts of taking him to the royal chambers and fucking him against the statues of great warriors intruded into the mind of the handsome emperor. No, he couldn’t – he had serious matters to attend. Besides, until Kallias successfully defeated another student of the academy in a battle to the death, the youth was not allowed to fornicate or spill his seed. That wouldn’t be at least another year – assuming the cataclysm had been managed by then.

Eryx gestured toward the mosaic of Skolax. “You have seen what the mountain has done. Our fields are smothered. Our river is gone. Without grain, without water, Strovinium will crack like pottery. The people will suffer.” He let the words hang, heavy as stone.

“My advisors say that you are one of the more promising students at the Academy. This is why you have been summoned here today.” He leaned forward, his gaze sharpening. “We must ask aid from Carrionum. You will be our messenger.”

A murmur passed among the assembled men, though none dared speak. Carrionum — the city of chaos on the far side of Kallandros. A city of deformed and depraved lunatics. Strovinium had long endured their presence for centuries, trading for ores, marble and beasts, yet never trusting, never embracing. The thought of bowing to them for succor was bitter to every man in the hall.

Kallias felt his stomach tighten, but he kept his face impassive.

“You will go,” Eryx said. “You will bear my seal and my words. You will not crawl nor beg. You will stand as a son of Strovinium, showing them that though the mountain has tested us, we are unbroken. You will request grain and water, but you will remind them of the strength that binds us. If they see weakness, they will seize it like wolves. If they see resolve, they will respect it.”

A herald stepped forward, placing in Kallias’ hands a small chest of carved cedar. Within lay a bronze tablet inscribed with the emperor’s decree, bound by a scarlet ribbon and pressed with his signet.

Eryx rose from his throne — a rare gesture — and descended the dais until he stood directly before the youth. The emperor’s height and presence seemed to fill the chamber. He placed a heavy hand on Kallias’ shoulder. Both felt an electric shiver run through their bodies. Kallias looked up at the older man, feeling his own passion start to rise. His muscular body tensed.

“You are young,” Eryx said, his tone softer now, “but youth carries a fire age cannot kindle. I send you not because you are the most seasoned, but because you represent what we most cherish. Go swiftly. Go proudly. The fate of Strovinium walks with you.”

Kallias bowed once more, his pulse quickening. With the chest in hand, he turned and left the great hall. Descending the stairs and entering Strovinium’s streets, he felt the weight of the city fall behind him, the white walls, the silent fields, the faces of men and women sweeping ash from their doorways. And above it all, the smoldering crown of Skolax.

The throne room of the Carrion city state was dark and fetid. Kallias found himself standing before a large pool, flanked on either side by two short, piggish soldiers who each held a spear angled menacingly toward his chest. The steam that rose from the sulphur pool clouded the chamber in a hazy yellow mist, leaving the air heavy and acrid. Every breath burned his throat, and his stomach turned at the odor, as if the very room were rotting from within.

He had entered Carrionum with confidence, despite never having set foot in it before. That confidence had been tested at once. Immediately he had been seized upon the gates and shoved into custody, his protests ignored, the cedar box bearing the royal Strovinium seal having no effect on his treatment. As he was marched through the streets, his disdain for Carrionum grew with every step.

The city was chaos made flesh. Where Strovinium’s avenues were marble and order, Carrionum was squalor and filth. Haphazard structures leaned drunkenly against one another, their walls blackened with soot and fungus. The streets ran with open sewage, choked by carcasses of dogs, pigs, and men alike, while flies moved in dark clouds over every heap of refuse. Even the people bore the city’s corruption upon them — fat bellies, bulbous growths, skin mottled in hues of sickly yellow and green. They jeered as Kallias passed, some spitting, others laughing with mouths of broken teeth.

In the palace courtyard, the scene was no better. A hundred soldiers trained in the sun, loosing arrows into makeshift butts. Kallias had glanced once at the targets, then forced himself to look away: rotting pigs, their bodies splitting open beneath shafts, the stench carried on the heat. He had felt bile rise in his throat, but he clenched his jaw, remembering Eryx’s command — to show no weakness, not even in this den of corruption.

Now, in the emperor’s chamber, all that he had seen seemed distilled into one place: the sulphur pool bubbling at the center, the air sour with decay, and the leering figure that emerged from the waters in front of him.

Emperor Sepsus was immense. He came forth towards Kallias nude, his flesh spilling in folds over his legs. His skin shone with an oily sheen, blotched with sores that wept yellow ooze. His face was broad and greasy, his eyes small and glittering like a rat, his mouth cracked in a grin that revealed blackened stumps of teeth. He moved with a strange, waddling grace, as though accustomed to being carried rather than walking.

“Kallias of Strovinium,” Sepsus drawled, his voice gurgling with phlegm. “So young… so proud.” His tongue darted across cracked lips. “Your master sends you into my house, bearing his seal, yet dressed like … a sacrifice?”

The piggish guards snorted laughter, jabbing their spears an inch closer to Kallias’ ribs.

Kallias straightened his shoulders, keeping his eyes locked on the grotesque figure before him. The cedar box weighed heavily in his hands. Every instinct urged him to recoil from the stench, to shrink back from the emperor’s leer, but he stood firm. He remembered Eryx’s words: Show them strength. Show them resolve.

“I come with the voice of Emperor Eryx Magnus,” he said, his tone hard and unshaken. “I bring words of alliance, of trade, of survival. Though the mountain tests us, Strovinium does not bend. We ask, and we offer, as equals.”

The hall fell into a tense silence. The bubbling pool hissed. Sepsus’ grin widened, his eyes narrowing into dark slits.

“Equals…” he echoed, dragging the word as though tasting it. His laughter came then — wet, throaty, cruel. “Equals! Ha!” He chortled.

“Strovinium has never considered our kind worthy of anything but contempt, only tolerating us out of necessity. Now, with the mountain aflame and your fields dead and dying, you come to us and declare that we are equals?”

Kallias remained silent. He wasn’t accustomed to negotiation or the intricacies of politics, and the bile in his stomach rose anew at the stench of the emperor and the sulphur pool. 

“If your kind wishes to be my equal, then you must approach me as one. Remove your garb,” he said, waving his hand.

Kallias looked at the two guards, their spears still aimed at his chest. He had no real place to refuse. Kallias stood tall and proud, his head held high despite the degrading circumstances. As the cloak slipped from his broad, muscular shoulders, it revealed the sculpted physique of a god. His back was a canvas of rippling power, each muscle defined and taut, tapering down to a narrow, lean waist. The emperor's eyes raked over the expansive landscape of his torso, taking in every ridge and valley of his abdomen. Kallias' six-pack was as perfect as a set of cobblestones, each square of muscle hard and unyielding. The emperor's gaze drifted lower, over the deep V-lines that disappeared tantalizingly into the waistband of his Pteruges.

With a defiant flick of his wrist, Kallias unhooked the belt, letting the armored skirt fall away. It pooled around his feet, leaving him bare before the emperor and his guards. The two men stared in awe and disbelief at the magnificent specimen before them. Kallias' thick, meaty quads flexed as he shifted his stance, the muscles in his calves and hamstrings corded and graceful.

But it was the sight between his legs that drew the emperor's rapt attention and left him slack-jawed. Kallias' manhood hung heavy and low, a thick, veined shaft that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. It swung gently with each breath the young warrior took. It was a weapon in its own right, a testament to the virility and vitality of the young man before him.Behind it, two massive, hairless testicles swung low and heavy, each one almost the size of a ripe peach and just as succulent in appearance. 

The emperor's eyes raked over Kallias' chiseled form, drinking in every sculpted muscle and plane of his divine physique. A familiar stirring began in his loins, a long-dormant heat that had nothing to do with the sulfurous vapors permeating the baths. He licked his lips, his mouth suddenly parched with desire as his gaze lingered on the youth's Adonis-like beauty.

"Tell me, boy," the emperor murmured, his voice low and heavy with lust as he drew closer, "is it true what they say about your people? That you must spill blood and take lives to earn your place in Strovinium society?" His meaty, jewel-encrusted fingers began to roam over Kallias' thick, rippling abdominals, sinking into the unyielding flesh.

Kallias swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He watched warily as the emperor's hands mapped out the contours of his torso, his muscles flexing involuntarily beneath the brazen touch. "Yes, Your Majesty," he replied stiffly, his voice tight with barely restrained revulsion. "Every Strovinium male must prove his worth and strength through the trials of the Academy. I am to face my own test of combat next year, to fight for my place among men."

The emperor's fingers trailed lower, skimming over the deep V-lines that disappeared tantalizingly intoKallias' hips, his cock already beginning to swell and strain against the emperor's wandering touch. The youth's breathing grew shallower, his chest heaving as he fought to maintain his composure under the lewd groping. The emperor's eyes glinted with sadistic glee at the effect he was having on the strapping young man.

"They say the arena trials are a test of skill, of courage, of unyielding determination," the emperor mused, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "But we both know the truth, don't we boy? Only the strong survive, and the weak... well, the weak are left to rot." His hand drifted lower, brushing against the heavy sack that hung between Kallias' muscular thighs, drawing a sharp gasp from the warrior's lips.

Kallias clenched his jaw, his hands balling into fists at his sides as he battled the urge to strike out at the emperor's brazen molestation. "I will not be found wanting," he gritted out, his voice low and tight with barely restrained fury. "I will fight, and I will win. I will earn my place in Strovinium, and all who stand in my way will reap the consequences of their folly."

The emperor threw back his head and laughed, a sound like the grating of tombstones. "Brave words from a boy who stands naked and at my mercy," he sneered. “And do you think you will succeed?” Emperor Sepsus said, his hands moving further down, towards the shaft of Kallias’ thickening manhood. The youth grunted, his muscles flexing.

Emperor Sepsus leaned in closer, his hot, fetid breath washing over Kallias' face as his meaty hand wrapped around the youth's hardening shaft. Kallias grunted, his muscles clenching and flexing as unwanted arousal coursed through him at the emperor's brazen touch. The boy's manhood swelled and lengthened in the emperor's grasp, betraying his body's base instincts even as his mind recoiled in disgust.

"I have no choice," Kallias bit out, his voice steady and unyielding despite the shame and anger simmering beneath the surface. "I must succeed, or I shall perish." His eyes flashed with defiance as he met the emperor's cruel gaze.

The emperor's lips curled into a sneer, his voice dripping with disdain. “Hmm. Yes. I’ve heard all about the lack-of-choice your grand Emperor gives you all.” Sepsus said, his voice dripping with contempt. “And I’m afraid that for you, I am no different. You see, I have already decided your fate.” His hand tightened around Kallias' throbbing cock, stroking it with slow, deliberate pumps that sent jolts of unwilling pleasure through the youth's body.

Kallias bit back a moan, his hips twitching as he fought to hold still under the emperor's lewd ministrations. The heat of Sepsus' touch seared his flesh.

Emperor Sepsus suddenly jerked himself backwards a step, releasing Kallias’ dripping, engorged member. "Guards!" he bellowed, his voice echoing off the marble walls. "Attend me!" The heavy footsteps of armored men approached, and Kallias saw a phalanx of soldiers emerge from the shadows. The emperor turned to the nearest guard, a burly man with a cruel scar across his cheek. "I believe that our archers need a fresh target for their practice; those pigs are getting a little putrid. Why don’t you lead young Kallias here to volunteer?”." The guard nodded, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he grabbed Kallias' arm in a bruising grip.

Kallias attempted to wrench himself free, his muscles bulging as he fought the guard's hold. "No!" he roared, desperation coloring his voice. "I am a warrior of Strovinium! I will not be used as a mere target!" But it was too late. The guards closed in, their hands grasping at his limbs, dragging him backwards as he struggled and fought. The emperor watched, a sadistic gleam in his eye, as the divine youth was hauled away, his perfect, nude body writhing and flexing against the iron grip of the soldiers.

Emperor Sepsus paid no attention to the screams of the desperate, god-like youth. Instead he focused on the cedar box on the floor. Bemused, he picked it up and took out the scroll from within. His eyes scanned it, before he let out a dark chuckle.

“So, Emperor Eryx, the vitality of Strovinium is imperiled and you come to me as an equal, looking for my help?” He chuckled, his fat folds jiggling. “The only equality we have is despair and death. As you so gave our kind, so we shall give in return.” He looked beyond the sulpher baths, to the high windows opposite, to the fuming mountain pouring ash towards the west.

Outside, Kallias’ arms were bound in front of him as he struggled to escape his captors. Though the guards were squat and heavyset, they had an unusual strength – despite the size of his muscular arms and thick legs, Kallias could only squirm as they brought him out to the archery range. 

The young hunk’s nostrils were filled with the stench of decay as his captors brought him out to the field. A line of bloated, rotting pig carcasses hung suspended from a weathered beam, their putrid flesh bursting with writhing maggots and oozing with sickening pus. The reek of death and decay hung heavy in the air, threatening to overwhelm the young warrior's senses.

"Release me at once!" Kallias roared, his voice echoing across the bleak expanse. "I am Kallias, a son of Strovinium! I will not be used as a target for your base entertainment!" But his protests fell on deaf ears as the guards, growing weary of his futile resistance, shoved a moldy, rotting apple into his mouth with brutal force. Kallias choked and sputtered, the acrid juices of the molding fruit searing his throat. At least the putrid taste provided a modicum of distraction from the cloying stench of the rotting carrion that hung heavy in the air. The guards paid no heed to his strangled cries, dragging his bound form closer to the macabre display of porcine decay.

Kallias thrashed and screamed into the moldy apple stuffed in his mouth as the guards dragged him towards one of the grotesque, bloated pig carcasses. His heart hammered in his heaving chest as the horrifying realization dawned on him - he was not to be hung alongside the rotting pigs, but with one, as some sickening centerpiece for the archers' twisted amusement.

The sow's head lolled obscenely as they approached, its glassy eyes seeming to leer at the handsome youth with a wicked grin. Kallias shuddered in revulsion, his muscular body writhing against the rough hands of his captors. They hoisted his bound arms upwards, forcing him to arch his back, his taut glutes and the thick, meaty globes of his asscheeks jutting out obscenely.

Kallias let out a muffled scream as his bare flesh was forced against the slimy, blistered hide of the dead pig. The putrid, bloated carcass had split open down its center, the decaying meat parting like the lewd, inviting lips of some grotesque whore. The youth gagged as the warm, foul stench of the pig's rotting insides washed over him, the scent of death and decay filling his nostrils.

To Kallias' horror and shame, his massive, semi-erect cock throbbed and pulsed as it pressed into the rotted meat. He let out a strangled, muffled moan around the apple lodged in his mouth. The sensation of the warm, decomposing entrails of the animal engulfing his throbbing manhood was beyond revolting, yet his treacherous body responded with a surge of unwanted lust. His hips bucked involuntarily as his big cock, already semi-erect from the lecherous groping of Emperor Sepsus, plunged into the fetid, oozing flesh, the pig's rotting insides clinging obscenely to his pulsing member.

Kallias' mind reeled with disgust and self-loathing as he felt his erection grow to its full, magnificent ten-inch length, the thick, engorged head pushing against the slimy, decaying spirals of the pig's guts. The depraved act was a sickening mockery of the virility and vitality of his youthful, muscular body. Tears of shame and revulsion streamed down his face as he struggled and thrashed against the ropes binding him to the bloated, rotting carcass, his ass cheeks clenching and flexing with each involuntary thrust of his hips

Behind the bound and debased youth, the lead guard, a portly, squat brute of a man with a face like a crumpled, pockmarked potato, lumbered over to the line of archers. He beckoned forward the most skilled marksman, a wiry man with a leering grin that revealed yellowed, rotting teeth and a complexion etched with the scars of pox and vice. The guard leaned in close, his lips brushing against the archer's ear as he hissed his twisted instructions.

The archer's eyes glinted with sadistic glee as he listened, his grin widening into a grotesque smirk. He gave a sharp nod, his tongue darting out to lick his cracked lips in anticipation. The orders were clear - cause pain, but no permanent damage. Let the boy suffer, let him writhe and moan like the bitch he was.

The archer's gaze raked over Kallias' sweat-slicked, muscular form, drinking in every taut line and curve of the youth's divine body. His eyes lingered on the broad expanse of Kallias' back, the play of sinew and muscle beneath honey-colored skin. Lower still, his gaze settled on the young god's ass, firm and rounded like two ripe, succulent peaches. The archer felt a twinge of lust as he watched Kallias struggle to maintain his balance on tiptoe,The archer's fingers tightened on the bowstring as he aimed at the youth's glistening, sweat-slicked flesh. He could see the way Kallias' muscles flexed and strained against the ropes, his body glistening like burnished bronze in the harsh sunlight. The archer felt a dark thrill at the thought of marring that perfect skin, of making the boy scream and beg.

He released the arrow. With a whistle in the air, the shaft flew true, piercing deep into the meat of Kallias' right buttock. The youth let out a muffled scream around the apple lodged in his mouth as searing pain exploded through his gluteal muscle. The arrowhead buried itself to the fletching in his ass cheek, the force of the impact making his hip jerk forward and driving his throbbing cock even deeper into the pig's putrid, oozing cavern.

Kallias' eyes rolled back in agony, his body convulsing against the ropes and the bloated, rotting corpse swinging in front of him. The pain was excruciating, a white-hot lance of suffering that seemed to set his nerve endings alight. Drool dripped down his chin as he choked on the apple, his thick pectorals heaving and sweat pouring down his straining abs. The archer watched, his grin widening as he saw the arrow quivering obscenely in the youth's ass.

The lead guard turned to the archer with a wicked grin, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement as he watched Kallias thrash and scream on the end of the arrow. "Again!" he bellowed, his voice booming across the archery range. "Give the boy another taste of your skill!"

The archer, emboldened by the guard's command and the youth's debased display, nocked another arrow to his bow with trembling fingers. His heart raced as he aimed at the sweat-slicked, muscular expanse of Kallias' left buttock, the arrowhead glinting coldly in the sunlight. He could see the way the youth's ass cheeks clenched and flexed as he struggled, the firm globes jiggling obscenely with each anguished movement.

The archer released the bowstring with a sadistic shout, the arrow flying through the fetid air. It struck Kallias' left ass cheek with a meaty thunk, burying itself to the fletching in the taut, glistening flesh. The pain was too much for the youth to bear, and with a gargled scream around the apple lodged in his throat, Kallias shuddered and bucked his hips. The movement caused his cock to jam even further into the dead pig that it was impaled on. Overwhelmed with the sensation of the hot, rotting flesh embracing his meaty manhood, Kallias cried out as he felt his massive, throbbing cock erupt like a geyser.

Thick, hot ropes of virile semen erupted from the youth's pulsing shaft, pumping in pulsing spurts into the putrid, decaying womb of the pigKallias' eyes rolled back in their sockets, his tongue lolling out as he screamed his agonized ecstasy into the moldy apple. His hips bucked wildly, slamming his erupting cock even deeper into the pig's fetid, oozing cavern. Thick, hot ropes of his seed gushed forth, painting the sow's decaying entrails with his essence. The youth's muscular body shuddered and convulsed, the ropes creaking as he strained against them in the throes of his forced climax.

The archers and guards watched in stunned, lewd awe as Kallias' massive cock jerked and throbbed, pumping what felt like gallons of hot, virile semen into the bloated, rotting corpse. The pig's belly began to swell and bloat even more obscenely as it was filled with the divine youth's seed, the putrid flesh stretching taut and glistening with the sheer volume.

Kallias could only moan and whimper as the sickening sensation of his own release mingled with the agony of the arrows embedded in his ass. His mind reeled, unable to process the depravity of his situation - violated, debased, and forced to spill his seed into the decaying, maggot-ridden guts of a dead sow. Tears of self-loathing and revulsion streamed down his face as the last spurts of his climax dribbled out. 

The putrid stench of the pig's rotting entrails, now mixed with the acrid tang of his own spent seed, made his stomach churn with revulsion. He prayed fervently to the gods that this nightmare would soon be over, even as a small, traitorous part of him shuddered at the memory of the forbidden pleasure he had been forced to endure.

The archers, spurred on by the guard's cruel laughter and the youth's debased display, surged forward, eager to take their turn in tormenting the divine Kallias. They jostled and shoved each other, each man wanting a chance to strike at the sweat-slicked, muscular flesh of the bound god. The lead guard, with a wicked grin, ordered them to take their time, to make the boy suffer for hours as they used his perfect body as their personal target practice.

The first archer stepped up, his eyes gleaming with sadistic hunger as he aimed at the taut, glistening expanse of Kallias' lower back. The youth, still dazed from his forced climax, barely had time to tense before the arrow struck, piercing deep into the meat of his trapezius muscle. Kallias screamed, his back arching as the arrowhead tore through sinew and flesh, the fletching kissing his skin as it buried itself to the shaft.

One by one, the archers took their shots, each arrow finding its mark in the rippling expanse of Kallias' back and ass. The youth's once-perfect skin began to resemble a grotesque pincushion, arrows protruding from every inch of his muscular torso and glutes. With each hit, Kallias jerked and writhed, his screams echoing across the archery range as the agony of the wounds compounded.

As the archers took their time, methodically targeting each arrow to avoid any vital organs, their cruel intent clear - to draw out Kallias' suffering for as long as possible. Each new arrow that tore into his flesh sent fresh waves of anguish crashing through the youth, his screams growing hoarse and ragged as the day wore on.

Kallias' once-golden skin began to take on a sickening mottled hue, the flesh around each arrowhead swelling and discoloring. As the arrows ripped apart his muscular back and ass, the youth could feel the wounds starting to gape and tear, the edges of the lacerations fluttering obscenely with each labored breath he took. His divine form, once a testament to Strovinium's might and glory, was being systematically defiled and destroyed.

Hours passed in a haze of agony and humiliation for Kallias. The archers, their arms growing weary from the relentless assault, finally stepped back, surveying their handiwork with grim satisfaction. Kallias hung there, a broken and battered wreck, his body a map of suffering and torment. Arrows protruded from every inch of his back and ass, the fletching bobbing grotesquely with each shuddering breath. The youth's eyes, glazed with pain and despair, stared sightlessly ahead as he slumped in the ropes, his once-mighty strength spent.

The lead guard, his face etched with cruel amusement, stepped forward and grabbed the arrow shafts protruding from Kallias' lacerated back and ass. With a sadistic grin, he began to wrench and twist the arrows, tearing into the youth's shredded flesh with each brutal tug. Kallias screamed, his voice raw and ragged, as he felt the arrows ripping through muscle and sinew, the searing agony of the wounds blossoming into a blazing inferno of pain.

One by one, the guard ripped the arrows free, leaving a grotesque map of torn, bloody gashes in their wake. Kallias' once-perfect skin hung in tattered flaps, his muscular back and ass now a patchwork of mangled flesh and oozing blood. The guard tossed the bloodied arrows aside carelessly, his eyes glinting with malice as he watched the youth convulse in anguish.

Seizing Kallias' bound form, the guard spun him around like a crude marionette, twisting the ropes that held him aloft. The movement sent fresh waves of agony crashing through the wounded youth as his body protested the sudden motion. Kallias found himself facing the leering crowd of archers, his divine front side and massive, semi-flaccid cock now the target of their cruel amusement.

The archers nocked their arrows with sadistic glee. They took aim at Kallias' incredible front side, the youth's chiseled abs and muscular chest now a canvas for their twisted art. The first arrow struck his sternum, the arrowhead burying itself between his pectorals with a sickening thunk. Kallias screamed, his head lolling back as the pain exploded through his torso.

But it was when the archers turned their attention to his most vulnerable and sensitive area that the youth's torment reached a fever pitch. Dozens of arrows rained down upon his massive, semi-erect cock and the heavy, cum-filled balls that hung beneath. The archers took their time, relishing each scream and howl of agony that tore from Kallias' throat as the arrows pierced his most prized possession, ripping it apart inch by inch.

Kallias convulsed and thrashed against the ropes, his cock jerking and spasming wildly as the arrows ripped into it, the shaft and head a grotesque pincushion of fletching. His balls swelled and darkened, the skin taut and mottled as the arrows tore into them, the youth's anguished cries echoing through the air. Blood and semen mingled, dripping down his quivering thighs as the archers worked to shred his manhood to pieces

The archers paused, admiring their handiwork with cruel satisfaction. Kallias hung there, his godlike body desecrated and defiled, a grotesque mockery of his former divine glory. His once-radiant skin was now a patchwork of gashes, bruises, and oozing wounds, the flesh torn and shredded by the relentless arrow assault. The youth's massive cock, a once-proud symbol of his virility and strength, now dangled in a tattered, bloodied mess, the arrows jutting out at obscene angles.

As Kallias slumped in the ropes, his pain-ravaged mind barely registering the latest wave of torment, he felt a sudden, sickening sensation against his lacerated back. The rotting, maggot-infested flesh of the sow's corpse, now pressed even more firmly against his mangled skin as he hung limp and broken. Kallias shuddered and retched as he felt the writhing, squirming movement of the maggots burrowing into his wounds, their tiny mouths and mandibles tearing into his flesh with a horrifying, crawling sensation.

The archers watched in sadistic glee as the maggots began to consume the youth's torn and bloody skin, the putrid scent of decay mingling with the coppery tang of his blood. They could see the youth's flesh starting to ripple and distort as the maggots feasted.

As the archers paused, catching their breath from the relentless assault, Kallias hung before them like a grotesque marionette, his once-divine form now a bloody, mutilated mess. His skin, once smooth and flawless, was now a patchwork of jagged gashes, each one oozing a steady stream of blood that painted his body in a macabre abstract of agony. The arrows protruding from his torso and groin had turned his muscular frame into a grotesque pincushion, the fletching bobbing obscenely with each labored, wheezing breath.

Kallias' big cock was now a shredded tube of bloody flesh. His nuts nothing but flaps of bloody swiss cheese. The hunk’s body was a testament to the archers' sadistic skill and cruelty, his divine flesh ravaged and defiled in the most brutal manner imaginable.

As Kallias drifted in and out of consciousness, his mind reeling from the overwhelming pain, he could barely discern the lead guard lean in close to a particularly skilled archer. The guard's voice was a low, sinister whisper, his words dripping with malice and cruel intent. The archer listened intently,The archer nodded grimly, his eyes glinting with a newfound hunger for cruelty. He nocked an arrow to his bow, the shaft slender and the point razor-sharp. Kallias, barely conscious and delirious from pain, didn't even register the danger until it was too late. The archer drew back the string, lining up his shot with a cold, calculating eye.

In an instant, he released the arrow, and it flew true, piercing straight into Kallias' left eye socket. The youth let out an ungodly scream, a sound of purest agony that echoed across the blood-soaked archery range. The arrowhead buried itself deep into his skull, the fletching kissing his cheek as it tore through the delicate orb of his eye. Kallias thrashed and screamed, the pain beyond anything he had endured before, even in his current state of torment.

The archers, spurred on by their comrade's example and the youth's anguished cries, surged forward with renewed zeal. They aimed their arrows at Kallias' once-handsome face, the face of a god, now a canvas for their brutal art. One by one, they loosed their shafts, the arrows piercing into the youth's cheeks, nose, and lips, tearing into the flesh and shattering his perfect features.

Kallias' screams grew ragged and weak as the archers worked to rip apart his handsome face, each new arrow tearing into his flesh sending fresh waves of agony crashing through his broken body. His once-proud features, the very image of divine beauty, were being systematically destroyed, each arrow piercing deep into his skin and muscle, shredding it to bloody ribbons.

The archers took their time, relishing each scream and whimper that tore from Kallias' ruined mouth as they targeted his most sensitive and vulnerable areas. His lips, once so full and kissable, were now a tattered mess, the flesh hanging in bloody strips as arrows ripped through them. His nose, once aquiline and regal, was crushed and deformed, the cartilage shattered by the relentless assault. And his eyes, once a brilliant and striking blue, were now a grotesque, oozing ruin, the arrows piercing deep into the delicate sockets and tearing through the fragile nerves and tissue.

As the archers continued their brutal onslaught, Kallias could feel the warm, sticky blood pouring down his face, filling his mouth and nostrils, choking him with each ragged breath. The coppery taste of it mingled with the sickening taste of the moldy apple still lodged in his throat, making him gag and retch. His vision began to swim and darken around the edges as the blood loss and pain took their toll. More arrows continued to pierce his flesh, but by now the former musclegod youth is limp and lifeless. He takes one, last, ragged breath.

Days later, in the throne room of the imperial palace of Strovinium, Emperor Eryx sat anxiously upon his throne, his eyes fixed on the bloody, misshapen sack that had been unceremoniously dumped at his feet by a messenger from the gates of the city. The emperor's face, regarded the package with a mix of disdain and dread. He had seen the weight of it, the unmistakable heft of something heavy and fleshy within the damp, crimson-drenched fabric.

With a grunt of effort, the emperor pushed himself to his feet, his white robes clinging to his muscular frame. He seized the sack with a meaty hand, the blood-soaked flaxen material smearing crimson across his palm. With a grimace on his lips, Eryx upended the sack, spilling the gruesome contents onto the polished marble floor of the throne room.

Kallias' head tumbled out, the once-proud visage of the Strovinian cadet now a barely recognizable mass of mangled flesh and shattered bone. Maggots by the hundreds crawled and feasted on his decaying, blistered flesh. The youth's curly black hair, once a crown of dark glory, was now matted and caked with blood, the locks clinging to the grotesquely misshapen remains of his skull. Eryx's eyes raked over the ruin of the boy's face, taking in the shattered remnants of his once handsome features. He felt no remorse. Such youths were disposable. But still… to see this much sadism and cruelty, even this was beyond what he expected from the Carrions.

Eryx's eyes narrowed as he spotted a glint of copper amidst the bloody ruin of Kallias' face. Reaching out, he grasped the tablet with his thick fingers and wrenched it free from the youth's mangled jaws. The emperor's brow furrowed as he turned the blood-slick metal over in his hands, his eyes widening in rage as he read the three words etched upon its surface.

"DEATH TO STROVINIUM”