Chapter 98 – Kidnapped

There was no chance of dodging or countering it. The kinetic force of the magic attack hit Linhart like a dropship flying at high speed. A single moment of admiration and understanding passed through his brain as he was thrown across the room. This was no Binder manipulation or charm spell, it was the raw, brute force of a mage’s killing strike.

Linhart slammed into the wall and slid to the floor like a wet noodle. His mind swam as he fought to maintain consciousness, but the blackness could not be reasoned with. The sounds of a struggle, the vague image of Maeve wrestling two girls at once… and he surrendered to the blackness, welcoming his final rest.

Maeve had been a far greater help than he could’ve predicted. The thought came floating across his mind like a breeze over calm waters. He’d really only gotten involved with her because of her slim, cool look and her luscious, highly-sensitive breasts, but she ended up being a fearless and bold Fighter.

Had he kind of fallen in love with her? How could he bring her into his harem in his next life?

His breezy thoughts thickened, as he realized this wasn’t the same darkness he’d come to know as the after-life. Visions of recent events were flashing before his eyes, and could hear sounds echoing from outside his consciousness. From the outside world.

Shit! Had he survived that attack somehow? Was he still alive?

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

Untold hours later, he awoke to the reality that yes, he was still alive.

The pain that cried out from every muscle and nerve-ending in his body attested to how close his brush with death had been. Somehow he had survived a direct magical assault. But now, as he slowly regained the use of his senses, he was wishing that he hadn’t.

It felt like every bone in his body was broken, every pore in his skin had been filled with magma. The aching pain was too much to bear.

“Uuuuhhnnn…”

His groan echoed back in his ears. Even the sound of his own suffering made his head pound.

“You’re awake, boy?” a woman asked from nearby. Her voice was husky and not at all friendly. He felt a hand strike his face, with just enough force to be painful and to rouse his senses further. He opened his eyes a crack.

“Wakey wakey, sleeping beauty.”

His eyes focused and the shadow in front of him materialized into a pale, gaunt form of a woman, standing over him and fixing him with an evil look. She looked a few years older than him, and had big round eyes, much like a scarecrow, but focused on him like a bird of prey.

“His eyes are responding. It looks like his mind is still intact. Periclum will be happy about that.”

She was speaking this time to someone else in the room. His senses were still orienting, and he realized he was laying down. By the sensation beneath his back he was laying on a padded table. The air moving over his body soothed the burning of his skin, as he vaguely noted his complete nakedness.

“Let me see.”

Another woman shouldered into his view. They looked nearly identical, same gaunt scarecrow features, same evil eyes. Both had their long hair tied up, but this one’s hair was ruddy brown, while the first’s was jet black. She squeezed his cheeks, tilting his head from side to side. The pain that issued from his neck at the sudden motion made him cry out.

“Ooooww!”

“Yes, his faculties are still there,” she said with clinical indifference. “If you can hear me, blink your eyes.”

Linhart blinked. He already knew that these two were likely very bad people, but right then they were the only ones who could save him from this hellish pain. He would blink the hell out of his eyes if that was what they asked him to do.

“Help me,” he croaked. His throat felt dry and cracked. Everything hurt.

“Oh dear, you can see, hear, and talk as well,” the first woman said, smirking. “Either Freshmen Fighters are getting stronger or Periclum is losing her touch.”

Brown-hair added, “Do you want some water, little Fighter?”

He nodded vehemently, which caused another crippling jolt of pain to run up his back. He cried out again.

“Here you go, baby. Open wide.” The second woman held up a pitcher, pouring out far more than he could drink. His mouth, nose, and face were all at once quenched in the cool water, flowing down his throat, it filled his stomach and lungs. His head turned to the side, and he began coughing and gasping for air.

“Aaaww, you’re wasting good water, what a bad boy!” black-hair said admonishingly. She slapped his face once more, apparently enjoying the pain it caused him.

The two didn’t look at all familiar to him. They had a funny way of talking and their clothes didn’t give him any hints as to who they were either. He suspected they were from an association outside of the Academy, perhaps even outside Eryndor. Their robes were colorful and layered, at least three robes in one. Was it fashion, or maybe the layers offered some sort of magical protection? Whatever protection the robes offered, it left their pale bony shoulders exposed and plunged downward, revealing a hint of their meager cleavage. He remembered seeing similar clothing…

The woman that was hiding in the armoire. She was wearing robes just like these.

“Where am I?” he gasped, after his coughing had come back under control. “Am I being kidnapped?”

The dark-haired one frowned, all enjoyment was gone from her face. Running her hand over his body, she left a trail of tingling dread behind. Tilting his head downward, he could see now that his skin was burnt all over, leaving his body a black and red mess. He felt her fingers pass over his tender cock, then close around his balls a moment before she squeezed. The feel of her nails digging in proved to Linhart that the pain could, in fact, get worse.

“I’ll only say this once,” she muttered harshly, maintaining her grip as he thrashed about in agony. “We kept you alive to answer questions, not ask them. You are only alive because Wilda and I permit you to live… Understand, Fighter boy?”

“YES! Yes, I understand.” he complied, his voice begging for relief. Only then, did she release him.

“Ugh, he’s getting pus and putridness on my hand,” she said to the other woman, wiping her hand on an embroidered handkerchief. “Feed him some healing potions before we start to drain him.”

“We’re short on Healing potions, Bridi, and it’s going to be a week until I can secure more,” responded the brown-haired one apologetically. “Shouldn’t we check with Periclum before we heal him?”

Without breaking eye contact with Linhart, the dark-haired one replied, “No, I’m sure she won’t consider it a waste healing this one, so he can be used again.”

The two of them exchanged an evil look, but that didn’t stop Linhart’s hopes from rising fast. All he heard was that he was getting healed. He could worry about the ‘draining’ and ‘using’ parts later.

Wilda, the brown-haired one and apparently the kinder of the two, returned in a moment with a stoppered bottle. Popping the cork out, she held it close to his mouth, urging him to open wide. Linhart’s nose was filled with the floral scent of Healing potion. This time, instead of pouring it all over his face, she slowly and carefully fed him the elixir in a steady flow that was easy to swallow.

“There you go, good boy,” she whispered encouragingly, “Don’t spill a drop and you’ll be nice and strong and virile again before you know it.”

Linhart could feel the soothing salve flowing down his throat and out into his limbs, deadening the pain immediately. The woman was just shaking the last few drops from the bottle as the warmth of the potion lulled him into a deep sleep.

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

He awoke with a feeling that many hours had passed. His body was numb, as though he had slept in a vat of cotton. His limbs, though they were hardly able to move, had been bound to the corners of the table. He didn’t know what had awakened him, and was just about to drift off again, when a sudden motion caught his attention from the corner of his eye.

The light in the room was dimmer now than before, but even so he was able to pick out the tall, lean figure that was chained to the ceiling not ten feet away from him.

It was Maeve, and she was looking haggard and half-starved.

Her long pale arms were manacled high above her head, drawing them tight enough so that her elbows were hardly bent at all. Her long muscular legs were locked straight, and she stood on tiptoe. Her tall, straight stance made her huge tits stand out even more. By the handprints that covered her chest and the swollen redness of her nipples, it was clear that someone had been punishing them. Her eyes were open but unfocused, making her appear drunk. Her mouth hung wide open.

“Maeve, are you okay,” he whispered, daring to disturb the silence of the room. “Look at me, Maeve.”

She didn’t respond, not even acknowledging his words, but another voice pierced the air from somewhere in the darkness. It was the unwanted voice of Bridi, the black-haired scarecrow woman.

“Awake so soon, Fighter boy?”

From the shadows, she appeared hovering over him, checking his body with a cold look. Her fingers went again to his balls, but this time they squeezed gently, testing his reaction. His skin burned now like a sunburn, and he still felt pain flow through his belly with even this gentle kneading motion.

“You’ve still got some healing to do. Either go back to sleep on your own, or I’ll throw a sleep spell on you. It may interfere with the Healing, but I won’t hesitate to do it if you’re faking rest.”

“Auugh… I- I’ll go back to sleep, but I will find it much easier if I knew what was wrong with my friend, Maeve,” he insisted. Linhart knew that that was dangerously close to asking a question, but there’s no way he could see her in this state and not try to help.

The woman’s fingers slipped away from his balls, instead wrapping around the base of his dick. The sensation there was much cooler and better healed. As she squeezed his girth, his shaft throbbed and grew in response. Her eyes widened.

“The girl who was with you died. What you see in front of you is her body animated and stopped from aging. She is a flesh doll.”

Linhart couldn’t believe it. He’d heard stories before of loved ones preserved forever by grieving family members. Stories of the dead, not allowed to rest, but kept alive for nefarious or sexual purposes. The act of creating flesh dolls was forbidden, but there was a huge demand for them in certain areas, notably the Low Quarter of Eryndor City where Linhart had grown up. The world was ripe with them, because they tended to live on forever, but only evil mages could create such abominations.

“But why…? Is she to be used as a sex doll?” It slipped out before Linhart could think. Ugh, he wasn’t supposed to ask questions!

However, the dark-haired woman responded with a wicked laugh rather than anger this time.

“This hag? Who’d pay to have sex with her? No, she’s been animated because Periclum doesn’t feel she’s suffered enough.”

Bridi stepped up to Maeve, seizing both her nipples and pulling on them until the flesh of her breasts was long and deformed. Maeve, though she still looked senseless, threw back her head and groaned in pain. A dribble of spittle flew across the room and hit Linhart in his face.

“See, she’s dead but still paying for her wrongs,” she concluded with a final brutal twist, before returning to Linhart’s side. “Now go back to sleep, or I’ll hit you with a spell so hard you’ll be out for a month.”

His mind was racing with this awful revelation. With Maeve dead, he was alone here. Captured, with little hope of escape or rescue. But two other things occurred to him, which had given him hope as he had taken in his new surroundings.

First, these women were surely the kidnappers who were responsible for all the Fighter boys who’ve gone missing over the past months. With more investigation and observation, he could surely uncover a way to track them down in the coming loop.

Second, they had tried to disguise the location as best they could. There was some sort of Phantasm painting the walls in darkness, but they couldn’t prevent him from sensing the subtle shifts in the floor and walls and the sensation of the room swaying.  He knew without a doubt…

He was still somewhere within the Spire.

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