The Gallus Legion

by Hymond Blake   

After a brutal war, Emperor Incretius has taken control of the Halatuan Empire, thanks to his army of giants and a unique and powerful ability to transform people. Tylus is a servant to the Emperor and is a potential threat to Incretius’s new rule. He must navigate the political trappings of a wartorn empire whilst surviving the unforgiving world inside the Emperor’s palace.

“Thirsty.”

It was not in the new empire. Long ago, in the equator’s sweltering heat, Emperor Incretius sat upon his new throne. His palace was the size of a mountain, with walls high and adorned with golden refinery that took generations to craft. Hanging braziers silently swung unlit in the summer breeze. Banners made from fine purple-dyed fabric hung metres-tall along the atrium, ending just short of the steps to the throne. A mural depicting a war of the gods was carved into the marble floor and shined under the morning sun.

All of it, all of this glorious decadence, was defaced. Along the banners, the golden refinery, the mural, was splattered red paint in the sigil of a closed fist. The paint strokes were wide and clumsy. It stuck to the surfaces, dry and radiating a bloody hue. It was Incretius’s family sigil.

The Emperor sat in baggy robes, shrouding his thin frame. The throne was trying to swallow him as he hunched to one side, picking at the golden lining of the armrests. The floor by his sandals chipped away as he kicked it. He would often scan the atrium and regard it with disdain. He barely laid eyes upon the two beefy guards that stood on either side of him, or the gaggle of advisors huddling in the atrium’s far corner, or the staff ferrying wine and food to him. He sighed a sigh of sweeping boredom.

A crying farmer who stood at the foot of the throne’s steps stopped talking, and stared at the ground. The Emperor rolled his eyes.

“Continue,” he said, realising his thirst wouldn’t be quenched.

“Thank you, Imperator,” said the farmer with a shaking voice and sweaty forehead.

He had his hat in his hands and was scrunching it nervously. His farmer’s attire was worn, with holes across the knees and elbows. Much like the Emperor, he too carried very little weight or muscle, except his skin was browned with dirt and mud.

“Imperator, I begged for an audience with you so that I may save my farm,” he said, avoiding the Emperor’s gaze, “I have become slow in my age and my bones have grown weaker. The fields are becoming harder to sow, and my flock are becoming harder to shepherd. I ask if you Imperator, please, could spare a few men from your great Gallus Legion to help me on my farm so that I can make it through this winter.”

The Emperor stared intensely at the farmer for a few moments, and then smiled.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Freyus, Imperator,” said the farmer.

“Tell me, Freyus, do you have a wife?”

The farmer was taken aback by the question. “No, Imperator,” he answered.

“And why not?”

The farmer didn’t respond. His eyes darted along the floor quickly and his breathing became quick.

“Answer your Emperor, peasant,” said Incretius. “Surely a man of your age would have a wife, and many strapping young sons to tend to the crops for you, no?”

The farmer stumbled on his words, trying to fill the silence as quickly as possible.

“I have no wife, Imperator, because I’m—or rather my age has led me to live a solitary life and—with your help I can have men at—”

“You want to have men?” asked the Emperor, starting to understand. “Big, strong men, living with you? Ah, I see now. You’re like me.”

The farmer looked directly at the Emperor for the first time. And their gazes met. The Emperor’s smile widened as he stared deep into the farmer’s eyes. The farmer was frozen in fear; not daring to move even as a trail of sweat trickled down his temple.

“I have no wife, nor children, for the very same reason; because men are too much fun.”

The Emperor broke the gaze, and the farmer sighed with relief.

“Very well Freyus. You shall have what you want, and more.” He stood up and held a hand out towards the farmer. “As your crops and your flocks need tending to, you shall have a fine, strapping young man to do your duties.”

Suddenly, a swirling ray of light crept out of the Emperor’s fingers. It gathered like a floating pool of energy, growing brighter as the Emperor gently waved his hand around it.

The farmer took a step back. “Who…who is this man?” he asked.

The Emperor’s smile widened. “You of course.”

Suddenly, the Emperor pointed directly at the farmer and the light shot straight out from his hand like an arrow, piercing the farmer directly in the chest. The man fell backwards from the impact.

“As you have no sons, and as I refuse to waste a Gallus Legionnaire on your farmwork, then you shall fill the role quite nicely,” said Incretius.

The farmer clutched his stomach. He could feel the light spread across his nerves, all the way to the tips of fingers. “Please, Imperator,” he pleaded, “there’s really no need. I can leave, really I should be fine.”

“You shall gain the hands of a young man, inheriting his strength,” said the Emperor.

The farmer sat up on the floor, looking at his hands. He watched in astonishment as the wrinkles and creases that ran along his palms and fingers slowly begin to smooth out. The skin tightened and glowed with youth. His thin arms then began to inflate, filling the sleeves of his clothes so much they ripped in several places, revealing bulging biceps and forearms.

“Imperator! Please stop this! I—”

“You shall gain his body, inheriting his endurance.”

The farmer got to his feet and watched as his body grew longer, stretching his clothes out even further. His trousers rode above his ankles, his sleeves rode above his forearms. His stomach was exposed as his shirt struggled to fit his elongated torso. Eventually, he stood almost as tall as the Emperor’s guards, and then he swelled with muscle. From his broad shoulders to his curved calves, he was getting stronger all over. His shirt now barely covered his pecs and his stomach shifted and tightened into a perfectly-symmetrical set of abs. He rested his hands behind him on what was now a perfectly round set of buttocks and gasped. His legs followed suit, packing on more meat until they were considerably thicker. The Emperor’s smile widened again.

“You shall gain his face, inheriting his youth.”

The farmer felt a tingle along his sparsely-haired head. He pressed his palm against his bald patch and gasped aloud as a dense clump of hair emerged from his skull, enveloping his fingers. It grew long enough to hand over his eyes as it shifted from a charcoal black into a golden blonde. He could feel the bones of his face shift, sliding perfectly into place like the last piece of a puzzle. Before he could move his hands down his face to feel his transformation it had already grown a strong, boxy jawline and heightened cheekbones.

He saw his reflection in the marble floor. It wasn’t him anymore, but someone in his early 20s, with blonde hair, bright brown eyes, and perfectly-sculpted features. In disbelief, he pinched his now full lips to make sure what he was seeing was really him.

“My face…I’m…my voice!” he said with a smoother, deeper tone. “Is that me?”

“I’m not finished,” said Incretius. “You shall gain his urges, inheriting his virility.”

The farmer looked down. His trousers that had split along his muscular thighs now bulged with what was a growing manhood, thicker and longer than he has ever seen it before. He could feel it rub against the fabric as it snaked down his leg and he moaned.

“Ohhhh by the gods!” he said as he cupped his balls as they inflated.

“You shall take many lovers, and every moment without one will feel like an agony.”

The farmer felt this rush of emotions: lust, desperation, aggression. He couldn’t bare it any longer, and tore his trousers off, and his cock flung out. Without even giving it a second thought, he wrapped his fingers around his manhood and pumped it with great desire, moaning.

“You shall forget the body you once inhabited, and the age you once were. You are and always have been, this.”

Incretius leaned back in his chair, enjoying the show. The farmer moaned so loud with his new voice that it reverberated, bouncing off the defaced walls and meeting the ears of everyone in that atrium. He lost all sense of where he was, his weakened mind scattered to a million different places, a million different urges. He squeezed his cock so hard it had turned red; it was ready to explode. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not reach the end. Something was stopping him, and being so close only sent his hormones raging even harder.

He fell to his knees.

That was when Tylus approached the throne.

“Your drink, Imperator.”

Incretius looked up at the young man that stood to his right. He was no older than what the farmer’s age now was, but had much less muscle. His swimmer’s build was encased in an ivory-white robes with sandals that were dirtied with mud. He held a tray with a basic cup that was full of water.

The Emperor scowled.

“I said I was thirsty five minutes ago. And this is water. I want wine!”

The Emperor smacked the tray out of Tylus’ hands and it crashed to the floor. The servants and advisors jumped at the sound of it smashing against the marble. Tylus didn’t react, however, and instead stared at Incretius directly in the eye. His breathing was calm and his smile was slight. The Emperor looked at him for a second before waving his hand dismissively.

“Bring me wine, boy,” the Emperor sneered. “Now! Or I’ll change you too!”

“Yes Imperator, right away.”

Tylus turned and made his way across the atrium. The Emperor was watching him; his walk was slow and his steps were silent. He moved like a shadow, and showed no hint of fear towards Incretius. Tylus looked back and smiled at the Emperor before leaving the atrium through one of the servants’ side doors.

The farmer had gathered enough sense to speak. Sweat had covered his muscular body and he panted, his breath so hot it formed tiny, invisible waves as it left his mouth.

“Please! Imperator!” he cried out, “I cannot bear this any longer! I need—”

“Shut up!” yelled the Emperor. “The moment has passed! This isn’t fun anymore!”

He pointed a finger at the farmer.

“You shall sleep now!”

And, in an instant, the farmer collapsed to the floor, his eyes closing as he slipped unconscious. His cock gradually shrunk before hanging limply off his waist. The Emperor angrily pulled on his robe.

“Where is Caebus!?”

An old, tall man shifted out from the gaggle of advisors. He shuffled over to the throne, kneeling and holding his head down so that his tiny spectacles and smooth, white beard were lower than Incretius’s gaze.

“Imperator,” said Caebus, “marvellous work on the peasant.”

“Caebus, who was that boy?” asked the Emperor softly. His cadence seemed to change the moment the advisor was beside him. The two spoke like trusted friends.

“The cupbearer?” said the advisor, “that’s Tylus; heir to the Tyloniclosian province. It’s a good job you didn’t change him. His father is our closest ally, lord of the southern region, and head of the financial—”

“Yes, yes, thank you Caebus,” interrupted the Emperor. “He seems far too calm, and looked me in the eye. I cannot have that kind of defiance so close to my throne.”

“What do you suggest, Imperator?”

The Emperor thought for a moment, before smiling back at Caebus. “The Gallus Legion,” he said. “Let this Tylus see my might first-hand.”

“An excellent idea.”

Incretius watched as the guards beside him effortlessly pick up the farmer, and carry him out of the throne room. He barely regarded the farmer’s transformation, nor did he think much of what he had created.

He had a new plaything.

The day had dimmed and, by the time the sun had sunk well below Priapa, the empire’s tallest mountain, cups of wine were filling the hands of the palace staff more so than the sponges, cloths, and tools they held throughout the day. The mountain, with the sun on its back, loomed over the city that was beginning to wind down after a hot summer’s labour.

The staff occupied the back area of the palace in the evenings; a maze of narrow corridors and shoebox-sized quarters that surrounded a well-kept garden. In the garden’s centre, surrounded by neat bundles of flowers that stretched out from the cut grass, was a collection of benches and tables that rested beneath a huge sheet of off-white canvas, which flapped in the wind. Along the fabric was a painting of a closed fist in dried red paint which shone in the torchlight that littered the garden.

That is where many of the palace staff gathered during the day’s final hours, drinking and eagerly conversing with one another. Guards would join them after their long shifts, and stick out with their frame being generally a foot higher than the rest of the staff, and considerably more muscular. The servants that gathered under the canvas loved to get close to these towering men, especially when drink had been taken. Soon friendly words became friendlier hands upon arms. Then hands upon hips. Then lips upon lips.

The talking would quieten down as various pairs of guards and staff would sneak off to their quarters to have sex. Those who were left would then enjoy the quiet, gazing up at the night sky that waved back with awe-inspiring constellations.

Tylus didn’t care for any of this.

He remained in his room, as he did after any day. The boy had no friends in the palace, nor any bulging guards that wanted to fuck him, and so he opted for time alone. Although it was cramped, the thin bed fit his frame cosily. He was holding a small but heavy book in his hands, slowly turning the page every few minutes. The book detailed the history of Incretius’s house prior to his Imperatorship; from its brutal beginnings to its inevitable ascension to the throne.

Someone knocked on his door.

“Come in,” he said, not looking up from his book.

The door swung open and hit the stone wall hard enough to chip some of it off. Standing in his doorway was a guard in full armour, except for a helmet, which he held under one arm. The man was exceptionally handsome (no doubt a product of the Emperor’s doing) and had thick curly hair, black as night, tied back into a bun. The candlelight shone in his brown eyes which were wide and blinked rarely. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he struggled to get a word out.

“By the gods, sorry,” he said, reaching down for the chipped stone and trying to put it back into the wall.

Tylus stared at the man. He was 7 feet tall; a stature that was larger than most of the guards, and be judged the man was one of the Emperor’s personal security. He watched the guard pull at parts of his armour, tugging at his crotch multiple times.

Tylus examined his face. He looked nervous.

“What is it?” Tylus asked.

The man cleared his throat.

“The Emperor is requesting a cupbearer for a procession to the barracks,” he said.

Tylus went back to his book and turned a page. “I’m not his cupbearer in the evenings. That’s Sartoc’s shift, ask him,” he said.

“He…the Emperor asked for you specifically.”

Tylus looked up from his book. His heart quickened slightly, but he took a deep breath and smiled at the guard.

“Very well,” he said, closing his book, “take me to him.”

The guard obliged, and escorted Tylus across the garden and through one of the narrow corridors. As they walked, the guard tugged at his crotch again, this time trying to stretch the fabric to make more room.

“By the Gods,” he said with a frustrated tone, “curse this cloth.”

“New uniform?” asked Tylus.

“New body,” he said, “just trying to get used to all of this meat on me.”

Tylus eyed the man before him. The guard had a strange walk, like that of a newborn deer, as if his long limbs were strangers to him. His muscles would flex here and there as he tried to re-adjust his pace. Every time they walked past a mirror or any reflective surface, the guard looked at his muscular form as if it wasn’t his. That man had not been that big for that long.

“What were you before?” asked Tylus, “before all of this meat?”

“I dunno,” he said, “Imperator usually wipes the memories of his personal guards. My rank could either be a reward or a punishment, it’s no matter to me. The days feel the same.”

Tylus pondered the man’s answer. It was true that many criminals, after the Emperor’s victory in the war, were given an ultimatum; rot in rancid cells, or feel life anew. The guard could’ve been one of these men.

They eventually reached a side door that led to the throne room.

Before the guard opened it, Tylus asked, “Do you remember your name, at least?”

The guard held his open palm on the door’s surface and thought for a moment, before turning his head slightly so Tylus could see one of his big brown eyes.

“Falco,” he said.

“Nice to meet you Falco,” said Tylus, “I’m—”

“Tylus Tyronicus, I know,” said Falco, “Imperator has made us aware.”

Tylus didn’t like the answer, nor how Falco’s slight smile disappeared as he spoke. Falco swung the door open and they stepped out into the throne room.

By the steps to the throne, a collection of guards and servants waited in a perfectly neat formation, except for two spaces that were empty. In the hands of the servants were plates of food, and flags adorned with the Emperor’s sigil. The Emperor sat in a chair that was being held by four guards, each as tall and muscular as Falco. The man leant his face on his fist, huffing in boredom. When he saw Tylus and Falco enter, he began to clap sarcastically.

“Well done for joining us, the both of you. I was beginning to worry,” he sneered.

“Apologies, Imperator,” said Falco, tilting his head towards the ground and bending the knee.

“Very well, join the formation,” said the Emperor.

Before Falco put on his helmet, he turned to Tylus and smiled.

“No one has asked for my name in a long while,” he said, “thank you.”

Tylus smiled back, “it was nice to meet you, Falco. I hope we see each other again.”

“Me too.”

“An order twice received is a soldier twice inept. Formation, now!” yelled the Emperor, watching the pair’s smiles with a bubbling rage.

Falco put his helmet on as the pair joined the procession.

Tylus had never seen nor participated in one of the Emperor’s processions, and was weary of the sounds of a large crowd just outside the palace gates. However, before he could ask any questions, he had a jug in his hand and was marching alongside the guards that surrounded him. He could feel the Emperor’s piercing stare whenever he looked his way. The procession marched out of the palace.

Outside the gates, a crowd of citizens cried out for their Emperor. He smiled and waved at them as guards at the procession’s front cleared the way through. Citizens from every background had convened to see their ruler in their space, on their streets. Lowborn, merchants, tradesfolk, craftsmen; they were all in attendance. They shrieked the chants as loud as they could, and every voice clashed with each other in the air like opposing arrowfire.

Tylus didn’t feel intimidated by the sheer size of the crowd, nor how close they were. Not one pair of their eyes were resting on him. They all looked at their Emperor. He was perplexed, however, by the chants themselves. They were not ones of adoration.

“Vile usurper!”

“Bring our sons back!”

“You do not belong on that throne!!”

The Emperor’s smile never waned, and his wave never faltered. He basked in their cries of anger and despair as if they were ones of praise, pointing at specific citizens and thanking them with flamboyant showmanship, which only angered them further.

“Yes! I am your ruler, and you are my people. My people! Rejoice in my presence, smile upon my—”

Smack!

A rotten fruit flew across the crowd and hit the Emperor in the face. It bounced off his cheek and landed on Falco’s shoulder. As the fruit made contact, the crowd quickly fell silent, except for two voices on the Emperor’s right.

“You stain the throne with your bed filth. The lover of men shall not lead!”

“If a man is what you want I’ve got plenty of man here!”

One of the two men grabbed their crotch and shook it jeeringly. The Emperor turned to face them. They felt intimidated by his smile, and direct eye-contact.

“Cute. Seize them.”

A few of the guards splintered off from the procession and pushed their way into the crowd. The two men tried to get away but could barely move through the dense collection of people. The 7ft security reached over people and grabbed their tunics by the neck, lifting them high into the air, and dropping them on the ground before the Emperor. The guards gently lowered Incretius’ chair and he slowly got to his feet. He looked down upon the two men.

“Go on then!” said the one who threw the fruit. His stocky frame and hands blackened by coal was that of a seasoned miner. “Do your worst with us, you will never be a leader of the people!”

“I was a soldier, I was respected before you and your band of freaks rocked up in our empire,” said the one who had shaken his crotch. He had a more muscular frame, but looked tiny compared to the Emperor’s personal security that stood just a few inches behind him.

The Emperor took a step closer to them.

“You want me to do my worst?” asked the Emperor with a scheming grin. “Okay.”

Before the men could react, the Emperor pointed his finger, and a blast of light shot from it into their chests. One of them winced whilst they both got to their feet. The two men looked scared, no matter how hard they tried not to.

“Tell me your names,” said the Emperor.

“Mylos,” said the ex-soldier.

“Silio,” said the miner, suddenly covering his mouth as if he didn’t mean to say it.

“Mylos, Silio, you are only to move when I say so, and you must follow exactly what I say.”

The Emperor took one step closer towards Mylos, who leaned back with fear.

“What did you say, in the crowd?” he asked. “That you’ve got ‘plenty of man’ to show me? Okay then, take it off.”

The Emperor flicked his wrist, and the two men began to strip down until no fabric clung to their bodies. Their expressions were that of fear, and embarrassment, yet their arms moved speedily and with little care for their feelings. Once they were fully naked, they tried as hard as they could to move their arms to cover their crotches, but were seemingly frozen in place by the Emperor’s hand. Their eyes darted around the crowd nervously.

The Emperor looked at their manhoods; shriveled and hiding on top of a small fleshy sack. He tilted his head and squinted as if admiring a piece of art.

“How disappointing,” he said, laughing.

“Please, don’t…,” pleaded Silio. “How can you rule a people that you treat with such disregard?”

The Emperor grabbed their balls and cupped them. Mylos winced at his cold fingertips.

“No, this certainly won’t do,” said the Emperor, ignoring Silio’s words, “but maybe there’s something salvageable here. Let’s see them at full attention.”

The Emperor flicked his wrist again, and the two men moaned and lurched forwards as their cocks sprang to life. In a flash their members stuck out, hard as swords, from their waists. Silio’s reached roughly 5 inches, and Mylos’ just half an inch shorter. Both of their faces had turned bright red.

“Shame,” said the Emperor, “I like my men big. Three times bigger at least, I’d say. Or four.”

The Emperor readied his wrist, but Mylos closed his eyes and a tremendous “Wait!” escaped his lips.

The Emperor paused. “What is it?” he asked.

“Please, don’t do anything,” said Mylos. “We’re sorry we disrespected you, Imperator. We’ll do whatever you want, but leave our bodies and minds in peace!”

Tears welled in his eyes. His tough exterior had fully broken down. The Emperor scoffed at him, and turned to face Tylus. The cupbearer could feel the Emperor examine him closely but, just like in the throne room, Tylus showed no fear nor discontent for what was happening. The Emperor huffed.

“I have changed my mind. Four times bigger is still much too small. I want them big enough that you can’t even move!”

“No!”

Mylos couldn’t interrupt fast enough. The Emperor flicked his wrist, and the two men gripped their manhoods as they exploded in size. Longer and longer they became, 5 inches, to 8, to 10, to a foot long, to two feet, to three feet. Their balls caught up as well, swelling between their thighs, and hanging lower and lower. Their cocks thickened so much they couldn’t reach all the way around them with their fingers. The weight at their waists became too much, and they had to sit their naked selves on the cold cobblestone road to counteract the weight. By the time it finished, they were more cock than man and, judging from their increasingly delirious state, were feeling its effects..

“My…by the Gods, I…,” muttered Silio, looking up at his member, which loomed over him.

“So heavy…someone, help us!” cried out Mylos to no one in particular. He tried to hoist himself to his knees but the sheer weight of his balls kept him pinned on his back. Tylus couldn’t help but pity them.

“You, bring me that,” said the Emperor, pointing at the large jug Tylus held. He brought it to the Emperor’s hands, who snatched it and held it up in the air.

“My people! I do not care to serenade you with wise speeches, or persuade your defiance with hollow promises. Instead, I propose to you all a fair exchange. These two men here…”

He pointed the jug at the two men. The crowd had all collectively taken a large step back from them. Mylos was hugging his meaty pillar in one hand whilst trying to lift his balls up as if carrying a hefty sack of potatoes. Even with his build, he wasn’t strong enough for a weight that heavy. Silio covered his face with his hands, muttering panic-stricken to himself.

“…they detest my ways, calling it bed filth. Allow them, my people, to indulge in my ways! By the time I return, I want to see 100 vases, jugs, and bowls filled to the brim with their seed. Should you fail to do this, then I shall double your taxes!”

The crowd began to murmur fearfully. Mylos still had some wits about him. He pushed his cock to one side and looked at the Emperor.

“Please…you’ve stripped us of our dignity…do not strip us..of our identity!”

“Oh and, my people, to make things easier for you,” said the Emperor with a wider smile, “you do not need to touch them. Whenever you call out their names, they will reach beyond the brink they find themselves in this very moment. Allow me to demonstrate.”

“Don’t—!” screamed Mylos.

“Mylos!”

And, as if it was designed that way, Mylos’s balls twitched at the sound of his own name. He could feel them rumble, as the pressure inside them built more and more and more, until it was so immense he couldn’t hold it in.

Without a word uttered in his moans and cries, he slammed his body back on the ground and tried to thrust his heavy cock into the air as a huge stream of cum blasted out of it. It was like a volcano, firing his seed many feet into the sky. After a few moments, it rained down, and the crowd screamed as they tried to take cover from it. It drenched the ground, forming puddles that neatly trickled down the road. It drenched houses, as their roofs dropped with the thick liquid. It drenched the crowd, some of whom swallowed some due to their mouths agape at the horror of it all.

It didn’t drench the Emperor, however, nor the procession. They miraculously stayed completely dry.

It was over after only a moment, but to Mylos he felt his body reach its limit before entering pure euphoria. He no longer objected, instead laying on the ground with a smile, wiping his cum off his chest. His mind seemed to have fully let go, embracing the aftermath that was a warm blanket of bliss.

Silio took his face out of his hands and looked at the damage that had been done.

“By the Gods…” he said. “Speak to me son!”

“I…I, need…again…” Mylos muttered to himself, as he began to gently rub his balls with his feet, and lick the cum off his skin with a smile.

Silio gulped, suddenly realising he wasn’t far from experiencing the same.

He looked at the Emperor who was about to say his name, but playfully stopped himself and smiled. He sat back on his throne, the guards lifted him up, and the procession continued as normal.

“Remember!” yelled the Emperor, “100 vases!”

Tylus didn’t dare look back. He didn’t dare make a move the Emperor thought unnecessary. What he could hear, however, was a loud muttering of the crowd, Silio’s pleas for mercy before his name was inevitably said. After the first voice, more joined in, until the entire crowd were screaming their names. The sound of their seed raining on the cobblestone road was the last thing he heard before the procession turned a corner.

“Do you wonder why I asked for you specifically?” asked the Emperor, leaning on his chair down towards Tylus.

“No, Imperator,” said Tylus, smiling back. He was aware how much his composure irritated his ruler.

“Liar. I brought you with me so that you may see one.”

“See one what, Imperator?” asked Tylus, noticing a small patch of cum on his forearm and wiping it off in disgust.

“Seeing a Gallus Legionnaire in the flesh is a rare thing, boy. Be honoured—for once.”

The rest of the journey was a blur to Tylus. He relived the fates of those protestors in his mind over and over, growing more awe-inspired at the sheer size of their manhoods each time. He couldn’t feel the weariness in his feet as they dragged along the gravelly path, nor did he wince at the ache in his arms from carrying the Emperor’s jug of wine. It was like his mind had retreated into itself, leaving the pains of the body behind.

That all stopped when they arrived at the barracks.

Tylus snapped back into focus. He watched as the procession he stood in the centre of slowly halt and part like curtains. The tall guards and short staff that parted faced inwards, creating a perfect corridor. The Emperor ordered his personal guards to gently lower his chair and help him to his feet. From there he silently shuffled along the corridor until he was just a few feet from the door to the barracks.

He turned to face the procession.

“My servants,” said the Emperor, “take it all in. The scale of this building is enough to mark the history books of generations to come, but it will be a mere footnote for those that dwell within.”

Tylus for once agreed with the Emperor. The place was enormous. Two doors of iron stood snugly in a marble wall even the gods couldn’t mount. It stood higher than even the Emperor’s palace. Every material, every splinter of wood, every block of iron, that was used to craft this monstrous building was thick, and unwavering. Tylus doubted a sword, or even a battering ram, would barely leave a mark on the doors the guards were trying to open.

The Emperor suddenly turned to the side and began to walk along the barracks’ wall.

“But before we indulge, follow me, boy. We have a gift for the Legion.”

He also gestured for two guards to follow. Tylus knew he was the ‘boy,’ and walked a few feet behind, avoiding the Emperor’s gaze and out of sight of the thin-lipped grin which had grown on the ruler’s face since they arrived.

Along the wall, burrowed into it and a few feet down, was a dusty staircase. At the bottom was an iron-barred door of a regular size. The Emperor coughed impatiently and the guards squeezed their frames down the stairs and swung the door open. Tylus watched them shift their broad shoulders sideways to fit through, and as they did, Tylus could hear a man’s voice call out from inside.

“By the Gods, you will know nothing but scorn you fowl usurper!”

The Emperor laughed silently at the voice and gave Tylus a quick smile. His eyes were squinted, and smug. He lifted his robe slightly off-ground and calmly followed the guards through the door. Tylus did the same.

Inside the walls of the barracks was a tiny, squalid cube of stone and iron. Metal chain adorned its damp walls, and a collection of sand, dust, and dirt muddied the uneven cobblestone floor. A pile of hay with a wooden bowl of water laid in a corner.

A man was on his knees in the room’s centre. His arms were pinned low to the ground with shackles. His robe was thick and grubby, like a sack farmers would use to transport their crops. It was torn at the arms, and the man’s flexed arm-muscles seemed to shine in the dim sunlight that poured through the open door. Along his arms were a mural of scars and tattoos. He kept his head low, and his thick bundle of long hair, which was greyed with years long past shrouded his face. Even among the room’s dampness, Tylus could smell the man’s scent from his sweat. He hasn’t washed in days.

“Tenaidus Piltus!” The Emperor’s words sounded sharp, as if he was using this man’s name as a weapon against him.

Tylus’s heart sank. He knew Tenaidus.

He was a friend of his father’s.

The man looked up and his hair parted. Tylus recognised Tenaidus’s face, just as Tenaidus’s recognised his. They exchanged a wide-eyed, silent look of shock and deep sorrow. Tenaidus had a bushy beard, and thick eyebrows that hung low over his bright blue eyes. Tylus thought to mouth something. Something like ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘what do we do?’. He didn’t need to; Tenaidus knew what he was thinking.

The Emperor unknowingly broke their gaze by standing between them. He bent down mockingly at Tenaidus and tutted.

“Rebel filth,” said the Emperor, “I was expecting more from you when you were caught. A fight, or an escape attempt. Something to at least keep my guards occupied.”

Tenaidus didn’t respond, instead leaning slightly to keep his eyesight on Tylus. The Emperor looked back at the boy, then at the man, then at the boy again.

“Ah, are you two acquainted?” asked the Emperor with a gleeful smile, hoping this confession would be reason enough to punish Tylus with his wicked magic.

Tylus was about to answer, but stopped himself. Tenaidus, with wide eyes and slow breaths, shook his head subtly. Tylus felt a lump in his throat as he gave a confirming look back.

“No Imperator,” said Tylus, “I have never met this man before in my life.”

“Shame,” said the Emperor, “this man was caught attempting to steal documents from my personal chambers.”

“I told you, Incretius,” said Tenaidus, Tylus was taken aback by the use of the Emperor’s first name only, “I have told you everything I know.”

The Emperor straightened his back and sighed, ushering at the guards who stepped closer.

“I know you’re lying Tenny,” said the Emperor with a performative disappointed tone, “you weren’t working alone. You’re hiding something, someone. Oh, you rebels and your addiction for self-sacrifice; it’s fun to see. You’re no use now. Well, no use to me, anyway.”

That pointed, weaponised tone in his voice had returned. The guards unshackled Tenaidus and held him to his feet. His was a sizeable man, but his armoured captors still loomed over him.

Tylus took a step forward.

“What will happen to him, Imperator?” asked Tylus, trying to conceal his real worry for the man.

“Simple. We have our gift for the Legion.”

Not another word was said in that room. The Emperor made his way through the door and up the stairs, and the guards followed behind, dragging Tenaidus with him. Tylus walked alongside the prisoner, and waited until the Emperor was out of earshot before they spoke. Thankfully, the guards’ helmets made them effectively deaf.

“Are you okay?” asked Tenaidus, his voice calm and resigned.

“I am,” said Tylus, “but I’m gonna get you out of here.”

“No. Stick to the mission,” he said, “when you can, go to the Emperor’s bedchambers. He keeps his invasion plans in his desk. Find them and—”

The Emperor clapped his hands and the procession suddenly stood to attention. With some effort, the 20 or so musclebound guards were able to heave the doors to the barracks apart. Tylus could see Falco reach under his helmet to wipe some sweat off his cheeks.

The Emperor turned to face the procession once more.

“Leave your innocence outside,” he said forbiddingly, “the tenants of this place have no tolerance for such annoyances.”

His words confused Tylus, but he saw the ruler gesture a bony finger for the guards escorting Tenaidus to lead the way, and that they did without question.

They entered the barracks.

The Emperor took a few steps, and the procession followed behind, this time in a tight, messy cluster, as they looked around with gawking expressions like tourists. Tylus was one of them. He knew it was rare to see a Gallus Legionnaire. It was even rarer to stand in their home.

The main atrium stretched seemingly for miles. Windows many feet high glistened with intricate patterns of red and gold. Various weaponry and footwear were strewn across the floor. The spears were the size of flagpoles, and the sandals were many sizes bigger than Tylus’s. It was clear to the boy the stories about the Gallus Legion may be true. Their legendary strength, speed, and size; none of it was pure myth. He could feel his heart race and his knees tremble.

Directly ahead was an open doorway that led into complete darkness. Whether sunlight refused to touch beyond it or if it was just a trick of the eye, Tylus could see nothing in it, but he certainly felt like he was being watched.

The guards dumped Tenaidus quite a distance from the procession and left him there. He brushed off his shoulders and got to his feet, taking the stance of someone ready to fight. The Emperor made his way to a large bell that was attached to a thick piece of rope.

“My Legion!” he cried out to the dark doorway, “I present to you a gift! Use it as you wish!”

He grabbed the rope and pulled it down with all of his strength. The bell rang tremendously loud, its sound bouncing from wall to wall. It stayed ringing in Tylus ears many moments after it had ceased. His chest was thumping with the heart of a panicking man. He felt the urge to call out to Tenaidus when the man looked back at him.

Suddenly he heard a THUMP coming from the doorway. It rumbled the ground, as if something heavy had hit it. Then, another THUMP, and another, and another. Growing faster in pace and echoing around the doorway. The sound resembled a soldier’s march; shoes bashing against the floor. Tylus could feel the urge to run.

The Emperor grabbed his shoulders and leaned in, his lips almost touching the boy’s ear.

“Here they come!” he whispered, squealing with excitement, “tell me boy; what is the best way to control Man?”

Tylus didn’t have time to ponder the question. As the thumping sounds from the doorway suddenly ceased, the entire procession watched with baited breath as a hand suddenly reached out of the darkness and gripped the doorway. The hand was huge, with long fingers attacked to a hairy forearm that was packed with muscle.

Tylus noticed the air around the hand seemed to curve and bend, as if its body heat was so strong it altered everything around it. Those curves and bends radiated across the room, travelling at great speeds and bouncing from surface to surface before reaching the procession.

The staff and the guards took a deep breath and inhaled the hot air. Tylus heard the ones around him groan. He looked at them, and saw their crotches squirm. The staff’s robes quickly tented with hardons that sprung as quickly and surprising to them as it was to Tylus. He looked at the crotches of the guards, and caught sight of the fabric pouches of their armour fill in with their swelling meat. They were finding it difficult to maintain that disciplined stance of a guard, especially when the staff beside them were acting so erratic.

Tylus looked at Tenaidus, who had his arms bent forward and his hands down to his crotch. He assumed the man was going through the same experience. In fact, everyone in those barracks, except for Tylus and the Emperor, had grown unbearably aroused. The more of the air they breathed in, the more commanding their primal urges became.

“What’s happening?” asked Tylus.

“Answer my question,” said the Emperor, “what is the best way to control Man?”

A leg emerged from the doorway. It matched the hand in its scale, and awe-inspiring strength. Tylus could see Tenaidus touch himself with great urgency, and knew the answer.

“Lust,” said Tylus.

The Emperor patted him on the shoulder.

“Watch. This is how I will win the war.”

The Emperor let go of Tylus’s shoulders, and shuffled triumphantly out of the barracks.

All of a sudden, the hand and the leg moved forward, and the rest of a Gallus Legionnaire was in full view. Clad in nothing but a wet loincloth, he stood tall and proud. Tylus was shocked at his height; roughly 30ft, and made of pure muscle and hair. His glistening abs were shining like a God’s. The chest hair that clung to his mountainous pecs were slick. His shoulders were wider than Tylus’s entire wingspan, and they held a head covered in stubble and curly black hair tied into a bun. The stubble reached below his sharp jawline and Adam’s apple. Beneath his loincloth were two thighs thicker than cows, and were far apart in his stance. His biceps were veined and glossy, and his thick hands were clenched into a fist. In one of those fists was a crumbled cloth that was dripping wet.

He looked down at the procession, then at Tenaidus, then at Tylus. The boy’s heart skipped a beat when the giant lingered his gaze for a moment.

The sheer size.

The sheer presence.

There was no doubt in Tylus’s mind.

A Gallus Legionnaire was even more intimidating than what he was expecting.

The air around the Legionnaire curved and bent more vigorously. As those ripples reached the noses of the procession, they grew more desperate in their desires. As the staff and guards breathed in the hot air, they moaned aloud as they lost whatever composure they were trying to keep. Tylus noticed one of them had collapsed to his knees and came in his robes. Two other staff members were eagerly trying to tear each other’s robes off. The rest were practically jumping on the guards. Soon the floor was adorned with robes and armour, as the procession had devolved into orgasmic chaos, fuelled by the hot air that seemed to spur their urges on. One staff member was eagerly getting fucked by a guard in the ass as his tried to fit the manhoods of two more into his mouth. Skin against skin. Lips against lips. Moans, cries, and screams of pleasure invaded Tylus’s ears.

He suddenly felt another hand on his shoulder. Large, and heavy. He turned to see Falco lean over him, his wide eyes visible and his helmet nowhere to be seen.

“What’s…what’s happening to us?” he asked, exasperated. “It smells so…so good.”

Tylus didn’t need to look down to know Falco’s crotch was on the brink of tearing open with his manhood, but he did anyway. It was much bigger than Tylus originally thought. Falco didn’t mind the boy’s eyes on his member, in fact, it only made it harder.

Falco moved in closer.

“I want you,” he said, holding Tylus in place, “I want you so fucking badly.”

Whilst Tylus did find some delight in Falco’s words, the hot air seemed to have no effect on him. He looked down to make sure his body wasn’t betraying him, and sure enough, his robe remained dry and tent-less. He glanced over to Tenaidus, who stood much closer to the Legionnaire.

The man was standing much closer to the Legionnaire. He was trying with all of his might to not give in to his sexual desires. His forehead was sweating, and he gasped for breath every time his hungry cock throbbed in his robe. The hot air swooped into his nose and his lust was driving him almost crazy.

Until the Legionnaire met his gaze.

And walked closer to him.

Tylus pushed Falco aside and the guard toppled over two staff members, who swiftly made a move for his cock. Within seconds, the guard was writhing in pleasure as his meat filled their mouths.

The Legionnaire stopped just a few feet before Tenaidus, looking down at him between his pecs. Tenaidus saw the giant approach and felt an orgasm within his very soul. His mind was growing hazy and his movements were slow. The urges were proving to be too much for him.

The Legionnaire lifted the wet cloth up from his fist, and slowly wiped his forehead with it. The fabric collected every bit of his sweat, even as he gradually moved it down his face, then his neck, then between his pecs, and over his abs. He lifted his arms and revealed a glistening pit of hair. He shoved the cloth in and scraped every last drop of his juices that the cloth could carry. He did this all whilst maintaining a direct gaze upon Tenaidus, who lost all desire to run, or fight back.

The prisoner watched through a mixture of horror and intense desire as the Legionnaire reached for his loincloth and shoved the wet rag into it. He slowly gyrated his hips as the cloth traveled along every inch of his manhood. When he was done, he held up a cloth that was soaked and stank of his indescribably euphoric scent.

The Legionnaire smiled at Tenaidus as he held the cloth some feet over the man. Tenaidus extended his arms out, knowing what was to come.

“Tenaidus,” whispered Tylus under his breath, “no…”

The Legionnaire twisted the cloth, and out of it came pouring his sweat. It cascaded like a hot waterfall, landing directly on Tenaidus who jumped at the sensation of it splashing on his body. Overcome with lust, he tried to lick it off his own body.

Then, a strange feeling shot across his body.

It started at his hands. Then it spread to his face, and then the rest. An odd tingling sensation, as his skin grew numb and his mind dulled. He tried to speak but his mouth didn’t form the right shapes for words, instead resorting to a mumble.

Tylus watched as Tenaidus, friend of his father’s and respected general, transform. The hair across his face and body seemed to fall off, gently floating to the floor. It exposed his weathered face clad in wrinkles and scars. However, those wrinkles gradually smoothed out into light, poreless skin, and his scars faded into nothing. The ink on his arm tattoo melted away, dripping off his arms which was losing muscle-mass. His grubby robe now shrouded a body some inches shorter now, and thinner, though still kept some muscle. Part of Tenaidus’s hair fell out too, shortening and twisting until it was curly and barely covered his forehead. Everything masculine to him disappeared. Everything that showed his age hid from view.

Kneeling on the ground in his place was the body of a 20-something, with the build of a swimmer and face of an innocent young man. As he stood up, the loose robe fell off his body, revealing the toned but small and hairless body that Tenaidus now possessed.

Tenaidus, still mumbling, looked up at the Legionnaire, who watched his transformation with great attention.

“Please…” Tenaidus mumbled, with a voice smoother and higher to his original, “take me in your embrace.”

The Legionnaire reached down and picked Tenaidus up as if he weighed nothing. The man-turned-twink reeled at the hot hands that wrapped around his torso. He could feel the hot air reach down his chest, between his legs, and around his ass.

Eventually, he was at eye level with the Legionnaire, and just inches away. Tenaidus could hear the giant’s breathing, and his pulse beat through the fingers that gripped his helpless body. He could see the trickles of sweat down the Legionnaire’s face that he desperately wanted to drink.

“I want…I…” he trailed off, “I want you.”

The legionnaire, in one fast motion, pushed Tenaidus face into his. Their cheeks touched. Their lips met. Their tongues tangled in Tenaidus’s mouth. Tenaidus gagged at the meat that reached the back of his throat. He pushed his knees together as his body delighted in the sensations of it all. He rummaged his hands through the Legionnaire’s wet hair, and along his sharp jaw. He had never wanted a man, or anything at all, so badly before. All of these new emotions and urges were overwhelming.

And then, that strange feeling returned. That numbness, and that dulling of the mind. He could no longer feel the Legionnaires fingers pressed against his ass, and yet he saw them there.

He groaned as the sensation changed from numbness into intense sensitivity. Quickly, he could feel every cell of the fingers that clutched them. He could feel the air brush against his cheeks. He could feel them, in tandem, grow. Swelling like balloons under the Legionnaire’s grip. His thighs thickened too, and his butt extended beyond what could be naturally achieved. The longer he kissed, the more they grew. Even as he felt the weight of them drag him down, nothing could break him from that kiss. It was all he wanted, from now until the end of time.

The Legionnaire pulled away however, and wrapped his fingers around Tenaidus ass, which was now almost as big as the rest of his body. He spread the cheeks, and Tenaidus moaned at the sensations.

Tenaidus could see the Legionnaire’s loincloth stir. A monster laid within. The kiss, whilst upset it ended, was no longer his priority. He knew what was next, and by the gods, was he hungry for it.

“Please, use my body,” he shouted, still with a hand along the Legionnaire’s jaw, “use it until it bores you, and then use it again!”

The legionnaire didn’t respond, nor did he ever speak. He smiled at Tenaidus, who was already leaning in for another kiss. Instead of reciprocating however, the giant slowly carried him towards the doorway. Tylus watched the Legionnaire carry what was once a family friend through into the darkness, and out of sight.

Once the Legionnaire left, the hot air dissipated, and the collective libidos of the staff and guards quickly died down. Just as Falco was about to climax, all of those urges flushed from his body in an instant. Even though his mind needed release, his body no longer sought after it, and so he laid there among a group of staff who began to shamefully put their wet, partially torn clothes back on. Tylus held a hand out for Falco and helped him to his feet, taking one final look at the robes Tenaidus was wearing , which laid in a heap on the wet floor.

He turned to see the Emperor scowl at him.

“Why didn’t you indulge?” he asked. His eyes were fixed on the boy’s robes that had stayed dry and unaltered throughout that scene.

Tylus took a moment before deciding to walk straight past the Emperor.

“You were supposed to indulge,” said the Emperor. “Every man indulges. That is the magic I put into the Legion; that no man can resist their smell. That no man can think of anything beyond wanting to become whatever the Legion wants. That no man can look at them in the eye without losing all sense of self. Every man indulges! Why didn’t you indulge?!”

Tylus kept walking, eventually exiting the barracks. In that moment, he didn’t care if the defiance angered the Emperor. He knows Incretius cannot change him, and so his fear towards his ruler formed into pure hatred. Tenaidus today, and someone else tomorrow, and countless the days before. This had to stop.

Tylus knows now; stick to the mission. The Emperor’s bedchambers. His desk. The invasion plans. He must get them.

Tylus could feel the plan in his mind unfold like a detailed map. He could see the palace as if he were a hawk flying over its walls, gazing down upon the layout and picturing the journey to the Emperor’s chambers. Filling the labyrinthian corridors and rooms were guards, staff, and advisors in swirling black smoke. He watched many versions of himself from high in the air venture through those corridors, and sneak past those people, diving through the black smoke. Any and everyone possibility played back to Tylus until he was absolutely sure on what to do where to go, and when. When it came to espionage, Tylus had a vivid imagination.

The plan was then sliced into three portions. Steps that, if done successfully, could turn the tide in the war.

Step I: Find the Emperor’s chambers.
Step II: Retrieve the invasion plans.
Step III: Escape without being noticed.

He was so lost in this intense cluster of hypotheticals that he only realised he had returned to the Palace when the Emperor clapped for the procession to break away. The staff and guards shuffled with an equal degree of shame into the various doorways that led to the staff quarters. They all held their heads down and averted gazes. Some of them desperately held onto the tattered fabrics that were once their robes, holding them over their naked bodies that were cold from the night air. Falco looked especially guilty, holding his helmet to cover what was no doubt a monster still begging for prey.

Tylus looked at the Emperor, who had his fawning advisors. He feigned tiredness, and a few of the gaggle held him up and gently led him past the throne, and towards a tall, imposing archway adorned with cracks of gold. Before the advisors carried him out of sight, he whispered something to Caebus, and they both turned to look at Tylus with a mixture of disdain and fear. Caebus nodded and the Emperor was swiftly swept through the archway.

Caebus snapped his fingers and pointed at Falco, who stopped in his tracks.

“You, come here,” said Caebus, “and you too.”

Falco and Tylus obeyed, and the old advisor sighed as he rubbed his brow.

“It is the Imperator’s orders that you are watched over,” he said to Tylus in a tired voice.

Tylus and Falco looked at each other.

“May I ask why?” asked Tylus.

“It is not your place to question our Emperor’s judgement, cupbearer,” said Caebus sneeringly. “You shall spend the night in this guard’s chambers.”

“Sir,” said Falco, “there is only one bed in my chambers, and there is no room to—”

“Oh, a guard who questions our Emperor’s judgement?” asked Caebus sarcastically.

He waited for an answer, but Falco’s mouth remained closed.

“Good, take him to your chambers and keep him there until the sun’s return.”

Caebus turned and shuffled his feet out of the throne room. Falco and Tylus looked at each other again, although Tylus’s eyes darted to the guard’s strategically-placed helmet.

“I, er, this way I guess,” said Falco.

He walked with an absence of pride. Tylus followed closely behind, his detailed map of hypotheticals catching fire in his mind. How was he going to get to the emperor’s chambers unnoticed now?

He watched the guard walk as he led them down where they first met. Except, unlike last time, Falco didn’t look at himself in the mirror, nor did he stride with his usual masculine poise. Instead his posture was hunched forwards, and his head was low. When they traversed a corridor that was especially quiet, Tylus could hear him muttering to himself.

“Go down, go down, go down, go down, go down.”

He lifted his helmet to check, only to be met with the crooked fabric at his crotch that has haunted him since having left the barracks. He had willed his monster to subside with all of his might, but even the power of the gods could not stop the ferocity of his manhood. It stuck out like an iron rod, and hard as such. He was moving quickly to get back to his dorm, no doubt to wrangle that monster of his. He wasn’t sure how he was going to be discreet, especially when the hunger for release was so intense.

Tylus could see it; a helmet couldn’t hide it. Tylus needed a way to leave Falco without him noticing, and he may have just found that.

“Falco,” Tylus said softly.

The muscular guard made a quick turn and looked back at the boy with wide eyes and a slightly open mouth which he breathed through. His chest rose and fell with each intake of air.

Tylus took a step closer to him.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

Falco looked down at the helmet hiding his crotch, half-believing Tylus hadn’t noticed.

“It’s uh…I’ve been better,” he said with urgent honesty. “I didn’t know seeing a Gallus Legionnaire would be, uh, would go quite like it did.”

Tylus took another step closer.

“What did you say to me? At the barracks?” he said even softer.

The room was quiet, and the air was still. Even a whisper would meet Falco’s ears with absolute clarity.

“I…I don’t remember,” said Falco.

Another step closer.

“I think you said that you wanted me…” said Tylus.

Another step.

Falco’s cock throbbed.

“…because, and forgive me if I am being too hasty…”

Another step.

“…but I think I…”

Another step. They stood just inches apart.

“…I want you too.”

Falco quickly froze as he felt Tylus’s hand reach under the helmet, and gently grab the tip of his cock. He stifled a moan at the soft fingertips rub against his hard flesh, and he dropped his helmet. With another hand, Tylus placed a palm on the guard’s chest, gleefully moving along each bump and muscle up towards his neck. He could feel the man’s stubble under his hand as it slid past his jaw and rested on his cheek. Falco took a hand to Tylus’s and another around the boy’s waist. His eyes burned

The plan was working.

“Do you still want me?” Tylus asked, “because I—”

Tylus felt his mouth meet another. His voice silenced as a thick tongue writhed in his cheeks and intertwined with his own. He could feel Falco’s hot breath, and the grip on his waist tighten. In an instant, Tylus felt the guard lift him off his feet, as Falco charged through the corridors and into his chambers with the same unrelenting speed of a charge into battle. Such a battle between the two would prove to be overwhelming for the guard. The battlefield was his bed, their weapons were their flesh. When Tylus ripped Falco’s runic off of him, when he pushed the guard onto the bed, and when he climbed on top of him, and eagerly spread his legs for the man’s iron rod, the battle was underway. Bellowing with euphoria, Falco fought valiantly with his spear, but Tylus made easy work of the man, squealing with a mixture of delight and pain from the guard’s size. In that gorgeous, intense moment, those two men were one. They could feel each other’s very souls pound through their olive skin and twitching bodies.

The battle lasted two minutes.

Tylus knew to get off when he could hear Falco’s breathing grow into a pant, as the flurry of hormones would soon wash over his mind. He lifted the blisteringly red manhood and pointed it high in the sky, taking the opportunity to squeeze Falco of every drop within him. Whilst Tylus was strategic with his movements, his sounds, he couldn’t help but relish the feeling of it all. He hadn’t had sex since becoming Palace staff, and so his mind did wander to its more primal side.

His decision to lean into Falco’s cock, and encircle the top with his mouth, was that of a primal one. There was nothing strategic about trying to fit as much of the monster in his mouth, but rather it simply fulfilled his own desires. Even more so when he could feel the guard’s large hands on the back of his head push him further down.

Falco didn’t say a word. He couldn’t, as if his mind couldn’t clear enough to form any language. His eyes were alight not with sentience, but raw power. What left his mouth was a beastly roar, as his muscles tensed and his grip on Tylus’s head tightened. Tylus, also overcome with lust, could feel his throat and mouth fill with the man’s flesh and his seed. It flowed hot like a pyroclastic surge into every part of his being, exploding out of his mouth and nose and spurting all over Falco’s sweat-covered chest.

Tylus quickly lifted his head and coughed at the thick liquid that clogged his throat, turning to see Falco still cumming, firing ropes that latched onto the walls and ceiling around him. Falco laid there as his body moved for him. It twitched and convulsed with each orgasm, and each mighty shower of his seed that left him. If someone charged at him with a sword and intent to kill he wouldn’t have lifted a finger, for all that was in his mind and soul was nothing but pure bliss.

Tylus wiped his mouth. His work was done. When Falco finished, and his body had been drained of the energy that had been building since the barracks, he passed out. His monster slept, and his seed trickled and dripped down the walls and ceiling like rain. Tylus felt a sense of accomplishment, before grabbing a cloak that hung dry on Falco’s desk-chair, and swiftly leaving the room.

The plan was underway.

The Palace was a confusing maze, but one Tylus knew well. He ducked behind doors and snuck past guards, taking shortcuts and side-passages, searching for the bedroom of the beast himself. Tylus wasn’t sure if the Emperor would be awake at this hour, or even in his room. He returned to his mind as he moved, playing through each possibility he could imagine.

Until eventually, he reached it. A small, humble wooden door surrounded by hastily carved murals of the Emperor and his Gallus Legion. The door was ajar, and Tylus saw nothing but darkness on the other side. Tylus pushed his head against the gap, looking into the room with great care, breathing as quietly as he could.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness, seeing a quiet, empty space. Across the door was a bed fit for an emperor with crimson silk sheets and an orgy of pillows. On either side was a gold desk and a wardrobe that was chromed with spotless mirrors.

The desk. Tylus could hear Tenaidus’s voice in his ear. Step II.

Tylus leapt silently into room and shut the door. He moved in the shadows, clinging to the walls and crossing the space only when necessary. He darted to the drawers, opening them and rummaging inside for what he needed.

The boy was feeling increasingly desperate as each drawer offered nothing of use, until he reached the last one. The one closest to his feet, and furthest from the door. Upon opening it, Tylus’s eyes met a scroll that was wrapped right in red steel wire. Red wire denoted a document of military importance, and Tylus tugged part of the scroll free and observed it to be a plan for an invasion.

He found what he needed. Step II was finished.

He was so engrossed, so relieved, at the scroll touching his palm, that he didn’t hear the approaching footsteps. It wasn’t until they were right at the door did he notice, and fall to the floor and roll under the bed with the calm poise of a pro. He held the scroll delicately as if it were a newborn.

The door creaked open. Tylus could make out the legs of two men entering. One was wrapped in the Emperor’s robes, and the other adorned a grubby outfit that was many sizes too small on him.

The Emperor had brought someone to his personal chambers.

“Come now Freyus, I must sincerely apologise for how I have treated you,” said the Emperor.

Freyus; the farmer from before. The unwitting participant to Tylus’s first witnessing of the Emperor’s power. Tylus dragged his head along the ground to see more. The farmer, young and carrying the stature of a demigod, wore what appeared to be a staff uniform, only one meant for someone half his size. It stretched across his body as far as it could, ending just above the thighs and shoulders. Just as Tylus last saw him, the farmer possessed a ceaseless yearn for sex between his legs. Freyus stood cautiously at the doorway.

“Freyus, my boy,” said the Emperor, who slowly approached the bed and placed a lit torch on it, “I’m sorry I have deprived you of your first release in your new body.”

The Emperor slowly climbed onto the bed. Tylus could hear the frame creak as the mattress sagged slightly under the weight.

“Please, Imperator,” said Freyus, tugging at his crotch. “I can feel the burning of a thousand suns in my…my—”

“Your gift,” said the Emperor, “a gift I have bestowed upon you. No matter, my child, for I now have a better purpose for you than being a mediocre farmer.”

Tylus couldn’t see it, but the Emperor swirled his fingers which lit up. Freyus didn’t respond, instead resigning to the oncoming changes. He winced and moaned as his body shifted once more, only this time it shrunk, growing smaller and even younger. The clothes hung loosely over a frame that lost muscle, and his handsome face was melting into someone very recognisable.

Tylus couldn’t believe his eyes.

Standing in the doorway, was no longer a muscular farmer, but Tylus. The Emperor had turned Freyus into a perfect copy of the boy. Freyus examined his form with confusion.

“From now on, Freyus will be a stranger to you, and your name shall be Tylus Tyronicus,” said the Emperor with another wrist flick.

Freyus’s eyes widened and his head jerked forward, his mind changing in the blink of an eye. He stood in the doorway neutrally with a blank expression.

“Imperator,” he said with Tylus’s voice, “what shall you have me do?”

“Tylus, I want you to be my personal slut,” said the Emperor, “I want you to crave flesh as a pig craves mud, and I want you to desire nothing more than the skin of men.”

Freyus’s head jerked forward again, and he looked back at the Emperir with a smile and he slowly began to strip. Tylus laid under the bed, helplessly watching the clone of himself become aroused at the sight of the Emperor, picking off each bit of clothing with a slow, burning anticipation.

“Imperator,” said the clone, “what is happening to you?” he asked.

Tylus could hear strange noises above him. The bedframe creaked even louder and the mattress sagged even further down. The shape of the Emperor in the shadows of the torchlight grew. Sounds of his robes tearing met Tylus’s ears, and the ribbons of fabric falling onto the floor met his eyes. The Emperor’s breathing became rough, like a growl.

“Tylus, my boy,” said the Emperor with a deepening voice that rumbled the bed, “seize my body as it grows, let it overwhelm your puny vessel. May your body withstand my power!”

Tylus jumped as one of the legs of the bed snapped under the weight, and the Emperor placed a hand on the floor to balance himself. Tylus looked at his hand; it was huge, and still growing, with muscles shrouded in a thickening layer of fur and sharp claws that were as black as the night. The Emperor’s silhouette looked nothing like him; nothing like a man.

Freyus, brainwashed by the Emperor’s words, looked upon the transforming ruler not with fear but with stupefying lust. He ran towards the bed and jumped on it with great eagerness.

“O great ruler!” cried Freyus among the sounds of bestial growls and grunts, “your size is magnificent! I can feel you deep in my very soul!”

The Emperor didn’t respond, instead letting out a guttural roar that pierced Tylus’s very heart.

The bed rammed into the wall as the Emperor began thrusting, and Tylus could feel the mattress continue to sag, almost pinning him to the ground. He could see the other legs of the bedframe strain as parts of them splintered off.

He needed to get out, and quickly.

The Emperor and his slut were being so loud, and so rough, that the bed knocked over the torch, snuffing it out in an instant. The room fell back into darkness. The door was wide open; all Tylus had to do was run.

And so he did.

He slipped out from under the bed and sprinted for the exit, holding the invasion plans close to him. As he reached the doorway, he could hear a cry out from behind him.

“Intruder!!”

A deafening roar shook the bedroom walls as Tylus looked back into the darkness. All he could see, hunched over the bed, was a massive black shape many feet tall. He could see the silhouette of his close impaled by a cock the size of him, moaning and licking the chest of the shape. His clone’s stomach was bloated as a torrent of thick seed flowed out of him.

Suddenly, a bright flash of light shot out from the shape’s hand and hit Tylus in the shoulder. The boy fell to the floor but picked himself back up and ran out of the room.

“Only fools eavesdrop on the Emperor!” said the beast. “Your lust will grow so big you cannot run any further!”

Tylus kept running. He could feel the energy in his shoulder spread over his body. He started to panic, and tears formed in his eyes. He could feel the energy go to his crotch. This was it, the end. The Emperor would soon make a plaything of him, and his detailed plan for the evening was replaced by a whirlwind of fear. He didn’t want to change, but he could feel it.

However, the energy in his crotch subsided.

He looked down to see it in its usual state, at its usual size. This spurred him on to run faster. When he was at the end of the corridor, he heard the beast call again.

“I said grow! You will obey my words!”

Again, the energy returned to his crotch, and then subsided. Tylus kept running. Soon, he was long gone from the Emperor’s room. Once he made it back to his personal chambers, he shoved the plans under his mattress and sat there in the dark, feeling his entire body shake with adrenaline. Step III was done, barely. He was lucky to make it out, but still, the energy that laid across his body, it had completely vanished.

Tylus was no fool.

He pieces it together.

Somehow, he was immune to the Emperor’s powers.

And he had no idea where this revelation would take him.

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