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Many called him the Lumberman. White as a ghost yet bearing marks as red as blood, his presence within the woods was full of mysteries. Where he comes from? What’s his purpose? Is he alone? Is he a ghost or a living being?

Those questions wandered the minds of travelers and merchants alike, even those villagers living further downstream. Each time, their presences were hailed by the screams of beasts and the creaking of their wagons as they landed by his house.

Each time, he stood in front of the wooden door, never to welcome them despite the customs, but instead standing guard with an axe in hand. He kept it at hand even when those who came presented their empty palms and purses full of coins. He accepted the former and the latter, merely by grunting and inviting them to follow.

Many talked about the bestial scent emanating from him and his house, his gruff attitude, his stoic stance, or even the traces of mystical beasts wandering around that little house.

Many told of traces they noticed: of a Troll dwelling nearby—a creature so tall its steps left a dent in the ground. But none could see its owner. Instead, they were led to the back, where they were shown lumber to pick from.

Pine, birch, and spruces formed the main stocks though many spoke of lumber as white as snow or black as night. They paid for it, and the man carried it all to their carriages without complaining despite the weight he carried alone.

This… Was how he was known. That was how Kratos lived, separated from the mortals and yet having to bear their presence even in the depths of winter. They could cut the trees near their places, but they always came for him, even from other countries. It had become a silly ritual, although he was glad they maintained the distance with him. Out of secrecy? Maybe. Out of respect? Might as well.

As he saw the last carriage disappear beyond the hills, Kratos sighed and adjusted the cowl over his body.

He rubbed his fingers as he placed the axe inside his house, leaving the cold and worn place behind as he continued with only skin and fur to cover his body wrought by combat, experience… And more. He walked, feeling the purses’ weights as they clanged against his waist while he descended a slope along the river and then crossed it at a ford. Beyond, the place was still wild, but it had a certain order, and trodden paths could be noticed… one Kratos followed.

Kratos… Kratos of Sparta. God Killer, God of War, Ghost of Sparta, Spartan… And. One dwarfed by the creature standing out in the open. Dauði Kaupmaðr as it was called.

“Home,” he said with that low and rumbling voice. For once, he didn’t fail in articulating the word.

“Home,” confirmed Kratos as he followed the Troll deeper within the woods, passing through a tunnel and ending what had been ruins a few years ago… But served as Daudi’s place.

The place… Was familiar. The hearth was lit, and a stew was prepared, though its scent didn’t call for Kratos. The place was warm, though none needed it. A bed had been placed on the furthest edge against the wall, near the totem Daudi had wielded the first time they met. Much more than that, many sculptures were set here and there, depicting nature in its beauty. Kratos watched it, steam escaping his mouth before he turned to Daudi as the Troll sat on a makeshift chair made of stone covered with furs. It was a crude construction. But fitting as Kratos approached the Troll and untied the purses before he offered it to the Troll. Gold… Gold always pleased Daudi and made him eager.

“Þú vannst vel, eiginkona.“

The words came crudely as the Troll made the gold roll in his palm, and a pleasing smile appeared. Despite not knowing the Troll’s language, Kratos recognized the last word. Something the Troll often used to speak of him. One that made his heart beat faster as he approached. His mouth watered at the rough smell, and his stomach finally growled as he would be given his meal. One he desired as he opened his bearded mouth before the Troll.

Daudi chuckled but still reached for his fur loincloth. The fabric had been adorned with golden trinkets, from coins to little statues that rattled when he lifted it, and a hot waft hit Kratos across the face. Warm… Daudi was more than that, he was like a hearth on his own. His skin was warm to the touch, to the presence. But that warmth affected the Troll as well. Sweat coated the stone-like skin and within its folds. The perfume was intense, raw like iron recently beaten… Or the taste in one’s mouth after biting their tongue.

Kratos inhaled it and gorged his lungs with it, swallowed the saliva formed at the back of his mouth, and… Leaned to give that exposed belly a kiss, halfway clambering on his lover’s genitals. His cowl covered him, still, but their bodies were pressed together… And even with the fabric in between, Kratos felt the warmth of Daudi’s body against his limp cock while he approached and kissed the skin. Then… he climbed.

He ascended further up, guided by the scent and the perfume his lover possessed. Or was it those calloused fingers on his legs and lifting him up carefully? Those hands were so big, they could easily crush his lower part. Truth was, everything in Daudi could easily crush Kratos and ruin him. Nonetheless, despite their first encounters, Daudi was gentle.

His fingers didn’t force themselves and merely pushed Kratos up… And up.

Until the mouth found the Troll’s beard, which was brushed and braided properly, and then the naturally scowling mouth and delicious lips. Yet, Kratos continued, going over the flattened nose, those deep eyes, those broad and marked brows. Then, the forehead before he followed on the right, approaching the ear solely to kiss the Troll’s horn. One kiss after another, he ended at the tip before he watched his lover, who seemed pleased and aroused.

Aroused as those irises were dilated and his stone skin flushed.

“Daudi,” groaned Kratos as he pushed against the horns to go back towards his lover. And their lips met. Lips so big they could swallow the God’s head within. Instead, the Troll's tongue went within, pushing inward and forcing inside Kratos’ mouth.

Right away, the aroma of mead and flesh overwhelmed the God’s lips. He swallowed the ample saliva, tacky and salty, with loud gulps while the tongue scoured his mouth until his cheeks bulged and his breath quickened.

Such was the difficulty of a kiss with a man that was bigger than him. But somehow, they made it work. More than that, they spoke and lived together despite the different language and habits. Kratos’s hand reached for the horns to stroke them, finding them sensitive under caresses as much as the Troll’s hands went over his body, keeping him steady and yet lifting his cowl until his bare skin was exposed.

Finally, with a sigh, they pulled back. Lips were pulled apart, yet joined by saliva that formed strands linking their beards. Without saying further, Kratos then stretched back to undo the cowl. He, then, returned to his lover’s chest, resting against his hairy and sweaty body while those calloused hands explored his body. He turned, twisted… Finally, he had his head nestled between those pectorals while he spread his legs to expose himself, back against the Troll’s heartbeat.

The fingers danced along his muscular arms, reinforced by constant exercise and abuse. Then… Over his shoulders, stroking the defined muscles under the layer of fat covering him… Next, they were on his breasts, fattened by the constant feeding and the fucking… His nipples had grown bigger, too, and fuller. Full of milk that dribbled under Daudi’s touch. Then… His belly was round and full of semen even at that hour. Even after a whole day.

“New… Seed.”

Daudi’s remark made sense and Kratos nodded as the Troll’s index pressed on his belly. He pressed against the skin until the pressure made the God scowl, groan, moan… And cry. A deep heartfelt cry escaped his lips as his ass, and sphincters gave in. He cried as cum, still warm and steamy, poured from his ass onto Daudi’s groin. A flow that left him deflated and panting when Daudi’s fingers lifted and went back to exploring Kratos’s body.

“Thank you… Daudi.”

A huff answered Kratos’ words, but it meant everything to the God as he reclined and looked over him, watched Daudi’s golden eyes going over him… And meeting his.

“Do it,” then said Kratos as he felt those fingers going over his legs and… In between. They touched his skin, felt the heat going beneath… Went over those meaty and fatty cheeks, then the hairy crevice between. He pried open with strength.

Even… Even with the experience and habit, Kratos cried as his body was remade under the pressure.

His Godly body could endure many abuses. It did, as proven by the scar running across his belly where he had stabbed himself to thwart a Goddess's egoistical desire. But he cried no different when the index forced against his rim. The strength applied was like a mace, hitting and hammering his clenching pucker. It forced, it pressed, it squeezed until Kratos’ body gave in. And he quivered, trembled.

A chuckle came from the Troll above, seemingly amused by the display and the cries from the God.

“Hhh… Slower!” he shouted, yet the finger continued to dig deeper with the same strength. It squirmed and wormed until the sphincters couldn’t resist and opened. It forced within… And yet, without even thinking about it: Kratos relished the moment. His eyes clothed, his breath soothed… The Troll’s finger went against his spot, circled and massaged it until he had nothing to say, to offer but a weakened moan. One profound and marred by tremors while the creature continued to press on. Deeper went that finger until the Troll pulled back and pulled it free.

Within a wet pop, Kratos’ anus gaped and nearly prolapsed from the sudden pull. Only for the gaping and clenching muscle to be pressed and ushered back inside by the index as well as the big finger. Two that worked in tandem to bring about Kratos’ pleasure. And they worked well, they passed over the God’s mind as a ceaseless assault against his restrictions and inhibitions he had set after his massacre in Greece.

However… Within Daudi’s grasp, they melted away, and his eyes darted towards the massive beast.

“Please,” he mumbled, asked, begged. His eyes went over the Troll’s satisfied expression, those brutish yellow eyes and that smirk. But then, Kratos’ body was lifted, and their mouths met again until the Troll delved on both ends. One that gargled and gasped, dripping with saliva. The second quivered and clenched with no more strength, unable to oppose the bold and daring third finger.

The God’s eyes rolled in their sockets, his expression broken as blood rushed to his face. Shame… Desires… Need. It was a feral need he experienced, as once more, his body was battered and broken by the Troll.

It wasn’t the first time this happened. It would not be the last.

Each time the Troll used and abused him, Kratos regenerated, and his body returned to his previous state, albeit different. An imperfect regeneration that made the abuse easier and more enjoyable for them. An imperfect regeneration that barely considered his prostate, ruined and battered. And when it did, it was to plague Kratos… To plague him with a need as his loins stirred.

He trembled, feeling his power rushing to fight against the fingers.

“Daudi… Do it. I need it,” moaned Kratos during one of the short moments he was allowed to breathe. He exhaled and turned his head over his shoulder, towards the Troll’s manhood.

Daudi wasn’t fully hard, he never was. But his sheer size alone made any penetration an ordeal. And when that throbbing mast rested on the Troll’s nuts, begging for attention and for release… Kratos felt weak and needy.

His hands went over his hairy ass, gripped his cheeks, and dug within. He spread them further, no longer caring. He needed it; he yearned for a thorough night, for a complete and intimate moment with that monster whose tongue assaulted his throat with breaks few and far between.

“Take me!” he croaked, his voice breaking as he looked at his lover’s eyes.

Daudi’s nostrils widened and he spoke: “Þú fyrirlitleg eiginkona!”

The same word, the same utterance that made the God’s heart flutter and beat faster while the Troll gave him a respite.

Only a short one that ended with those hands lifting Kratos. Daudi gripped him, lifting him off the ground with one single hand while the other grabbed his shaft. He lifted it and pointed that thick and roundish cockhead up. Again, erection wasn’t Daudi’s forte. But his sheer cock, at rest, was… Enough.

Well enough, as Kratos kept his legs spread and cheeks the same. For a moment, it was a delicate dance of their bodies being aligned until they were stopped and silent. He heaved with envy, they heaved. They were ready, needy, yearning.

“Break me, Daudi.”

Three words.

And a cry.

A deep… Profound cry escaped Kratos’ throat as the Troll tugged on his sides and hips to impale him. His hole, lubricated and all, still bore the brunt of the shock. Numb heat spread across the God like wildfire. It sizzled his muscles; it set his spine ablaze, and his heart became a tremor… His thoughts were sparks and sensations, but nothing more.

He experiences the pulse within him, following each of his lover’s heartbeats.

He lived through the cockhead impaling him, a gift of nature and breeding.

He foretasted the precum pouring into his guts until they were soaked and bigger by the second.

He screamed.

When the scream stopped, his lungs empty… Kratos lowered his bloodshot eyes towards his lover’s belly. He watched him breathe heavily, too, and heard him grunt and groan. His ass couldn’t take him in one go… Kratos was too tight; his hole had regenerated to its tighter form… But the Troll seemed to endure the pressure over his cock; likewise, Kratos endured the obscene bulge through his guts.

For a moment, they stood still… Kratos's hands gripped tightly, until blood was drawn. As for Daudi’s, sores would follow his grip.

“Hhh- Thank- You, Daudi,” moaned Kratos with tears of exhaustion and pain from the corner of his eyes. Yet, he smiled, trying to turn his dropping jaw into something more.

His lover? He grunted and… Gave Kratos’s hips a firm shake before pulling down and-

Another scream.

That time completed by a huff coming from the Troll as his cock was almost entirely inside, as seen by the way Kratos’ belly bulged. However… Kratos was a mess whose hands left his cheeks to hug his belly. His eyes were bloodshot, his breath a whistle… And his face contorted in pain and pleasure merged.

All that as he whined, and his limp cock dribbled over his lover’s cock.

Daudi had hit it. His spot. Square. Brutally. Perfectly. With enough strength and even beyond. Kratos’ mind went blank over the overwhelming pleasure his battered prostate gave him, once again broken by the might of Daudi. Each time, the sensation was stronger and more addictive. Each time, its regeneration was torture, for his cock hardened and begged for his attention.

He relished it; he closed his eyes and gulped loudly before he sighed again. He… Smiled, despite the drool over his beard and the corner of his mouth.

“Breed me… Husband.”

He moaned, his voice weak. He closed his eyes and felt his Lover’s cock disappear from his guts. Daudi pulled back… And by doing so, he left there a gap. One so empty it made Kratos grunt and moan. That sensation devoured his guts… Devoured him. His mind.

Until… yes, Daudi was back inside.

Until the Troll started to hump and use Kratos like a mere toy, lovemaking among that kind was… Straining over females. Mortal humans would have died. Some Gods would have followed. Kratos? He took it… Once more. Better than his first time and worse than the next.

He took the battering with a stupid smile while snot, tears, and drool dripped over his face in an ugly display.

Still, he looked Daudi in the eyes and watched his lover scowl. He watched the jaw clench, the eyelids closing, the pursed lips. It… Was coming. Tremor. Kratos noticed their presence from the belly to the neck. Then, the clenching muscles. Then… The gargle. Then the huff.

Then… The flood.

Scalding hot like the fire Daudi sometimes wielded, Kratos sensed its presence rush within his guts and stretch them. He gargled again, but also bent over as much as he could, hugging Daudi's fully inserted mast and the growing love bump from those fluids.

He and Daudi watched the swarming fluid form a bigger and bigger bump. Soon enough, Kratos’s guts would be so saturated the semen would have to escape somewhere. His guts weren’t extensible, but tough to restrain the pressure and force it elsewhere. But down?

Not down. Not when Daudi’s cock kept the hole firmly plugged.

Up? It only had that path.

First came the slight Nausea. Then the fullness, then the return of that nausea. The saliva accumulating in the back of his throat… Then came the semen. The semen Kratos coughed, threw up, and snorted when the fluids escaped from both his mouth and nose. He even felt its warmth along his ears, somehow… But it was good.

He opened his eyes on his lover, watching Daudi admiring his prize: Kratos, his mouth dripping with cum with each cough. And who smiled… happy to have been bred by a monster.

A monster who called him his eiginkona, his wife.