Fourth Day (1 of 6)

Breaking the Breaker: In the hush after ruin, a kiss begins to bloom, until Zudaeshi's shadow returns, hungry to crush what dares soften

'Breaking the Breaker' Content Warning: Erotic Horror

Story contains graphic violence, non-consensual sex, psychological manipulation, dehumanization, humiliation, and extreme power imbalance. Themes include: coercion, identity breakdown, forced obedience, and the long-term effects of captivity and control.

This story invites reflection on what happens to the mind under sustained horror, how identity reshapes itself around trauma, and what traces of agency persist when autonomy has been stripped away.

Proceed with extreme caution.

29th day of the 2nd moon
1113 HC

Damion is repeatedly woken up to Zudaeshi's demands, Mulsae's strangled replies, and the rhythmic shifting of the bed. Again and again, Zudaeshi rides Mulsae's cock while strangling his neck.

Damion helplessly lays on the floor next to the bed. He doesn't know what he should do. He doesn't know what he can do. Mulsae is being used again and again and all Damion can do is listen.

Mulsae used to use me this way. Damion is still angry about those days. The outrageous entitlement to use someone else's body. To violate someone's body that way. Two years of it, and he was changed... or unlocked. He still doesn't know which. Have I always wanted to be cared for so completely? I think so... He misses the mother he didn't have an opportunity to appreciate. Have I always wanted a Dom? Maybe... He sunk into a soldier's role so readily, and there was always a part of him that wanted the same in the bed chamber.

Zudaeshi gets off the bed and Damion watches her nude backside saunter into the bathing chamber, her long black hair glinting with golden strands gently swinging with each step before she disappears behind the door. Damion wants to get up and check on Mulsae, but he's afraid to do something Zudaeshi might object to. He hears the water of a tub turn on, so he decides to chance it.

He sits up and looks over Mulsae. His wrists are still tied to the headboard, and he looks wrecked. His torso and chest are covered in scratches. Some look really deep and will require extra care to treat. His nipples are purple and red, his neck black and blue with bleeding puncture marks.

Damion looks into Mulsae's amber eyes and pours in all the sympathy he can muster. He meets Damion's gaze for a moment, and then averts his gaze to the opposite side of the bed. Mulsae's face is blank. Hollow. Empty.

Damion wishes he had something to offer him. Even if it were just a hand. But he doesn't even have that. His arms are folded and restrained behind him. All he can offer is eye contact, and Mulsae won't accept.

Damion takes another glance across Mulsae's bruised and scratched body. Even on his worse days, Mulsae never did anything like this to him. He never battered Damion for his own pleasure. He would hurt him to punish him, sure. And Mulsae admitted he had wanted to do more, be crueler, but he held back to reserve those things for punishment. Zudaeshi, on the other hand, is just wantonly brutalizing Mulsae. Does she have a plan like Mulsae did? Is she organized and calculated like Mulsae was? Or is she just doing whatever her sadistic heart desires?

The door to the bathing chamber opens and Damion spins around with his eyes wide. He had wanted to lay back down before Zudaeshi came back out. She comes strolling into the room with her hair towel dried and still damp, completely nude with her light bronze and freckled skin on full display.

"Aww, you are such a good boy, aren't you, Damion," Zudaeshi coos in that sickly way of hers, "Checking in on your master, are you?" Damion nods dumbly. He doesn't know the rules of this game, only that breaking them gets someone hurt. He lowers himself to sit his butt on the floor and fold his legs in front of him.

She walks right up to Damion and cups his chin in her hand, "I wonder when Mulsae will care for me so much."

"Now, Harmonarch," Mulsae responds hoarsely through his abused throat, "That time is now."

Zudaeshi clenches her fist and Mulsae abruptly writhes on the bed, his legs kick and his back arches, but no sound leaves his throat. He twists and pulls on the restraints on his wrists.

"Such pretty words, Mulsae, but I know they are lies!" her tone constrains down to a mere hiss by the end of her words. She loosens her fist, Mulsae stops writhing and flops down exhausted, gasping and panting loudly.

Zudaeshi turns and strides towards her wardrobe, "I wonder when Mulsae will stop lying to me," she angrily opens her wardrobe. She pulls out a simple dark gray dress and puts it on. Damion notes she didn't put on any underthings. Perhaps she never wears underthings.

She sits at the vanity. She waves at her hair causing it to magically dry, then picks up a heavy, polished blackwood brush with boar bristles and runs it through her black silky hair. Each stroke is slow, methodical, almost ritualistic. She starts at the crown of her head and drags the bristles all the way down to the ends in one continuous, even pull. She doesn't rush. She brushes with the steady patience of someone sharpening a blade.

Her expression doesn't change. No relaxation, no absent-mindedness. Just cold, detached perfection, as if taming her own hair is the first battle of the day, and she never loses battles. She carefully puts down her brush, perfectly aligned with the side of the vanity, and assesses her image in the mirror.

She picks up a pot of dark, blood-red pigment and a brush with a thin delicate tip. She dips the brush in the pigment and begins to paint the color onto her lips. Her hand is too tense, though, and the brush slips painting a line from the corner of her lip up to her cheek. For a long moment she just stares at her reflection. Frozen.

Then she slowly, with an artificial calmness, places the brush onto the vanity. She picks up a scrap of linen and wipes the smear away with ruthless, scraping strokes that leave her skin reddened beneath. She reapplies the lipstick, this time moving slower, too slow, the carefulness of it barely masking the tremor coiled in her jaw. When she finishes, her lips are a perfect, violent red again, but her cheek still bears the faint ghost of the scrubbed-out mistake, a rawness she couldn't fully erase.

She leans in closer to the mirror, studying her reflection like an enemy she must conquer, her breathing measured but slightly too deep, as if she were steadying herself for a kill.

Zudaeshi stands and assesses the two men at her bed. She rakes her eyes across Mulsae's body. Then wordlessly, emotionlessly, she turns and exits the room. The door snicks behind her and a lock clicks.

Damion remains stone still. The room is quiet, but not peaceful. It's the kind of quiet that comes after a bomb has exploded. And now he and Mulsae are stranded, alone in the aftermath. He kneels and turns to face Mulsae, who still won't meet his gaze. His eyes are open but staring blankly away from Damion.

He lumbers to his feet then sits on the bed. Gingerly. Carefully. He's not sure what Mulsae needs right now. Well, what Mulsae needs right now is healing ointment and bandages. But I can't offer that, either.

Mulsae glances over to Damion and up to his eyes momentarily. But only momentarily, then his eyes dart back to stare at the other side of the bed. Damion so wishes he just had a hand he could lay on Mulsae's knee. But he can't. He flexes his useless fingers, frustrated at how little he can do. He has nothing to offer but his presence.

Damion tucks one knee up onto the bed, then the other, shifting his weight carefully as he climbs beside Mulsae. He scooches over so he's knee to knee with Mulsae, and then lays down next to him. Facing him. He had to do this carefully because Mulsae's torso is covered in slashes, even down his side. He wraps his feet around Mulsae's leg. It's the only place he can touch him without causing more harm.

Damion breaks the silence, "You're not alone," he whispers, "I've got you."

Mulsae's breath hitches, then it shifts so every inhale is a little shaky. After a long silence of slow deep breaths, Mulsae speaks hoarsely, softly, "I don't deserve you."

"I've got you," Damion whispers into the quiet, "and I trust that you have me." Damion uses a foot to gently caress across Mulsae's calf.

Mulsae's body tremors slightly, like he's holding something back, his grief, most likely. His breath becomes slow and measured, with a pause between each inhale and exhale. Damion recognizes it as the technique Mulsae has used to help him calm down. All Damion can do is caress Mulsae's calf with his foot and breathes with Mulsae. Inhale, pause, exhale, pause. Eventually it evens out into a deep, yet natural rhythm. Damion breathes along with that, too.

"I thought," Mulsae suddenly speaks, his voice hoarse and soft, "I thought I could do this without brea---" he cuts himself off with a swallow.

"I thought," Mulsae starts again softly, "I could keep... something of myself..." he licks his dry lips and swallows, "... safe."

Mulsae's breath shakes with every inhale again. He abruptly takes a deep inhale and holds onto that air tightly with his eyes screwed shut. A grimace crosses his face and silver lines his eyelashes. He holds this, then his face relaxes and he lets out a slow measured exhale. His breathing rhythm returns, but seems to hold his exhales.

"I've got you, Mulsae," Damion whispers.

Mulsae's eyes pop open, "Stop!" his voice is scratchy but firm and loud in the deathly quiet of this room. "Just stop it!"

Damion sits up so he can look into Mulsae's face. "Stop touching me!" that face barks at him. Damion jumps away so he's sitting at the foot of the bed.

Mulsae twists his body and pulls on the wrist restraints. "You don't have me!" he grounds out through clenched teeth, "I don't have you!" he bucks and tugs on the restraints, "We're alone!" he yells out in emphasis.

Damion stares, calculating what's happening. Mulsae is writhing and twisting on the restraints. He's losing it. He's going to hurt himself. What can I do? I only have myself. My presence.

"We're together," Damion says gently.

"No we're not!" Mulsae bucks and kicks his legs.

"I have you," equally as gently.

"No you don't," but less loud. He writhes left and right but has stopped bucking and kicking.

"You have me."

"No I---" his breath hitches, "I don't. No, I don't," he says breathily through his sore throat. He's on his side and has mostly become still but remains keeping tension on the wrist restraints, pulling them taut. His whole body held tight with the tension.

"I can't," Mulsae gasps, "I promised you I would, and I can't."

Damion crawls back to lay beside Mulsae. With Mulsae on his side they're now face to face, looking into each other's eyes. I made the right call. He didn't want to be away from me, he wanted to be away from here.

"All you can offer me is your presence. All I can offer you is mine. And that's enough for right now," Damion leans his forehead against Mulsae's and their breaths mingle.

"I promised I would always take care of you," Mulsae whispers. He releases his tension and stops pulling on the restraints.

"You do take care of me," Damion wraps his legs around Mulsae's.

"I'm not. You're in danger. I can't help you," Mulsae says so softly it can barely be heard.

Damion noses up Mulsae's cheek. Their lips so close his start tingling. They don't kiss, it's not their thing. It's just not something they do.

"You're helping me now. You're here for me," he says equally softly as he drags his nose back down Mulsae's cheek.

Mulsae tilts his chin up and Damion automatically shifts his head so their lips don't touch. They don't kiss, it's just not what they do. But... why not? His lips tingle from proximity. He rests his forehead onto Mulsae's and gently runs his nose up the side of Mulsae's. Would it be something good if we did? He pulls back to look into those amber eyes. They're staring right back. Intently. Mulsae licks his lips and leaves them parted.

Maybe it'd be something good if it were something we did. Especially here. Trapped. In this prison of a palace. Damion leans in slowly keeping attention to Mulsae's facial expressions. He's loose and relaxed, but he does use this moment to pull Damion's legs into a tighter embrace.

Damion presses his lips into Mulsae's lips, who promptly slots their lips together. Their mouths open and tongues tentatively touch. They break the kiss and share breath a moment. Mulsae leans in and grasps for Damion's lips once again, and he leans in right back. Their mouths open wide and explore each other.

It isn't a kiss of passion. It's a kiss of comfort. Of being there for each other in the only way they can. To relax each other. To release each other's tension. To narrow their perspective to just the Right Here and Right Now.

They each melt into the bed from the relaxation they're providing each other, their legs still woven together. The relief of stress sends sleepiness through Damion's body. And it must for Mulsae, too, because he breaks the kiss with his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling in a slow, even rhythm.

Damion's eyelids grow heavy and fall. All we have for each other is our presence. And it's enough. He listens to and counts Mulsae's breaths. He doesn't count very high before he's asleep, too.

~*~

Damion wakens to the sharp snap of the lock. His eyes shoot open with the sound. He sees the door slowly open revealing Zudaeshi's silhouette framed in the threshold. He doesn't move nor flinch. He remains as still as Zudaeshi. She's looking at them. Assessing them. She sees their closeness. Their legs entwined with each other. Their faces resting against one another with kiss swollen lips.

"Well," her voice drips with a syrupy sweetness, "Isn't this just... precious."

Damion stiffens and Mulsae blinks awake to be equally as frozen at the sight of Zudaeshi. She moves forward to the foot of the bed, each step deliberate. She draws a finger down the bed's banister, slow and idle, "Did you cry in his arms, Mulsae?" She tilts her head like a predator eying its prey. "Did you two whisper sweet nothings to each other?"

A smile grows across Zudaeshi's freckled face with her blood red painted lips. She's planning. She's conniving. She swiftly grabs the banister with her other hand and uses it to suddenly pivot and swoop to the side of the bed, closer to Damion. This time he does flinch.

"I suppose it's sweet," she runs a nail down Damion's side, leaving a trail of red skin behind, "The way you cling to each other. Two broken things huddling together to provide each other comfort."

Mulsae stares up at her and his jaw tightens. She shifts her gaze to Mulsae, "You taste each other's mouths," she slowly swipes her thumb under her lip, "with mine still on your skin."

She rakes her gaze down their bodies, "I must say, I've always wondered what it would take to get a pair of Emberan warriors to rut like animals," she brings her gaze back to their faces, "Apparently not much."

Mulsae slowly pivots away. Damion's gaze lowers to the bed. Zudaeshi straightens. She displays no anger. Just an expression of smug satisfaction.

"Damion, off the bed," she demands, "Kneel and watch." Damion scrambles off, almost losing his footing and falling on his ass, with shame burning through his body as it twists and grows within him.

Zudaeshi crawls onto the bed while hitching up her dress. Damion moves to kneel where he was the night before. She straddles Mulsae's thighs. "You're not ready for me, Mulsae," she says with an exaggerated pout, "You know how impatient I am," she flicks his flaccid cock.

Continue reading: Fourth Day (2 of 6)
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