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His Master's Slave

A gift for Aeznon, because he's both awesome and delicious.

Lyca dreamed fairly often, but it was waking up he truly looked forward to.

Slowly, as he rose from the warm softness of unconsciousness, he'd find only another warmer, softer embrace wrapped around him. Trying to shift the heavy heat holding him fast would be impossible - like trying to shift a planet - and anyway, it would nothing short of blasphemy. As if he wanted to leave this perfect place. So he'd snuggle against the silkiness, maybe taking his time to lick over the feathers before him with adoring grace, and wait for a new day to begin. It was so wonderful that he sometimes imagined his master stopping the sun itself right in the sky and delaying dawn eternally, simply so that they could just cuddle forever.

Not this time, however... but even if not stopped forever, the day would likely not begin for another hour or two. He could serve his Majesty until then. So the small vulpine yawned, stretching his small, elegant muzzle... and became aware of one immediate fact.

Master wasn't there.

The fennec blinked, his skin suddenly registering an absence of hot, silky pelt to bury itself in. He was alone, unconstrained and also unprotected. Alone.

With a little squeal of alarm, he stumbled into wakefulness, squirming from his curled pose into a confused tangle of fluff, and blinked his eyes open. The floor beneath was cool and smooth, shaded from the sizzling desert sun. He'd been curled up, nestled against a wall of pale, polished stone. This was not his Majesty's personal chambers, but he could recognise the room. The massive sixty-foot gilded doors ahead were, after all, quite distinctive.

As were the two guards standing silent and still before them, and another two right in front of Lyca. Each tall and lean and powerful, clad in a shimmering mass of sculpted bronze plate mail. Immortals: the Emperor's personal guard. Even Lyca knew little about what process his Majesty used to create them. Each member of the elite unit was inducted by their new master himself. The result, after several days without so much as a mention of them, was a creature who was unlike any "mortal" creature, and about as mysterious as the Emperor.

The fox eyed the deadly longspears held at their sides, shivered, and nervously spoke up. "I... hello? Where's... where's master?"

No answer. Not a movement. He hesitated, and slowly got to his feet, feeling oddly naked without a blissful mass of warm, godly feathers to nestle close to. Of course, Lyca had his own covering, although nothing like as shielding as his master's: his small frame was sheathed in a soft, silky coat of creamy gold, the colour darkening to a duskier sand around his paws, ears and tail. Naked except for the bejewelled silver collar which marked him out as property of the Emperor, he barely topped four-and-a-half feet in height - an almost comical minuteness of form compared to the tall, powerful frames of his guards. Beneath lustrous lashes, the vulpine blinked nervously, green eyes like tender emeralds surveying his surroundings.

The two ahead were still silent and unmoving. He hesitated, and politely tried to sidle past one of them. He'd just return to his Master's throne room, and it'd all be sorted out. Some kind of misunderstanding. Just get past this...

It happened in an eyeblink. The tall avian whirled around with impossible speed, his spear suddenly less than an inch from his captive's throat. Lyca froze, quivering, and the very tip of the feather-like blade caressed his throat. Behind the sculpted mask, the Immortal's dark eyes narrowed.

He held their gaze for a second before breaking and staggering back against the wall, a horrible jolt of real fear sparking inside him. "I-I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'll s-stay, I p-promise!" The Immortal cocked his head silently, and then returned to his earlier position without a sound.

Lyca glowered at his back - albeit cautiously - for a moment, and thought. The Emperor was presumably in the throne room - otherwise, why would he find himself held outside it? That meant that his Master knew he was here, and therefore that he wanted him to be here. And to fulfil his Master's wishes was Lyca's reason to be. He slumped against the smooth, creamy stone of the wall, and hugged his tail nervously. He'd find out in time.

And indeed he did. It was only about ten minutes before the rest of their apparent entourage appeared. First came four slaves, the three amethysts on their collars denoting their middling rank. Between them was hefted the weight of an utterly colossal bronze bowl. The massive hemisphere had to be nearly nine feet across, and as much as four deep. The fennec stared at it from behind his guards, his distorted reflection in the metal somehow seeming even smaller than he was.

The quartet came to a halt in front of the vast doors, shifting awkwardly - it looked like the bowl was full of something as well; too heavy to just be empty - and nervously glanced around at the statuesque Immortals around them. No answer was given. Then.

"Afternoon, Lyca."

Humming pleasantly to himself, Patrick Ervine strolled towards the doors. He was a tall, red-furred wolf, lean and lithe, and the head of the Palace kitchens. Patrick had eschewed the traditional garb of a Serapian chef in favour of an apron and loincloth and not much else, and for good reason. The Emperor's tastes and the tastes of his favoured cook when it came to cuisine tended to... coincide. He was one of the "collection": interesting individuals he'd encountered in other worlds who had joined his palace here willingly or unwillingly.

The wolf had proved himself very, very willing. Which explained the large, covered bowl. Lyca could guess its contents now, and he felt his tail start to wag behind him.

It wasn't that the fennec himself was a sadist. Lyca's ninety-pound frame wouldn't be able to so much as inconvenience anyone, even if he'd paused in his absolute dedication enough to want to harm them. It was simply, he felt, that he understood the truth about the world.

Namely, that every part of it, every atom and idea and inhabitant alike, existed for the sole purpose of serving his Master.

Merely to be ruled by him was an honour, to have him acknowledge you a blessing. And to feed his Majesty, to give one's life for his immortal pleasure and sustenance... would truly be the culmination of your very existence. Of course, so many failed to see it that way, but as far as Lyca was concerned that meant nothing. Living creatures were by their very nature imperfect, as they were not his Master - who was. Of course there would be mistakes in their understanding because of this.

Besides, he knew that Master favoured their squirms. What better way to serve him?

He smiled at the lupine, nodding politely - but a little stiffly, despite himself. Since his inclusion into the Emperor's service as one of his most favoured slaves, Lyca had hardly ever exchanged a word with anyone else. His world had changed to become nothing more than a constant session of adoring worship, which was partly why this strange experience seemed so unnerving. About to break his silence towards parts of the universe other than the creature at its very centre was a rare experience, he felt a question forming on his lips, and then Patrick cut him off with a grin.

"Don't worry, my dear fox. This'll all be sorted out in a few moments, and then you'll see your master again. Come here - let him through, you two - and just help me with this lid." He grunted slightly, hefting the bronze plate, and Lyca scurried up next to him to add his own paltry strength to it. With a metallic hum and a cloud of steam, the vast bowl opened up before them. Lyca shook his head to clear the vapours, coughing slightly, and peered eagerly inside.

No living creatures, as he had expected. The bowl was filled with what looked like... well... spaghetti. Spaghetti on a completely different scale. Each strand looked to be about ten feet long, and as thick as Lyca's wrists. The result was as absurd as it was stunning.

"P... pasta?" he murmured quietly, breaking his silence as another wave of delicious steam wafted over them both. The lupine chef leaned over next to him, smirking.

"Apparently, His Majesty has acquired quite a taste for it, so he asked me to create a dish... appropriate to his size. Nearly a tonne of finest wheat in there. Rajhiran black pepper and a bit of our own lemon juice. It'll accentuate the natural flavours, not overpower them." Patrick smiled at him. "What do you think, then? You'd probably know him best."

Lyca felt his heart glowing with pride and honour. "It's... it's fit for an Emperor," he mumbled bashfully, inhaling another steamy lungful. And there could be no higher praise.

A moment passed, and he was aware that Patrick was still watching him. The wolf shook his head coyly, chuckling. He winked once, almost not seeming to look at Lyca. "Not quite. His Majesty did have one more specification."

"Oh? Wh-"

And then the small fennec was toppled, a sudden, hard shove from behind overbalancing him instantly, and straight over the edge of the great bowl. With a startled yelp, Lyca felt straight into the sizzling, wet mass of pasta.

The touch of the heat was so unexpected that he instinctively tried to scrabble away, and this in turn succeeded in digging the fennec's paws and limbs into the vast sea of spaghetti around him. He yelped out loud, trying to pull out, slipped over, desperately tried to squirm out - a movement which, in the panic and horrible heat, only succeeded in entangling him further - and finally slumped to a stunned, gasping, halt, buried in spaghetti. The steamy scent rose all around Lyca as he managed to raise his head up, staring in horrified bewilderment at the rim, and the lupine muzzle above it, split into a cruel smile.

"The last specification? A certain topping." He grinned down at Lyca, almost drinking in the terrified sense of realisation as it spread over the vulpine's delicate muzzle. "And you'll be fit for his Majesty, alright."

"N-no! Wait! There's a m-mistake, I-" But with a resounding clang, the two Immortals resettled the lid back on, plunging Lyca and his sizzling surroundings into complete, wet darkness.

He whimpered, trying frantically to squirm free of the hot spaghetti, but by now the strands had started to tangle themselves together, and Lyca found the heavy folds of pasta nearly immobilising him. Gasping for breath in the hot, humid air, he slumped in a terrified heap of wet fur and fear. No escape.

Escape?

The fennec trembled as he felt his world manhandled, the great dish lifted up again and carried forwards. What did he mean, escape? It was very clear what was happening: he was going to finally fulfil the very purpose of his existence.

Prey. The prey of his Master.

So how dare he squirm so much?

Panting weakly in the heat, he wriggled to a more comfortable position - the spaghetti was so hindering it seemed almost designed to entwine him in its coils, and that meant it quite possibly was - and tried to collect his thoughts. Of course, if the Emperor wanted his most favoured slave to melt away into his perfect form, that was right. If it was what he wanted, it was right. But it didn't mean that it was what Lyca wanted.

Didn't it? He belonged to his Master mind, body and soul. From the moment he had set eyes upon the godlike creature on that dark night, moments before saving his life - a long story - Lyca had desired nothing in life but to serve Master. To be close to him, feel the magnificence of his vast body, to watch him work his divine arts upon this world and its subservient denizens.

But... if he slipped down that slick throat as so many had, he would never come back out. He would die inside that gurgling acidic furnace. He would never be able to experience his master again.

And then, just as the lid was finally lifted off, bright light flooding into his prison, Lyca realised a vital flaw in his logic.

He was thinking as if he had any power whatsoever over his own fate.

The fennec swallowed, trying to struggle out again - and again it was to no avail. He whimpered, spotting the faces or muzzles of several of his Majesty's courtiers. Several had peered in at him, squeamish grimaces and vindictive smirks alike as they looked in. There was Tatsu Aikuchi, Lord of the Mountain Divide, the pale wolfdog's hungry eyes almost seeming a little envious of Lyca's position. That dark, powerfully built form was the gryphon Storm, commander of the Imperial Army. The tall, sultry phoenix rolling her eyes at Lyca's extravagant surroundings was Laverne, High Court Mage and lethal pyromancer. Altogether, this meant he had entered the very Throne Room itself. And that in turn meant...

"Hello there, little Lyca."

The fox turned his head, and his God looked back at him with a playful smile.

His God.

The Emperor Goldeneye.

Even sprawled across the massive dais which served as his throne, Master loomed over the rest of his subjects with ease. His favoured form was, after all, that of the Mathraxian gryphon, apparently the largest known and most predatory species of a very large and predatory family. Goldeneye stood now, bringing his height to more than twelve feet, powerful muscles flexing sleekly beneath his silky feathers. The god-gryphon's plumage was a soft, pale silver, like liquid moonlight, the colour fading to soft blue over his chest, throat, belly, ears, wings, and the tip of his tail. The overall effect was one of almost celestial, ethereal majesty, one which he now compounded by taking a few steps forwards to examine this offering closer. Goldeneye's every movement was impossibly graceful. Every sinuous step, smooth as oiled water, spoke of his complete divorcement from the natural. He padded down off his throne, the elegant bronze wreath - a crown of office - gleaming atop his skull, and parted the crowd before him like water. Lyca felt his tongue struck dumb as his master neared him, bejewelled eyes glimmering: one a dark, blazing purple, the other the greedily gleaming gold from which he took his namesake. The same orbs which were now fixed upon him, alight with cruel desire.

He quivered, managing to mumble a few words. "M-mas... ter... p-please..."

The Emperor's grin spread, his head cocking sinuously to observe his meal. He looked around at his assembled servants and nodded sharply. "All: enjoyable as this is, we will return to the matter in an hour or two. After lunch. This council session is now closed."

With a silent understanding, the various dignitaries and advisors filed out, several of them glancing back at Lyca. Conversation was far and few as they left, each to their own thoughts for the moment. Was that quiet a sort of pity? Smugness? Envy?

Did it matter? He'd never see them again.

The fennec trembled at the slam of the golden doors, leaving the two of them utterly alone. He looked from them to his master, ears flattened against his skull.

Goldeneye smiled, padding round the bowl again, until he stood before his little vulpine. He dipped his head close, eyes still fixed upon Lyca's own, and nuzzled his head tenderly. A long tongue slipped out, coating the fennec's skull in saliva as it coiled gently around his neck. It was a sensation he'd given up days to experiencing: letting his master simply lick every inch of him, drenching him utterly as the hours passed in sensory bliss for both. And even now, it inspired the same adoration, the same comfort, the same sensuality. Lyca cuddled up to the hot, soft surface instinctively, his eyes closing as he tried to lift spaghetti-laden arms to snuggle back. For a moment, everything was okay.

Then the gryphon pulled back, licking his beak playfully, and the moment was vanished. Goldeneye smirked. "You'll be perfect."

The fox looked up at him, alone in his cocoon of pasta."M-master..." he mumbled, shivering despite the heat. "Master, p-please..."

With A soft chuckle, the Emperor sat back regally, watching him. "Lyca... I'm almost disappointed in you. Almost. You look too adorable, frankly. But come now, little one. Pleading with me? As if it's going to accomplish something? No, no, no. You've been with me since my physical birth in the world. Tell me: of all the hundreds, thousands, more, who have fuelled this rather handsome body... has anyone, ever, ever, ever escaped the clutches of my digestive tract by appealing to my mercy?"

A pause. The gryphon's large eyes narrowed slightly. Lyca shivered in his heat. "N... no." He mumbled.

"And why, my little morsel, is that?"

"Because t-they..." this answer was not a drilled call and response; he'd just believed it as the truth all his life. "Because we are nothing next to you. Nothing except... what you choose. You decide. You decide everything, and..." he felt pleasure now, strangely, the pleasure of adoration and devotion which he had lived for, and would now die for. "...and whatever it is, it is right, for we only exist to serve you. N-no matter what... we th-think."

By the end he was starting to cry, hot tears dripping down and seasoning his fur and his surroundings. The Emperor laughed softly, his voice liquid velvet, and nuzzled Lyca again. "Perfect. You understand so well... but not well enough. I'll teach you the rest."

"But now..." he breathed, hot musk dispelling the aroma of the vast spaghetti around the fennec's helplessly coiled form. "I don't want this to get cold." He opened his beak in a lazy, colossal yawn, and Lyca could not help but be transfixed by its cavernous interior. So much smooth, soft flesh, hot as the desert sun and yet dripping with saliva... so easy to slip down. Would it be that bad? He'd felt the heavenly touch of the gryphon's tongue so often... imagine it everywhere, all around him. His entire world replaced by it...

...and then what lay below it. How he'd loved feeling them wriggle inside his master, hearing the faintest of screams behind all those layers of muscle and fat and feathers. How he'd rubbed the rippling swell of the Emperor's belly, nuzzled it, cuddled it, licked it as he felt Master's approval rumbling through his small body.

It would hurt. It would hurt beyond his imagination. And he would never see Master again. And that, for such a good little slave as Lyca, was the truest horror.

Half leaning forwards, half cringing away, he was unprepared for the massive predator's sudden, savage lunge, and jerked back with a fearful yell. But Goldeneye had not yet clamped his maw around his darling prey. As Lyca cracked open trembling eyelids, still half submerged in the hot slick coils, he met the gryphon's own bejewelled gaze. Master had instead pounced on his surrounding spaghetti.

Slowly, careful not to break the thick ropes, he breathed in. The small fennec quivered, watching the massive fluffy expanse of throat before him ripple as Goldeneye simultaneously -and rather noisily - swallowed and slurped, each and every strand simply sliding up into his beak and then down beyond it with a gurgle of wet flesh. There was no pause in the tide - the pasta simply flowed up, a reverse waterfall. He took it slowly, seeming to savour the taste - apparently Patrick hadn't been lying about that. Every inch was coiled with by that vast, dripping tongue.

But the sight, as mesmerising as it was, was only half the horrible fascination. Lyca felt his surroundings rippling and clenching around him, the caught spaghetti dragging over his small, squirming body. Hot, slick, the tightness shifting everywhere... it was a massage unlike anything he'd ever felt. The pleasurable squeezes and strokes only sapped his strength further.

Slowly, oddly sensuously, the last strands vanished into his beak, and with one last powerful ripple, they were gone. The emperor's long tongue licked around his beak, a claw reaching up to caress his throat. His eyes had never left Lyca's.

The fox quivered, and Goldeneye uttered a husky chuckle. "Delicious. It simply glides down, smooth as a dream... " He grinned, and bent forwards for another lascivious lick. "You, however, will probably taste better."

Lyca stared up at him, shivering in the burning heat of his surroundings. "Th-this... this is y-your will, Master?" he whimpered, clutching himself in the heat. His every fibre fought against the survival instinct. It was right that he should do this, that he should serve, that he should be able to be close to the emperor like this. He belonged to his master in every way.

"Yes..." breathed the vast creature, now returning to the spaghetti, carefully selecting his next bite. "It is, Lyca. You're mine, aren't you? You belong to me, and you adore it, little fox. And now, I want you to melt away and join me. Forever." He smiled, caressing the fearful fennec's face with a talon. "Isn't it perfect, Lyca?"

Wasn't it?

Before he could open his muzzle to mumble a confused reply, the Emperor had started his cycle again, slurping up more in the same manner. He never broke a single strand, claws occasionally teasing one of the slick, thick ropes into unknotting before it passed into the flesh of his beak, but the river flowed unbroken until every last strand of what must have been several stone of pasta had vanished into the labyrinth of his innards. Again, the fox felt his body squeezed and caressed everywhere, leaving him a shivering mass of terror and sensation in his sea of pasta. The gryphon laughed again, still soft and tender, and licked his face again: a weirdly friendly, casual lapping which nevertheless Lyca cuddled up to with all his heart. Goldeneye hissed softly, and began on a third mouthful, taking his time again. And as wave after endless wave of the hot, slick strands vanished into his hotter, slicker maw, he kept speaking, words humming inside Lyca's skull.

Hush your tears, little one. You'll need them later. Because Lyca - a particularly powerful gulp sent a sudden squeeze through Lyca's bondage - it is going to hurt. Frankly, because it's you, I'll make it hurt even more. I want to know what it sounds like to hear you scream from inside me, little one. But, and this is the important part, do you want it as well?

The fox trembled, kicking out weakly to stop an errant strand from completely submerging him. "I... well, I... I want to serve y-you, master, and..." he hung his head. "...I ...I d-don't want to d-d-die. P-please. I just w-want to... to stay with you!" It's all I've ever wanted.

I know. It's so delicious. And... another lazy slurp ... you are. You'll be with me now, for the rest of eternity. Part of me. Fuel for my body. I know what you fear: that you won't be able to feel it. That you won't know me anymore, that you will just be gone, a few more pounds of flesh on my frame and nothing else.

Another gluttonous, greedy mouthful was seized upon, this time with even more abandon than before, a hungry snarl ripping through the Emperor's throat even as it rippled and bulged beneath the weight. And I understand that. Oblivion is the true fear of all things. But that is why I'm sending you to it, little Lyca. Because I can, and because it's the most powerful thing I can do to you, you pathetic little fennec.

The insult was gentle and loving. It was meant as a compliment, and Lyca took it as one. He huddled lower in his dwindling, rippling mass of pasta, still quivering with little whimpers. Master was right. This was right. He lived, he existed, merely to fuel his pleasure. He shouldn't take pleasure out of what he felt from it, but out of his master's pleasure. No matter what the consequences for him.

"I-I... see..." he mumbled, blinking down tears and forcing him to stare up. "I'm s-sorry, master..."

A final swallow, and another soft growl of pleasure, but this time it was tinged with desire. Somehow Lyca could tell that no matter how much the Emperor enjoyed the spaghetti, his stomach was not quite satisfied with mere bulk. It wanted flesh. Live, squirming flesh - as it happened, he knew that Goldeneye had used his godly abilities to sprout a network of nerves around his entire digestive tract, merely to appreciate the sensations of his prey. And Lyca was needed to fill that gurgling hollow deep inside. He whimpered weakly, now kneeling to stay in the oddly comforting embrace of the pasta.

Another wet slurp. Goldeneye nibbled the end of a strand delicately, before gulping it down, his feathers fluffed now from the constant rippling. He smiled around his decadent beakful. Sorry? For what?

"I-I... I'm still... I still don't want t-to. I know I s-shouldn't be, b-but I... I just d-don't want..."

Hush, little foxie. Even as the tide of spaghetti began to vanish around Lyca, the gryphon now swallowing entire clumps, noisy gulps and faint sprays of saliva coating his already-dripping mignon, Goldeneye leant forwards, nuzzling him again with a perfectly horrendous tenderness. Don't spend your crying now. You'll need it so much more soon. But don't worry, my little darling deliciousness. I understand. You should want it, yes, but you're not perfect. Not yet. You're not part of me yet, at any rate.

Lyca felt himself beginning to cry once more, wrapped his arms around that beak, and without quite knowing what he was doing, began to lick at it. His small, slicked body was shaking all over, his eyes filled with tears, but he nuzzled up to his master with all the passion he had felt through his time of service. How could he be scared of joining this incarnation of perfection? He lapped over the bony surface with all the devotion he could muster, cleaning the slight residue of salty, peppery flavour which clung there. "I..." his voice cracked and broke. "I-I love you, Master."

_And I..._the gryphon's beak lifted his plaything-preything off the floor of the great bowl with no effort whatsoever, a last, devastating gulp sending the last rope of spaghetti down his powerful throat. _...adore you._He hummed softly, leaning back and dislodging his clinging slave; Lyca fell back down with a squeak, a heap of shivering fluffiness and wide, nervous eyes in the middle of an empty bowl.

The last morsel in the god-gryphon's dish.

Goldeneye sat back on massive haunches, his own, considerably larger tongue licking over his beak. His long, graceful ears were cocked lazily back in satisfaction. "Ahhh..." he murmured, speaking out loud once more now that his throat was clear. "Delectable." A sinuous stretch bared his stomach to his quivering, watching slave: the thickly furred surface, usually lean and taut, had been distended massively by the gryphon's gluttony. As the Emperor stood, long tail twitching elegantly behind him, the bulge hung heavily between his legs, a full four feet than normal, gurgling softly beneath that thick pelt. Any normal creature would be sated now. No, forget that. Any normal creature would be utterly sick from this much consumption.

Not his master, however. Goldeneye grinned softly, cracking his neck with another soft sigh, and placed a single massive claw on the rim of the bowl, leaning over to peer at his plaything. "Lyca. My first servant, my most devoted, my most understanding of his place in this world... you have served me perfectly."

His preything looked up, his tiny frame swelling a little at the praise. Lyca felt his large ears perk up slightly, and shakily climbed to his knees. "I... I only want to be with you, M-master," he whispered softly.

"I know. So now it's time." The gryphon nuzzled him again, and this time, his massive tongue slipped out, silky, slick and hot, bathing Lyca in saliva. For what felt like the last eternity in Lyca's life, the soft flesh lapped over him from head to toe, a claw occasionally prodding him to turn so that Goldeneye could get at every last inch. He obeyed unquestioningly, head hung, holding onto his master's beak for support as he was made ready, sobbing slowly, weakly, and utterly silently.

Only when the dripping saliva was beginning to pool in the bowl beneath Lyca did Goldeneye finally pull back, purring hungrily. Even as he did so, his stomach gurgled, impatient to begin breaking down the mass inside. Not yet. One more addition...

The fox stood, utterly drenched in saliva. He brushed it carefully from his eyes, looking up as the centre of his entire universe. "I... I..." he nearly buckled then, nearly fell to his knees and begged for mercy, but Goldeneye's devastating bejewelled gaze held him. "I'm ready, M-master."

Goldeneye smiled sincerely, his beak opening slightly to let a cascade of liquid heat wash over the fennec before him. The air around Lyca was suddenly hot, humid, musky and scented with the faintest acrid scent of the gryphon's innards. Another glimpse, as the dripping pink flesh inside Goldeneye's beak peeked out at him. It was ravenous.

"No, you aren't. You still can't let go of life, can you?" The vast predator chuckled, his throat rippling. "So I'll tear it out of you."

And without warning, he flicked a claw out and cuffed Lyca savagely. The fennec went sprawling, a squeak of pain and fear escaping his small throat as he slumped on the bowl. The blow made his head ring. Before he could gather his senses enough to stand or even utter a word, Goldeneye had tipped the great bronze vessel up, letting his dazed prey slide down towards him. Lyca's painfully disorientated state was only broken by a sudden sensation on his naked paws: sudden, silky, incredibly wet heat.

He looked down, and saw them both firmly enveloped in the soft flesh of his master's beak. The sensation, surrounding his wriggling toes and pads, was at once blissful and horrifying, and also very, very ticklish. Lyca choked out a whimper, trying instinctively to pull back, but suddenly the grip around his ankles was like an iron vice. He was trapped, and helpless to do anything but squirm.

Then Goldeneye let the soft, lascivious heat of his tongue trail over the sensitive pads, wrapping lazily around them in a teasing, tasting, taunting entwine, and Lyca did the only thing he could do. He wriggled, batting feebly at the Emperor's beak, shivering all over, half sobbing, half pleading, half - a secret half, even if Goldeneye could see it in his mind easily - enjoying it all to the utmost. The tongue did not let up, pointed avian tip exploring what felt like every inch of the fennec's paws, every nook, cranny and last hair of creamy fur. It was nearly three unbearable, exhausting minutes before he even let another inch of Lyca's flesh pass his beak.

When the gryphon did, however, it was monumental. He simply paused a moment in his greedy ministrations, eyes sparkling at Lyca's tearstained own, and tipped his beak back, and opened it fully. The fox slid straight all the way to his navel before his sodden, tingling paws even touched the back of his predator's mouth.

It was like a new world. Suddenly, the hot liquid softness of living flesh was around Lyca on all sides. His master's beak was big enough for one of normal stature to kneel easily - indeed, squeezing prey in submission beneath his tongue was a favourite method of mild punishment for those the emperor did not wish digested. Lyca's tiny frame could fit in easily.

He shuddered, sensitized skin bathed again in heat, and finally wriggled his abused paws against the rippling flesh either side of Goldeneye's gullet. This was it. This was his home now: the inside of his master. So hot, so soft... so tempting to give in.

The fennec tried to. He tried to with all his heart. He _wanted_to. But while Lyca's body and soul belonged to his master, his body was still a living thing. And it just wanted to keep on living.

So a high, quivering whine broke from his traitorous throat, and his body twisted frantically in the gryphon's powerful beak, struggling to pull out with all its might. Goldeneye growled, the sound soft and rich. Whether it was anger, amusement or pleasure Lyca couldn't quite tell, but it mattered little: the soft flesh rippled and pulsed around his wriggling paws, but did not let him go. His instincts didn't care, driving him to kick and squirm even more, flexing his toes in the hot liquid and tight flesh... but unable to lose as much as an inch from the vice-like grip of the gryphon's maw. Bleakly, Lyca was reminded of his earlier revelation: he was thinking as if he had any power whatsoever over his own fate.

There was no chance of squirming free from his master's gullet - far stronger individuals than he had tried, and simply slid down slower as the Emperor enjoyed their struggles, letting unruly meals tire themselves out as they entered his body. He should accept it, rejoice in it, enjoy all the sensations of it, right up to the acidic and very final ones the stomach would no doubt provide.

But he had been tested in faith and devotion, and Lyca found himself wanting. He sniffled weakly, still squirming as Goldeneye's tongue ran over his feet again, and then gently guided them further in. Without warning, the gryphon's dripping interior suddenly convulsed, a devastating slurp dragging Lyca's helpless body a full foot into the wet darkness. Suddenly, his knees were slathered in the slick flesh as well, the hard rim of Goldeneye's beak digging awkwardly into the fennec's lower thighs. He felt his thick, fluffy tail lashing beneath the Emperor's beak, hanging off the edge of the bowl, and tried to kick again, almost paralysed by his body's natural terror. The flesh of Goldeneye's beak absorbed every squirm with nothing more than an appreciative squeeze. And all the while, that tongue was lashing itself, winding around his slender legs, teasing his paws again, drenching every part of him in its loving, murderous heat.

His paws hadn't even come close to the dark avenue of the gryphon's throat yet. Another slurp - Goldeneye had nothing to swallow yet, so it seemed his slave was being treated like a thicker, fluffier piece of spaghetti - and the fox slid further in. By now, gravity was taking over, propelling his little frame in a slow, irresistible slide down into the dripping flesh beneath.

Still squirming, my darling? The gryphon's smooth, immortal tones purred through his head, his eyes gleaming up at his prey. Lyca, you're a true delicacy. To know me for what I am, to understand how hopeless it is, and yet to still cling on to hope and life... you are an adorable example of the optimism of all living things. You know how pathetic and wretched it all is, and yet you keep at your wriggles. He purred softly, caressing the edge of his swollen stomach, and another gurgling slurp brought in most of the rest of Lyca's thighs. You are not yet in the belly of the beast, after all...

"I... I k-know..." The fennec shuddered, perching strangely now on the rim of his master's beak. He twitched his legs, feeling the pulsating flesh ripple around them. "I'm being so... so weak! I'm s-sorry!". Unbidden, Lyca slapped himself in the face, the stinging pain shocking him into another teary fit. "I j-just... I can't l-let go of life... master, I want to experience you forever... I w-want to... I want t-to..." He slumped forwards, the movement carrying him another two or three inches into the sweltering embrace of the gryphon's innards, and started to sob silently to himself. His hand quavered, about to harm himself again-

-but in an instant, the gryphon's claw was wrapped around it so tight that trying to move was like shifting a mountain. The fennec gasped through his whimpered moans, helplessly savouring the smooth feeling of his master's scaled grip on his flesh, and glanced shakily up to see Goldeneye's eyes gleaming coolly at him. He felt his feet touch around the entrance to the gryphon's abyssal throat, and shuddered weakly, but the heterochromatic gaze held him like a spider's web traps a fly. Goldeneye smiled, his tongue free to lavish everywhere below Lyca's groin as he spoke.

Don't harm yourself. That's my pleasure and mine alone. You are supposed to fear this, Lyca. If you slipped down happily, knowing you'd not be coming out again, but you were happy to give up everything... how would you appreciate your submission to me? You would have consented - you would have enjoyed it, as if I was under some sort of requirement to pleasure you as well as myself. No, my darling. The only exchange we can have, as predator and prey, is an utterly inequal one.

He tensed his throat - suddenly, the soft, slick flesh beneath Lyca's paws was hard and lean, deadly muscle waiting for the command. So don't accept it. Do you think if you were anything less than perfection for my throat, you would be slipping down it? Squirm, scream, beg... suffer for my pleasure. It's what your master desires.

And with that, the gryphon's lethal throat weighed in. Great bands of muscle seemed to latch onto Lyca's wriggling toes, the dreadful force behind them clear as the hot flesh convulsed, a powerful, slow swallow dragging Lyca's legs into his master's boiling throat. It was hot, even wetter than before, and still soft despite the iron strength which slurped him in, inch by inch, invulnerable to the fennec's terrified twists and turns. Suddenly, his world was roofed by Goldeneye's beak, and the bowl had parted contact - Lyca heard a faint clang from outside as his master gracefully set it back down on the floor. Now, nothing supported him except the gryphon. He wasn't quite wholly inside - a few fingertips trailed weakly, half trying to prise the Emperor's beak wider open in the hope of escape - again, an impossible task. The fox whimpered, wishing he could curl up in this strange new world, of wet heat and soft flesh. He felt Goldeneye's tongue shifting beneath him, tasting his bare back, and then it slipped between an arm and dragged him down like a shark with a drowning swimmer, embracing his chest, bare stomach, his face as well, every inch instantly covered in saliva. The gryphon chuckled cruelly around Lyca's body, his throat thrumming with the rich sound. Enjoy this part while you still have skin to enjoy it with, my dear. He ignored the fennec's whimper, already tensing for another swallow...

...and it came. Powerful, sleek muscles massaged the little slave's legs adoringly, dragging him a few more inches down into the depths. Lyca cried weakly as he felt his escaped fingers slurp inside, immediately submerged in the wet flesh. Now there was nothing to stop the gryphon from -

The beak snapped shut, a faint squish of flesh signalling the sudden and absolute cut off of all light. Suddenly, Lyca was enveloped completely in darkness, the outside world now as distant as if it had been a million miles away. Apart from the distant gurgles as his legs still squirmed weakly, now waist deep in that hot abyss of flesh and the much-less-distant slurps as Goldeneye's tongue wrestled playfully with him, licking and lapping all over, the world was silent.

It was strangely peaceful. He laid back, still crying silently, and snuggled into the pools of sweltering saliva beneath him. This would be the last moment of such peace in his short, innocent life.

"I..." his voice was weak and mumbling, but he knew beyond doubt that the Emperor could hear perfectly. "I l-love you, m-master..."

And I adore you, little morsel Lyca.

And Goldeneye flicked his head back, bird-like, and swallowed.

In less than a second, Lyca was completely enveloped. Flesh pressed into him from all sides, the gryphon's oesophagus moulded perfectly around its twitching occupant. He could barely even breathe.

The gullet didn't care. Slowly, savouringly, it drew the fennec deeper into itself. An avalanche of drooling flesh seemed to press down on Lyca's engulfed form, squeezing him down into the gryphon's body. He felt his purest animalistic instincts taking over, weeping, begging, squirming until his muscles twanged and his lungs burned... but he wasn't even slowed. A colossal purr of satisfaction rumbled around Lyca's body, shaking the gullet as foot after foot of innards was slogged through. Each moment, it seemed, his surroundings were hotter and wetter. The only consolation was that the powerful throat was finally a little softer and less gentle, and Lyca tried to dig into it, hating himself for even this small, useless act of rebellion. Inch by inch, foot by gurgling foot, he was drawn deeper into the labyrinth of his master's body.

And then, inch by inch, he was ejected into the next stage. Suddenly Lyca felt the clenching, massaging walls fall away, replaced by a thick, hot, humid air on his squirming toes. An experimental twitch found no purchase, and he only slid further in, whimpering all the way.

Mere inches further down, however, and it felt like a solid surface... but after what seemed like an eternity in this cocoon of rippling, wet flesh, it seemed Lyca's nerves had become overwhelmed. What felt like the soft walls of his master's throat was in fact liquid, thick and hot as some soup from the northern mountains. It tingled the very moment he felt it covering his pads.

"Oh n-no..." His voice bubbled up through the pooling saliva, lost amidst a gurgle somewhere within the gryphon's cavernous insides. This was the place he'd loved so often. The torture chamber, execution room, and mortuary of the Emperor all in one.

And it seemed it was occupied already. Twitching in a frantic and useless attempt to free his paws from the thick, sloshing fluid, Lyca felt them bump into another surface, something smooth and slick, but less fleshy than the gryphon's stomach walls. He traced a toe along it, grimacing with a trembling muzzle as another powerful swallow thrust him deeper. The line was smooth and unbroken... yes, it was the spaghetti. He'd be digesting along with the rest of his master's meal, as prey ought to be.

The liquid was becoming hotter, it seemed. By the time Lyca's waist slurped out into the liquid - he still hadn't touched bottom, just endless coiling strands of spaghetti sloshing in the constant rippling of those deadly stomach muscles - his paws were beginning to feel like they were sizzling. It wasn't hard to guess the truth, of course: the deadly acids were beginning their work, melting down a living being into so much fennec chowder. It stung slightly at the moment, but the burning sensation was only rising.

And everywhere, ropes of pasta entwined around him, as subtle and choking as serpents. Lyca found it impossible to kick out properly, every move absorbed in the roiling mass of spaghetti as strand after strange tangled up his legs. How would he be able to squirm properly now, he thought blearily, already wishing for just one breath of air which wasn't hotter than his own body. All this would tangle him up and leave him to the pummelling muscles' tender mercies. Hopefully Master would understand...

All this was cut short as, with a finally rippling massage of his shivering little muzzle, the powerful throat squeezed the rest of the fennec's body into the lethal furnace of the Emperor's stomach. Lyca gasped, managed to grab one breath of air so laden with acrid, alchemical scent that he could almost feel it starting to dissolve his lungs, and then he was submerged in a sea of sloshing, gurgling fluids. The drifting spaghetti pulled him down deeper, a wriggling form in the great mass. The fennec whimpered, losing a few more bubbles of precious air in the process, and squirmed frantically. He needed to reach upwards, grab just a breath. Forget cool air, any air would be a blessing now!

Aww... you do need to breathe, don't you? So fragile. Well, I wouldn't want you to pass out before this is done, after all.

Submerged and choking on hot liquid, his fur slowly starting to melt away to reveal soft vulnerable flesh beneath, the poor creature cringed into a knot of drifting pasta. "M-master..." he gurgled weakly, expelling the last of his breath. "P-please..." Delirious, Lyca opened his mouth to breathe in the searing acids of his master's belly...

...and suddenly he didn't need to. Fresh energy flooded the fox's limbs, unbidden by oxygen. He wasn't breathing in the sloshing soup of digestive fluids and pasta, he was just... not breathing. "M-master?" he whispered, feeling a paw - by now raw with tingling - finally touch the massaging walls below. "Y-you..."

I made sure you'd be awake for the entire process, my dear. I wouldn't want you to miss your assumption into divinity, after all. Suddenly, the world around Lyca compressed, pasta and stomach flesh alike squeezing in around Lyca until he was buried alive again. Master was stroking his own bulging stomach. The fox whined feebly, twitching for a moment... before his reenergized senses brought back the world.

He was burning. The tingling of before had become a sizzling, a raw, horrible chafing. Lyca yelped out loud, grasping at his paws, and realised that the fur was completely gone on them. The sharp claw of pain which raked through him at even this light touch hinted that his flesh was following into the acidic soup all around him.

The digestion had already begun on the many ropes of spaghetti around Lyca, and now he was joining it. The fox started to wriggle in his acidic depths, gasping in acid as the fiery sensations spread lazily and greedily over his raw skin. Burning, burning, burning... the soup around him was starting to taste of blood; that was, at least, until his tongue started to feel raw as well. It hurt horribly, and then it hurt even more. He could almost feel his blood leaking from the billion tiny ruptures in his body. "M-master, please-"

That damned spaghetti. The stuff was thinner now as Goldeneye's potent acids did their acrid work, and it seemed to take an even greater delight in entwining him. Lyca wasn't sure which way was up anymore: everywhere was black, sloshing, and full of roiling ropes of pasta. Desperately, he tried to bite at them, and free his entangled arms, but a sudden burst of pain from his exposed throat sent the fox reeling back instead, and embroiled him in more waves of spaghetti.

And always, the pain. Building, peaking, rising, unending. Lyca wept as his tear ducts and eyes began to bleed. Now, fire covered every part of him, liquid, squeezing, sloshing fire. Consuming him in the most literal sense possible."P-please..." he managed to mumble through sore lips, sinking again into the mass. "M-master, please..."

Please what? Mercy? You know you deserve none, Lyca. Why try to ask? You're always so weak... and that's what makes you perfect. No mercy, my dear morsel. Keep squirming.

With that, he felt the world swaying, Goldeneye already moving away to continue his affairs of state - no doubt the absence of his favoured slave and the sizeable distension of his belly would both be keenly noted by the royal court. Lyca cringed again, curling up in his fiery hell as the acids began to melt his skin off, and twitched weakly.

And he did not die.

Hours ticked past. Second by second, and with each second Lyca was burning. Sometimes he tried to hang limp in the clouds of pasta, letting the waves of agony wash him away to a desperate unconsciousness. Sometimes he went feral, howling in bubbles and writhing in his sea of acid as he fought the coiling spaghetti and the compressing walls for a way up, out, anywhere but the pain. Sometimes, he finally felt he'd gained the state of complete acceptance Goldeneye had found lacking in him, and cuddled the pulsing walls of his master's belly even as his muscles began to melt away, mumbling adorations through ravaged lips. Aside from a constant soft, rumbling purr which shook his sloshing belly, and the occasional caress rippling the muscular walls of Lyca's prison, his master ignored him, paying no more heed to the squirming fennec within him than he did to the mass of pasta digesting alongside Lyca's abused form. Why should he? Thousands had screamed their last in Goldeneye's innards, each one fuelling his multi-tonne frame. Lyca would suffer no different.

But he would still suffer. Another few minutes passed by, and this time, as a spasmodic fit jerked his sobbing, drifting carcass into life, he could feel bones poking through the ruined flesh. He would barely be recognisable now, a bloody, gruesome thing of nightmares, a daemon. Well, this was a hell...

What?

Giving his life to his master, becoming closer to the god-gryphon than he had ever been before, serving him in such an absolute fashion... how could that be anything but heaven? After all, he knew the truth. He didn't matter. All that mattered was Master. All that mattered...

The pain built again, and Lyca tried to scream, but his lungs were leaking now and all he could manage was a gurgling hiss. He tried to accept the truth which burnt in his mind like the acids burnt his body. He ached for it. He gave it his life.

Maybe he had been driven insane beyond all measure, maybe his body was now too weak to resist his mind. But finally, for a few short moments, he could throw away his body's pain. All around Lyca was his master, his god, his reason for living. And he was dying for him now. The pain was good, because it was the price for such an ecstasy. He would suffer it a thousand times. He cracked a gruesome parody of a smile, and stopped trying to deny the pain at last.

It flowed through him, molten and blinding. It was death itself and yet Lyca loved it. All the ecstasy of warm, soft feathers... they were good, but this was how he should be. Prey. Suffering for his master's pleasure.

The bloodied little fox quivered in his hot, sloshing prison, nuzzling at a wall as his body burned like a star with agony. He could no longer hear his words, but he managed to think them through his shattered mind and bathing of torture. "Th... thank you for this... m-master..."

Good. Goldeneye spoke again, smirking, his claws caressing his belly again and squishing the fennec's broken body deep within. You finally accept it truly, Lyca. I'm proud of you.

And Lyca was still at last, sloshing against the flesh of the gryphon's stomach. Consumed. Gone. A few pounds of meat, gurgling in the belly of a god. His soul sacrificed to the Emperor's slightest whim.

So it was, and so it would ever be.

Goldeneye 30/07/13