Wrath of the aggressor

They dragged him out of the cave and as Varion lay eyes upon him, he felt a number of things, amongst them ire, vengefulness and bewilderment. What surprised him was that above all despising feelings for sexual misconduct, he was astonished about the perpetrators appearance. Persilaus, he had imagined, would be a ruthless warrior, a monster that used abrasiveness of thought combined with sharpness of weapons to take anything it wanted. But this thing before him was weeping, filled with smudges and puddles that smelled like dried urine and feces. He was simply unworthy of the male attribute. This was a piece of shit.

It wasn’t the bandits who had violated Persilaus body. Varion knew what wounds caused by outer force looked like and this was self-imposed. The bandits had just stripped him off most of his clothing, all his weaponry, and supplies. Fresh traces of three horses led to the cave and four fresher ones, no older than a few hours, led behind the protruding cave entry.

As Varion dragged him out of the cave and Daria pinned him down on the floor, the weak abomination of a person struggled even harder than Crod had.

Daria unhatched the sickle of her belt. The squirming of the old male was nothing in comparison to his violent, preposterous screaming. He shook his head from shoulder to shoulder, his eyes appeared to leave his skull. The High Priestess hadn’t even deposited the sickle yet.

While she and Varion tied his arms and legs and fixated them with four large pins, which stretched the ropes, Hemma let Persilaus feel the cold metal on his perineum. He screamed, but Varion heard the young priestess as if were sneaking through the deadening silence of a crypt.

“If you don’t respect the freedom of others, then with freedom you must pay.”

She moved the sickle up, quickly and ruthlessly, and Varion immediately retreated from Persilaus’ body. He dragged his hands from the ropes, clutched his crotch, wailed an even louder sound of tremor and bled to death. The time moved slow for Varion and it was painful to watch. There was no threat in sight, yet every part of his urged him to protect his own crotch. He kept watching the abomination die and locked it as an anecdote into his mind. The man who lacked every sense of restraint, who had deserted any resolute spirit and tarnished males as a whole, that man had been chased like an animal and forced into the corner without a chance for glory or martyrdom, that man had lost all his fortitude and influence and had cast the anger of more than one gender upon him.

The result was an arduous but pitiless death.