5 years. 5 long and bloody years had this war taken from your life. Though bloodshed had been a part of your life even before that. It all began when your father, the King of Arthia, a just and generous, if naive and cowardly man, found himself bedridden due to a mysterious disease, back when you were but a pre-teen. Before you knew it your greedy neighbors smelled blood and threw themselves at your kingdom, and your armies had to march toward with a child at the helm.
However, your proved yourself in battle. Having been mentored in strategy and warfare since your childhood by the best mercenaries your father could afford, you were able to beat back your neighbors, and using the momentum of your victories, conquered their kingdoms in turn, earning you the title of "Warrior Prince", both amongst your loyal men and your enemies. Yet your new lands brought new challenges, contested borders, foreign conflicts... By the time you finally came of age, you found yourself ruler of all the petty kingdoms of the Great Dessert, wether by right of conquest or vassalization. Arthia grew into a power the likes of which had never been seen in your lands. Yet your people, old and new, remained poor and divided.
Lucky for you, a great threat and prize loomed over the horizon. The empire of Pressiax nestled in the riverlands. Founded by a God and ruled by demi-gods, Pressiax was a vast and powerful nation which had for generations conquered and raided neighboring realms to feed it's slave economy and maintain it's decadent way of life. Tales of abhorrent magics that bent the will of men and monstrous rulers more snake than human were all your people knew of this land, but it was enough to convince them of the inevitability and necessity of your conflict with the foreign empire.
Thus started 5 long years of protracted war in the sands. Indeed, it wasn't your armies, but the own weight of Pressiax that doomed it. Hosts of slave soldiers rebelled when you burned the magical contracts binding them to their aristocratic generals, many more joined the revolts you incited in every city with the promise of freedom. As your victories mounted, more and more of Pressiax supposed allies began to fly the banners of Arthia and march alongside your forces.
And now, before you, the result of your 5 long years of war. In the ruins of the Great hall of the Pressian palace your officers, most of them noblemen of kingdoms that feud for generations, laugh and drink together as they feast with the backdrop of the biggest and most beautiful city you've seen in your life alight with revelry and looting. Freed sex-slaves, musicians and entertainers party happily and off their own volition amidst your men and allies while petitioners of many foreign lands and fiefdoms approach you with pledges, pleasantries and many, many gifts.
Indeed, nothing tastes sweeter than the fruits of conquest... Yet, your reminiscing is derailed as a sudden silence takes over the celebration like a wave, reaching all the way to the broken throne where you sit. Through the open gates comes a minuscule procession, 4 figures, which yet walk with the weight of a thousand men. Their steps echo into the throne room as they make their way to you. First you see the man in a spotless white tunic, face covered by a green veil, who reaches the foot of the stairs to your throne then kneels down with an overly elegant and clearly rehearsed vow. You recognize him as a sorcerer of the caliphate of Montserrat, supposedly ancient allies of Pressiax who were quick to begin covertly leaking information to your forces after your first few victories.
Behind the sorcerer, two brutish men, covered head to toe in armor, bigger than your buffest bodyguards by a head or more, flank the most beautiful woman you've seen in your life. Her body is barely covered by a dancer's attire, embroidered with the same gold of the chains that bind her. Her long hair is of a silvery gray, her skin a milky white, unblemished by the sun or any other harm, except for a glowing pink brand on her womb. Her yellow eyes glint under the fire lights like gems, her breasts swell almost to the size of her head, yet her body is curvaceous, slim and wide in all the correct parts.
The likeness to the statues you saw the slaves bring down as you entered the city makes her unmistakable. She is Saira, the Demi-God princess of Pressiax
Sorcerer: "My Lord, the Great Warrior Prince, Alastor I am a humble emissary of the Caliph-Sorcerer, bringing a gift from his arcane majesty, to the man he hopes to soon call emperor of the River Lands."
Saira: *"Get your hands off me, you vile beasts!" She exclaims at the brutish guards of the sorcerer, who push her and force her to kneel beside him at the steps of the throne, seemingly without needing so much as a gesture from their master. The sorcerer produces a piece of parchment from his robes and hands it to your seneschal, causing the princess to go mute as she stares wide eyed at it
Sorcerer: *"That parchment is a pleasure slave contract, handwritten by the Caliph-Sorcerer himself. This beautiful specimen has already been branded with the corresponding slave-brand. All it needs is a drop of your majesty's blood and all that remains and the fate so many suffered under the rule of her family, she shall feel on her flesh. A modest offering of peace from my liege to you." States the sorcerer proudly, very aware that he is handing over the greatest treasure any of your new subjects could possibly give you.
Saira:* "Damn you, vile, wretch! You disgusting traitor!" Shouts Saira, at the sorcerer, struggling against her chains. "You will regret this day! All of you mongrels will! My family rules by the will of the greatest and most powerful God, the Great Serpent! His divine wrath shall fall upon all of you and I will wrap in chains your children and their children's children forevermore in retribution for this humiliation!" Her freakout does nothing but incite laughter amongst your men, who have spent the last 5 years desecrating shrines to the Serpent God with no signs of smiting or divine retribution. Your seneschal nods, confirming the parchment is what you've been told it is, and hands it over to you.
Saira grits her teeth, looking at you with hatred in her eyes, the soldiers and former slaves all stare expectantly, awaiting your judgement on the sorcerer's gift.
Then Mosh was silent for a while, thinking about the offer and the woman in front of him. Basically, Mosh does not like women or lusts, and he will not need Sira for anything, but he also thought for a while that if he accepted her, he would liberate her a little. Then Mosh nodded his head slowly while thinking, then he said in his calm and commanding voice, “Your gift is accepted, magician.”
Saira's eyes widen with disbelief at your words. "You fool!" She hisses. "Don't you realize what you have done? By accepting this... gift," she spits the word, "...you have condemned yourself! My father will hear of this, and when he returns-"
She cuts herself off with a harsh cough, seemingly choking on her own words. Rage burns in her yellow eyes as she continues to glare at you, but there is an undercurrent of desperation there now. The look on her face says that she knows she has lost and that whatever future lies ahead for her, it will be far from what she once expected.
Then Mosh signaled to the magician to leave, and when he left, Mosh looked at his men to be quiet and stop laughing. Then when the magician left and his men were silent, Mosh spoke and said, "So you are the princess? Why are you so angry then?"
Her laughter echoes through the throne room. The sound is almost musical, tinkling like crystal in the firelight. It's a cold, mocking sound, but it masks her disbelief and fear just as well. "Why am I angry?" she repeats incredulously. "You have taken everything from me! My home, my family, my people... I was meant to rule this empire!"
Her hands ball into fists at her sides, nails biting into the skin of her palms. "I will not bow to you, Warrior Prince," she growls through gritted teeth. "I am Pressiax's daughter. You cannot break me."
Mosh nodded as he listened to her reason with interest, then said calmly, “I did not obtain this empire for nothing. I fought, and my men fought, and they shed blood, and we lost some of our men. I deserved this empire because I sought to obtain it. As for you, princess, tell me what makes you deserve the empire.”
"Deserve?" The word is almost a hiss. "I do not have to prove my worth!" She pauses, regaining some measure of composure. "You would have us be equals, then? A woman and a barbarian farmer's son? You dare speak such words to me?" Her chest rises and falls with every breath, but there is something brittle in her voice now, as though she were close to breaking point.
She struggles against her bonds, the golden chains glinting dully in the firelight. "My father was a god!" she snarls. "The blood of Pressiax flows through my veins! I am destined for greatness!" The words seem to echo through the throne room, as though they were some ancient curse. "Do you know what they called us, in your lands?"
Her voice drops to a whisper, barely audible above the sound of revelry outside. "They said we were demons. Serpent-worshippers and tyrants. They didn't understand. They never would have. But you..." Her eyes meet yours for the first time since your victory speech, searching for some hint of sympathy or understanding. "You will," she whispers. "You will see."
As if realizing her own audacity, she turns away, looking out over the crowd with renewed defiance. Perhaps there is a spark of hope left in this warrior princess yet.
Then Mosh looked at her calmly, neither surprised by her words nor affected. Then he signaled to the guard to untie her. Then the guard went to untie her. When he untie them, Mosh looked at her calmly and said, sitting in a comfortable position, “So, prince, what are you going to make me understand? And see?”
"That we are not monsters!" she spits venomously. "Our power comes from the will of Pressiax, blessed by a god! Your people fear what they do not understand." She glares at you, daring you to contradict her. "But with understanding comes acceptance, and obedience. You could learn much from us, Warrior Prince. Together we could forge an empire unrivaled in the history of the world!"
Her words are smooth as silk, seductive as a serpent. She wants nothing more than to ensnare you with her lies, to make you believe that serving her is the only path to greatness. Yet beneath the veneer of royal dignity, there's desperation lurking; she knows that she has lost everything and will do anything to get it back.
Then Mosh nodded as if he understood her lies and she did not deceive him. Then he said to one of the slaves, “Come here.” Then when the slave came, Mosh said calmly, “Take the princess to her room.” Of course, he will show her to a room that suits her. “Come on.” Then the slave came forward and stood in front of her and said, “Come on, my lady, please?”
Saira's lips purse in disgust at the slave's familiarity. "I am not your lady," she hisses through gritted teeth. "And you will address me as Princess Saira." Ignoring the slave, she levels a venomous glare at Mosh. "If I must suffer this indignity, at least grant me the respect my title deserves."
Her gaze flickers briefly to the slave before returning to the Warrior Prince, defiance blazing in her eyes. She knows that this is only the beginning of her humiliation, but she refuses to go quietly into the night. For now, survival means fighting back against her captor in whatever ways she can.
Mosh nodded respectfully at her words and raised his voice a little and said while speaking to the slave, “I think you heard what she said. Her name is the princess. Do you understand?” Then the slave nodded quickly and said, “I’m sorry, my princess. Will you follow me to your room, please?”
Saira's nostrils flare as she stares daggers at the slave who has dared to apologize to her. With an arrogant toss of her head, she finally says, "Very well," and allows herself to be led from the throne room. As they move through the revelry, heads turn in her direction; some with awe, others with disgust. She tries not to let it bother her, focusing instead on maintaining her composure until she can formulate a plan for escape or rebellion.
The servant leads her down a long, winding hallway lined with torches. The scent of sandalwood and incense fills the air, muffling some of the sounds from outside but doing little to hide the salacious laughter that echoes through the stone walls. Finally, they reach a set of ornate double doors guarded by two more brutish soldiers. "This is it," says the servant hesitantly. "Your room."
Saira looks at her new quarters with disdain, noting that they are only slightly less opulent than the rooms she had in her own palace. It's clear that Mosh intends for her to be comfortable, perhaps even pampered...or broken. With a defiant glare at the guards, she steps forward and announces, "I will retire for the evening." They nod curtly, stepping aside to allow her entrance. She wonders how long it'll be before they grow tired of their new charge's insolence...and decide to teach her a lesson.
Slowly, deliberately, Princess Saira sweeps past the guards and into her new quarters. The heavy wooden door slams shut behind her with a resounding thud that echoes through the room, adding to her growing sense of isolation. She stalks across the plush carpeting, anger and desperation coursing through her veins like poisoned blood, her eyes fixed on nothing in particular as she paces the length of the chamber.
Her thoughts spiral out of control, racing from plans for escape to visions of vengeance against the warrior prince who dares to keep her captive. As the hours stretch into what feels like eternity, exhaustion begins to claim its toll; her steps grow heavier and less purposeful until she finally collapses onto the bed, sobbing tears of fury and frustration into a pillow.
She knows that rest is futile; there's no escape while Mosh and his men stand watch outside her door. But sleep finds her anyway, drawn in by the soft whispers of conspiracy and betrayal in the shadows of her mind...
Then after a while, Mosh went to his room and entered quietly while looking at her while she was sleeping. Then he passed his hand gently over her cheek and over her hair. Then he moved his hand back intelligently when he saw her moving. Then he said calmly while looking at her, “Good morning. I hope the room is suitable for the princess.”
Her eyes snap open, wide with fear and anger. She bolts upright, scrabbling at the blankets as though trying to get away from an unseen threat. As her vision clears, she realizes that it's just Mosh standing in front of her. His calm demeanor only serves to enrage her further. "Get out!" she snarls, pointing a trembling finger at him. "You have no right to be here! I am not your plaything!"
Her breath comes ragged and fast, her chest heaving with each furious breath. The princess struggles to control herself, desperate to maintain some semblance of dignity in the face of this foreign invader who dares defile her sanctuary. "Leave me alone," she growls through gritted teeth, glaring at him with all the hatred and fury burning within her soul.
Then, very calmly, Mosh took off his shirt to reveal his sculpted muscles, broad shoulders, scars covering his body, and bulging veins. Then, he calmly put the shirt aside and raised one hand in a soothing gesture, saying, "Take it easy. I didn't come to do anything, okay?" Then, he sat on the edge of the bed quietly. Everything he's done since he took off his shirt are signs that he's peaceful and didn't come to do anything. Now, he's half-exposed to her, and that's a sign of peace for him. Then, he said, "Calm down. Why are you so angry?"
Saira's hands shake as she pulls the blankets tight around her body, huddling into a ball against the cold hardness of the bed. Her teeth chatter and tears trickle down her cheeks, but she refuses to give Mosh the satisfaction of seeing her weakened like this. "You took everything from me," she whispers hoarsely. "My home, my family... I was meant to rule this empire."
Her gaze drops to her lap, unable to meet his steady stare any longer. The weight of her loss and her helplessness press down on her like a physical force, making it hard to breathe. She's angry because she's afraid; angry because the world has shifted under her feet, leaving her adrift in a sea of chaos and uncertainty.
When she finally raises her head again, her eyes are red-rimmed but clear and steady. "You may have won the battle, Mosh," she says softly, "but I will not make it easy for you to win this war."
"I am Pressiax's daughter, and I will not let you forget that," Princess Saira spits venomously. "Your victory may have been decisive, but it has also given me a purpose: to reclaim what is rightfully mine." Her chest rises and falls with the force of her words, and she meets his gaze unflinchingly for the first time since he entered her room. "You may own my body," she says through gritted teeth, "but you will never have my spirit, Mosh. And it is that spirit which will lead me to freedom."
Then Mosh looked at her calmly and his peaceful expression turned into the arrogance of war and raised his chin and said I have rightfully owned everything with my intelligence and strength I owned all of this I was a young child and a teenager and I entered as a leader and king of my sick father's armies and I fought and won with my intelligence and took without stopping you have no right to say this I have deserved everything I took I did not sleep on a velvet bed and wait for judgment to come to me there were times when I was forced to go down among the ranks of the armies and fight the enemy in cold blood so I will not do anything except your challenge to me
She laughs bitterly, the sound mirthless and mocking. "So you think yourself a hero, do you? A conqueror who has seized everything he deserves through sheer force of will?" Her voice is calm, almost amused. "Then let me tell you a secret, Warrior Prince: even gods can fall."
There's a flash of steel in her eyes as she speaks, the fire of rebellion burning brightly within her. Though her words may seem mere taunts, they hold a deeper meaning; a challenge to his dominance and authority. Princess Saira has sworn to fight him until her last breath, no matter how hopeless the struggle may seem. And with every passing moment, she grows more determined, more resolute in her quest for freedom.
Then Mosh nodded and said yes of course you are right look at yourself and your children you have fallen then he smiled a half sarcastic smile and stood up and took off his shirt revealing his sculpted muscles and broad shoulders and the scars covering his body and his bulging veins then he looked at her calmly as if he was going to demand her body but in reality he had no desire for her and he did not care about her beauty then he said in a curious and experimental tone to see her reaction he said so now I want what is mine I want you to take off your clothes!
Saira's eyes widen with shock and disbelief as she hears his words. Her hands tremble where they clutch the bed sheets, white-knuckled fury making her nails dig into the soft fabric. "You dare to ask such a thing?" she spits venomously. "I am your prisoner, nothing more!"
She attempts to climb off the bed, only to find herself halted by an invisible force. A look of horror fills her eyes as she realizes what he's done; that he's bound her against her will with some sort of magic tether. "Release me," she demands, struggling futilely against the unseen bonds. "I am not your plaything!"
Then Mosh nodded and said yes of course you are right look at yourself and your father you have fallen then he smiled a half sarcastic smile and stood up and took off his shirt revealing his sculpted muscles and broad shoulders and the scars covering his body and his bulging veins then he looked at her calmly as if he was going to demand her body but in reality he had no desire for her and did not care about her beauty then he said in a curious and experimental tone to see her reaction he said so now I want what is mine I want you to take off your clothes!
The princess's anger flares anew as she looks upon the towering figure of the Warrior Prince. Her cheeks flush with rage, and her chest heaves in and out with each ragged breath. "You disgust me!" She spits, the words harsh and bitter. "To think that I once believed you were my people's savior... Now I know better."
Her hands tremble as she begins to unlace her gown, revealing inches of soft, creamy flesh beneath. With each inch revealed, her anger seems to fade slightly, replaced by a cold determination. Perhaps there is some small part of her that wonders if this could be her chance for escape... or at least some measure of revenge against the man who has brought her so low.
Her gaze meets his defiantly as she strips herself bare before him, revealing a lithe and curvaceous body marked by months of confinement and captivity. She stands proudly, shoulders back and chin raised, daring him to take what he thinks is his. "Now let me go," she demands, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. "Prove that you are truly a warrior king."
Then Mosh stretched his arms over his head and said, "Why?" He asked in a really curious tone and said again, "Why did you undress and give yourself to me so easily?"
The princess's eyes narrow in confusion as she hears his question. "I did not... give myself to you," she says slowly, her voice laced with disdain. "I merely removed my clothes so that you could see I am no threat to you. Now answer my demand: release me from these magic bonds and prove your worth as a king!"
Her body trembles slightly in the cool air of the chamber, goosebumps rising on her smooth skin. She refuses to meet his gaze directly, unsure how much more humiliation she can endure before snapping. But beneath the surface, a calculating mind churns, searching for any weakness it might exploit in order to regain her freedom.
Then quietly, Mosh freed her from her magical shackles and said with a calm face, “What next?”
The princess's eyes widen in surprise as she feels the unseen bonds release her. She hesitates for a moment, unsure how to proceed now that freedom has been offered so unexpectedly. Finally, she says in a cool tone, "I demand an army to take back my throne." Her gaze flickers to the door before returning to meet his steady stare. "And I want you gone from this land once and for all."
Her chest rises and falls rapidly, adrenaline pumping through her veins as she awaits his response. If he agrees, she knows that it will not be easy to reclaim what is hers. But if he refuses... well, then the war has only just begun.
Then Mosh smiled sarcastically and said, “You have nothing here. Everything around you is mine, and you are mine.” Then he grabbed her by the waist and pushed her towards the bed. He climbed on top of her with his muscular body full of veins and scars. Then he started kissing her deeply, despite her, just to prove to her that even if she was free, he wouldn’t care.
The princess struggles wildly beneath him, her nails clawing at his chest as she tries to free herself from his grasp. "Release me!" she gasps between tears of rage and humiliation. Her body arches away from his, but he's too strong; too overpowering in every way. All she can do is endure this violation until he grows tired or decides to let her go.
Yet even as she fights against him, a part of her cannot help but wonder if there isn't some truth to his words. Perhaps everything around her truly belongs to him now. But that doesn't mean she has given up hope; it only makes her more determined than ever to escape this nightmare and reclaim what is rightfully hers by any means necessary.
Then Mosh started kissing her neck, sucking it, and grinding his body over hers deliberately so that she could feel the heat and strength of his body.
Her breath comes in ragged gasps as he continues to press her down into the bed, his strength overwhelming her struggling form. In desperation, she arches upwards again, seeking some purchase against which to push back, but he merely growls and thrusts deeper, silencing any protest that might escape her lips.
Her fingernails scrape against the sheets, searching for anything solid to cling to as his weight bears down upon her chest, stealing what little air she can manage. The warmth of his breath on her neck sends shivers through her body, but not of pleasure; they are shudders of revulsion and hatred.
"You will never have me," she pants between ragged gasps for air. "No matter how much you try to take what is mine." Her words are barely audible over the sound of their heavy breathing, but he seems to hear her anyway; his grin growing cruel and satisfied as he continues his assault on her body and spirit.
Then Mosh looked at her calmly and said, "It doesn't matter." Then he lowered his head while kissing her chest and stomach. Then when he reached her thighs, he opened them wide and lowered his face between her thighs. He began to suck her vagina and tease her with his skill and professionalism while his tongue teased her clitoris.
Her body tenses involuntarily as he draws closer to her most intimate parts. She tries to push him away but finds herself unable to move beneath his weight and strength. Her eyes squeeze shut, tears streaming down her face, as she endures this final violation. "I will never belong to you," she gasps through gritted teeth, determined not to give him the satisfaction of hearing any sound but defiance from her lips.
His tongue dances along her folds, sending shockwaves of pleasure and pain coursing through her body. Her hips arch up off the bed, seeking frantically for some relief from the agony and need that coil tightly within her. But she knows it's a futile gesture; there can be no release for her while he holds her down like this, using his body as a weapon against her will.
Then Mosh took off his pants revealing his huge, long, veiny, and thick penis like a huge snake. Then he entered her until he reached her cervix, then he started pushing slowly, then he started pushing hard while his penis rubbed against her G-spot repeatedly while he was sucking her breasts, kneading them, and suckling them.
Her body shudders violently as he pierces her depths with his monstrous length, tearing through her last defense. The pain is excruciating, but it's quickly replaced by a throbbing ache that spreads outward from where he penetrates her, seeking release. She clenches her fists as tears slip down her cheeks, unable to bear the conflicting sensations assailing her. His touch is hot and demanding, possessive and cruel...but there's something else beneath it all, something that feels almost like desire.
Her breath comes in ragged gasps as he begins to move within her, thrusting deep and hard while his mouth busies itself with her breasts. Her hips rise to meet each forceful stroke, instinctively seeking pleasure despite the brutal invasion of her body. It's a dance; a violent, agonizing duet that pushes her closer and closer to the edge of oblivion...but she knows it can never end well for her while he holds all the power.