War! The very thought of the word excited her
so much. She loved to say it, to think it, to make it happen. War made her think of hot, sticky, sweaty combat. The close
proximity of an enemy so helpless and prone, they would live or die on the capricious quirks of her whim. She could take life or save it, as she chose. That was power,
true power. She had all the power she could ever want and she wanted more, much
more! The joy of sword cutting through flesh excited her more than any man had
ever done. The spilling of intestines for sport produced an orgasm more intense
than any other she’d ever know. The decapitation of a heretics head from
their shoulders would leave any other woman insensible with pure passionate rapture.
She was made of stronger stuff than that. Her sensual arousal took her
to deeper and more intense places than could be imagined.
Combat was only one minor aspect of her role as Grand Paladin.
Another was the inquisition of the survivors. She loved to see them suffer,
their internal agonies played on their faces like music. Their eventual screams
of pain were like a song that filled her soul. Their dying gasp for air was sheer
poetry, the extinguishing of life in their eyes made her achieve oneness with herself and Solaria every time. Everyday she took the time out to see a prisoner hung, drawn and quartered for her pleasure. It didn’t truly matter what their crime was, their soul would belong to Solaria in any event, so
why not given them a slow and painful death so that they could beg for the final release into the loving arms of Solaria?
Then there were the new converts to process. The
slow removal of the layers of their previous lives was an essential process. The
complete degradation of a person into a primal creature was a thing of beauty and then the rebuilding into a Solar Knight
was an art form none outside the order could ever appreciate.
Deeper still in the inner sanctum was the breeding house.
Eager young women, keen to volunteer their bodies in the service of Solaria, were brought here to give birth to her
children. They were impregnated by a male knight, whose semen was tainted by
Solaria transforming it into a carrier of her own generic code. Instead of a
child there would be a monster beyond all measure of decency and purity. To prevent
accidental or deliberate harm to the children, the mothers had their arms and legs removed and they were forcibly fed food
and air and their waste extracted. Many female knights severed their own limbs
off, without pain relief, to show their devotion to their deity. To lull the
mothers into a state of calm they were injected with special tranquillizers to keep them in constant peace and calm. Finally when their babies were born they didn’t even notice as their monstrous
offspring devoured them bite by bite. It was the perfection of the birthing process
on an industrial scale. Battery humans living bleak, meaningless lives before an untimely demise.
The Fist of Solaria would have been the first to volunteer her body for such an honour, but
she was needed elsewhere, to lead the armies of Solaria into victory against the rest of the universe. She was the Grand Paladin of the Order of Solaria, without peer or mercy.
The Fist sat upon her throne in the Temple of Fire,
looking at the reports. They all spoke of gains in territory; however the losses
of civilians were rather high. “Solaria needs new souls to worship her,
as well as nourish her through their purification. She dare not reveal the full
extent of Solaria’s plans for the Solar Knights just yet. They’d
do something silly, like rebel, and then she’d have to kill them all. Far
better to rule through fear and with mystic forces at your disposal than just through force of arms. “Order more captures on the next push, and bring me a heretic here to torture. I’m getting bored with all this paper work.” In
truth Solaria needed a fresh soul to steal and the Fist was eager to feed her goddess.
“I ain’t done nothing wrong.” Jabob
Tizz said defiantly. “I’m an honest, law abiding citizen.”
“Come closer.” The Fist said with
a smile. “I won’t bite you.”
Jabob saw that the so-called leader was just a slip of a thing, twenty five at the max. He reckoned that in a fair fight he could take her on easily with a sword.
However the Fist had no intention of giving the prisoner a fight, fair or otherwise. She grabbed his head before he could do anything and she rammed her spiked gloved
thumbs into his eyes and then his brain. She felt the life-force draining out
of him, passing into Solaria. “You should be happy.” She said to him and he sank to his knees. “You go to
meet your true maker. Blessed be the rite of purification.” His essence gone, she cast him into a pit of burning oil where the body was consumed by fire. “This is the judgement of Solaria, a soul has been saved!”
In fact it had been damned and she was glad of it. Solaria fed upon these
damned souls, it was her primary source of nutrition, and those killed by her Fist were the most special of all as they were
absorbed directly into her being. The rest were diminished along the way, which
was why it was necessary to provide a constant source, but the Universe was a very large place and it was vital that their
army should grow even further, before the final culling of the faithful.
New worlds were added to the expanding empire every hour.
The Fist could feel the flow of souls growing and the numbers of fresh recruits brought to Solaria Prime for officer
training grew too. It was pleasurable to talk to them. Feel the raw power of their devotion. She personally greeted
the first batch of recruits each morning. The loved watching them beaten black
and blue, their perfect bodies pummelled to a mass of cuts and bruises. She personally
watched for signs of hesitation and resistance, to make sure the inferior did not slip through. Only the very best were chosen to become officers.
Many died rejoicing that their souls would pass on to Solaria before the others. The rest would be forced to crawl on battered limbs to their communal cell where they would be blasted
with freezing cold water. They would one day thank their teachers for this lesson
of hardship and endurance. Then the recruits would endure their real torments.
Every facet of their psyche was removed, all fear, all doubt, all creativity and originality. These people were meticulously picked to pieces until nothing remained. They were nothing but a void where a person had been. Only
then would they be educated.
They learned the laws of Solaria. They learned
the command skills they would need to lead troops in the field. They learned
to revel in the ecstasy of the kill, to desire only the death and destruction of their enemies.
Sometimes of course an officer couldn’t tell the difference between friend and foe. These insane psychotics were turned into cannibalistic monsters and were let loose
on worlds where the invading force had been captured or had retreated. These
bezerkers would kill everything in sight, they saw all life as their enemy, they would kill each other were they not kept
in separate cages.
The Fist loved the bezerkers with every fibre of her being; they made the best lovers, properly
shackled of course. They were utterly driven and relentless, they never stopped
and they were never satisfied. Even the Fist eventually tired of their constant
urge to rut, eventually.
Every lunch time she consumed her hearty meal of the day, she was eating for two after all. She ate the chilled brains of a heretic as a starter.
She loved scooping that cold matter out with her spoon and the texture was divine.
Then she’d dine on an arm or a leg, raw of course. The nutrients
in the blood were essential for her baby. Also the marrow in the hollow bones
was delicious. The main course was a roasted heretic’s body, stuffed with
all sorts of vegetables and spices. Finally for desert she had lime jelly and
ice cream, because it was her favourite.
After such a heavy meal she would lie down for an hour with two or three knights for company. They were purely for companionship. They
would talk about the war, the plans for invasion and the divine plan of Solaria. This
time was sacred to the Fist. It was a time to be her normal self, not the official
self she showed in the throne room.
Then she’d receive a full body rubdown from Knight Taylor, an expert at loosening the
knots in her muscles, as well as a gifted talent at head and foot massage.
After her massage she’d watch the knights training.
She liked to see the old fashioned sword skills the best, although the blast rifles also had merit as they could wing
a rebel in the leg before the knight could close in for an easy kill or capture.
The evenings were normally spent seeing to minor squabbles, usually over the order of devotion. The Fist allowed her officers some slack, but if they over stepped the mark and irked
her in some manner then they would receive the full measure of her wrath. Usually
it meant saving a heretic for her meal the next day.
The child was growing within her womb, the Fist was proud of her womanly function as a life
bringer. She considered it the prime duty of every female knight to bear at least
one child during her service. She sat with the women through their birthing,
eager to see the newborn baby the moment it entered the world. She blessed each
and every one with the mark of Solaria, a simple golden disc of paint.
Little did the mother realise that their children would be dead within a year as Solaria consumed
their fresh souls as a tasty appetizer. The fist also saw to the breeding units
in the basement of the temple of fire. The limbless bodies of women drugged into
oblivion so that they were unaware of the monsters growing inside of them where their babies should have been. She would personally
take charge of installing the new incubators, severing their limbs herself and seeing that their life support tubes were properly
fitted into their bodies. Once installed the female could be left unattended
for the duration of her pregnancy.
There were installations like this on other worlds, each controlled by a loyal lieutenant
whose mind was just as enslaved by Solaria as her own. This breeding programme
would allow Solaria’s offspring to enter this lower realm and consume the flesh of their birth mothers, who were really
nothing more than living eggs. No baby would suckle on their breasts; no child
would love them unconditionally. It was an honour for those selected to bear
the children of Solaria. Even the Fist was not allowed this level of devotion,
to give her whole being to the goddess to use and then discard. The Fist was
not jealous however, she merely accepted her role as leader.
However her own time to give birth had come. In
this place of sacrifice, the Fist knew that her baby was ready to come into this world.
She crawled on hands and knees to the birthing chamber above. Her fluids
briefly bursting out of her body like water out of a hosepipe. She clawed away
the armour on her legs and belly. Exposing her body to the air. She just made it in time to the chamber and handmaidens quickly lifted her prone body into one of the special
chairs. Her feet were put into stirrups and a midwife positioned herself between
the Fist’s thighs.
“You’re already fully dilated. We’re
ready to go…mummy.” The midwife grinned. She was truly honoured to serve the Fist, and thus Solaria, through the birthing of this infant. “Now push, yes that’s it. Remember to breathe. I think I can see something emerging from your…” Her smile turned to fear and then shock however as the first tentacle emerged from the birth canal. “It’s hideous; it’s deformed, terribly deformed!” Then more tentacles and the slimy mass of the monstrous child burst forth and threw itself her face, biting
down hard with razor sharp teeth. “Get it off me, get it off me!”
The child consumed its first meal, but it was hungry, oh so hungry. It looked up at the egg it had just hatched from. It saw it
holding a large sword.
The Fist sliced her own stomach open with the sword, her warm guts spilled quickly down over
her flattened belly and onto the floor between her legs. She scooped herself
out. “This is my body, eat it, it’s good for you.” Then she cut out the offal and the empty birth sac that had contained her child. Correction, the child of Solaria. She gave thanks to the goddess
for this gift of selection and lay back to listen to the sounds of her baby dining on her body parts. “You like that, don’t you? Eat it all up now and
you’ll grow big and strong.”
She felt a curious sensation inside of her body. She
lent forward and peered between the open flaps of skin on her stomach. Her insides
were growing back. “Praise be to Solaria!” She was being renewed. Everything was soon as it had been
before she’d even been pregnant, she was sure she’d even regained her virginity!
Her baby meanwhile had caught another handmaiden and was devouring her body bones and all. “Chew your food before you swallow it.”
It grew quickly as it ate and ate and ate. Soon it was too big for the
room and it burst through the wall outside. She knew that it saw many, many meals
and was eager to begin the feast. Although she was disappointed that it hadn’t
consumed the rest of her body before she’d been renewed by Solaria. Still
you couldn’t have everything, could you?
The Fist laughed as she heard the dying cries of her soldiers.
“Now is the time of the Endgame.” She knew that on several
other worlds this was starting to happen. The Children of Solaria were awaking
to devour everything. “All glory to Solaria!” She couldn’t stop laughing as Solaria pulled her body out of this lower dimension and up into the
higher realms where she was waiting to give her most devoted slave a very special gift…