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New Fate for a Hassan

Bested by a Beast, King Hassan shall find what happened to CHALDEA’s servants

A ding was the sole sound that echoed within the writhing abyss. Tendrils thick like arms and black like midnight oil were twisting and coiling upon themselves. They formed tumescent growths, reaching for something as they formed boils, lumps, knots… And then broke apart while their black blood was spilled all over themselves and whatever poor soul that was.

It was not a place of light or love. It was the cesspool of depravity for something that had been eager to devour everything and everyone.

And Hassan was inside.

“What hast befell to me?” mumbled Hassan, first of his name. The horned King of the Mountain still wore his mask, his blazing blue eyes trying to make sense of all he witnessed. The skull that adorned his face wasn’t expressive, but his eyes spoke for themselves as he squinted. And so did his body as he reached for the tatters of his cowl, feeling the fabric that had been shredded in many places.

One dawdling finger even reached for the natural knot in reality, from which he would pull forth his sword, but that one was gone, much to his surprise.

“What an oddity.”

The deep voice echoed amidst the writhing, drowning away for a moment the constant susurrus of that deep, dark flesh twisting upon itself. Under his feet, his hands as he stood up, Hassan found the surface clammy. And worse, the black blood it bore stuck to his cowl… Even to the remnants of clothes he wore until they weighed him down.

He tried to shake it off, but even that had no effect but to make him feel more drained as he looked around.

“This is the belly of the fiend. I should hast heeded mine master’s warnings,” commented Hassan as he raised one hand… And saw something different from the everlasting night he’d been observing.

A blue window.

**The Old Man of the Mountain – King Hassan | Master: L()st

Reassignment**

“Impossible,” mumbled Hassan under his mask. He squinted further at the screen, but… Yes, he could not feel his master’s presence, nor his mana. How could he remain there? If it were a normal situation, he should have been sent back. Magecraft couldn’t allow this.

But he remained, confused as he watched the window flicker and…

**Reassignment found – New Master found for you

The Old Man of the Mountain – King Hassan | Master: The B34st

Issuing Order : Ass(_)m3 P0siti0n**

Hassan’s eyes widened. And the instant after, something impossible hit him. A compulsion, something that fought against his very being. It was closer to one of his Master’s orders, but stronger. Much more as he fought against his fingers… Only to have them dance upon his robes and tatters. They gripped it, they pulled on his clothes… They ripped them apart.

And so, within a movement that left Hassan panting and wincing under his helmet; he watched everything else that was ripped apart… Leaving him naked and definitely exposed.

His body was thin, but far from frail. His skin was of a dark complexion, unnatural, but clearer than the tendrils around him. His arms were long, but not abnormally so.

Overall, he had the body of a man who had not dawdled during his life, who had given his whole self to the duty… Whether in protecting, killing, or amending the Hassans’ fates.

Yet.

Those hands, as calloused and impressive as they were, went to his mask. To the skull whose cracks had been filled with gold, to the horns attached to it. And then, the digits locked on Hassan’s nape with a strength even he could not resist.

He had bested Tiamat; he had bested the fools upon his path. But that anomaly, that Beast that could not be… It had merely swatted and devoured him away.

And now… It had become his master and wanted him to expose himself?

“Preposterous. Thou hast no everlasting hold upon myself, fiend!”

But the cry echoed for nothing. And Hassan felt that compulsion change. His hands remained still, but his legs’ stance widened. His knees bent, and then… He shuddered when the tendrils formed something akin to a bedding against his back, receiving him and his entire weight as he was forced to lie down… And yet, to have his legs spread. No. Lifted.

“This lunacy shall not last, this I declare!”

But it continued. For how long? Minutes? Hours? Days? Hassan couldn’t feel the exhaustion like a mortal incarnation. But even he was feeling it was wrong. The tendrils kept twisting and coiling above him, descending and reshaping in the nascent shape of a cocoon. And then, with that same black blood, that ‘womb’ burst open.

No, those wombs as the sound of ripped flesh echoed… And so dropped one of the most unfamiliar creatures the Assassin had seen.

It had the skull of a wolf for a face, the flesh itself stretched and held upon it. However, the muscles themselves were made of tendrils. Everything the ‘creature’ was could be described as tendrils and bones. The shape was familiar to a predator, but its nature and its presence unnerved Hassan. More so, as he was exposed in such a devious position. More so as he saw the tendrils, the biggest of all, twist between the ‘wolf’s’ legs.

Hassan gritted his teeth, pushing against the order that had rooted itself within his body. He was no mere servant; he’d been a Grand Servant. His hold and power were beyond the limits… And yet-

Issuing order: L0\/3

Hassan felt the tension of that smile spreading across his face. How long has it been since he’d felt this emotion? That desire? His smile grew wider as he watched the creature approach, come closer. The skull split open, and one long tendril lolled out. Then, the tendrils ran across Hassan’s mask, slobbering that black saliva all over it. And then, over his exposed neck, over his tense pectorals, his chiseled abdominal muscles, his glabrous nethers. Oh, it gave them a hint of affection and desire. But that fleeting touch spread on his testicles, big like ripe apples, or on his shaft that had been of generous endowment.

“My love. Thou hast come to bless me,” whispered Hassan with a willing and sighing whisper.

Issuing order: E-r-r-o-r

His whole body was electric as he watched more of the creatures coming, similar but twisted in their own ways. All just as lovely as their tongues slipped out, revealing tendrils of another sort. Some ended with pads, some had suction pods, and one had a bifurcated tongue. But all were going over Hassan’s body, coating in oily black the Servant who kept smiling, feeling the compulsion to grip onto his knees.

“Cometh and useth me! I shall becometh the entrusted fertile land!”

His voice went shrill, almost high, when one of those tongues ending with a suction pod landed onto his chest. The flesh it touched was warm, exceedingly so. And the tendril was clammy and cold and soothing. More so when it latched upon one eager and needy nipple to squeeze and suck upon it.

Hassan cried, but he smiled wider and began to tear up when he felt something release from his chest. His eyes then drifted from the creatures to lock upon his… Pectoral muscles. Lacking, not perfectly adequate breasts. But already delivering a steady stream of what he knew was milk to the creature.

“Yes! Thy help is generous! I must breastfeed our spawn!”

Oh, his voice was high and bellowing. But not as sane when the suction pod began to bite the flesh, inserting the oily-black fang into the flesh to pump it with its sacrilegious blood.

But Hassan? Oh, he moaned from the burning sensation, from the corrosive presence that instantly began to swarm his very blood and made the veins bulge upon its path.

“Yes! Yes!” cried Hassan, his feet weakly kicking. And certainly not pushing back against the creature that had stepped between those spread legs with the focus of a predator.

It didn’t hiss. It didn’t snarl. It wasn’t even breathing.

But its purpose was evident when the frontal legs landed on either side of Hassan’s body. It became certainly forceful when two ‘arms’ sprouted from the creature’s back and gripped the Servant’s legs to keep them apart. And it became a source of attention when the tendril between the legs burst forth… And penetrated what was a virgin, unattended, and unused hole for Hassan.

“St-Stay your-“

Reaction! Activating ‘Independent actio- E-R-R-O-R

“Please thine swine!” shouted Hassan, his smile wider and widening again, the moment tendrils slipped under his mask to rush to his mouth. The taste was like rotten flesh and unfiltered moonshine, worsened by age and ripeness. But Hassan’s lips eagerly swallowed the tendril and sucked upon it, gorging himself on the black nectar. He swallowed, gargled it down, had those black gulps descend his neck into his stomach while more veins were protruding all over his body, black like midnight oil.

And… It was good. It felt like. No, it was even wondrous to sense all that power, all that bliss, coalesce upon his belly.

Activating ‘At the Boundary’ Activating ‘At the Boundary’ Activating ‘At-

The flesh was twisted and stretched from within, with the bowels forcing the creature’s tendril to bend. But such coiling bends were visible under Hassan’s skin, like a perfect representation of his crushed insides as they were reshaped. And upon it, upon those guts, was imprinted a mark that still managed to glow in the dark. It was just as black, but its glow was unmistakable and unnatural, impossible even. But that consideration was long ignored by Hassan, who was happily kissing and feeling that throbbing tendril push past his teeth, tongue, and uvula right to insert itself within his throat.

Followed the delight of having that blood pumped right into his belly and guts while the creatures continued to latch onto his body.

Some were onto his pits, licking and sampling the unnatural sweat coalescing on them. Some of his pectorals were growing bigger and larger. Some planted their tendrils’ teeth upon his posterior, delivering the same oily load inside them and observing them grow.

It was so many sensations that assaulted the Servant as he was bound. No, as he sensed the bed upon which he lay was shifted, and his hands were sinking inside it. And slowly his arms. It was holding him, and it was securing him in the same way as he was elbow-deep within it… And no amount of strength could yank him out.

But he did not fight.

Not as his mouth was released, and he showed his love for those creatures by kissing the tendril, almost indirectly begging it to penetrate his mouth once more, to feed him with that oily blood he was spitting with each breath.

“Thine servant needs more!” he cried, his eyes expressing something no one had seen before: desire.

Hassan was breaking under his mask, his face twisting in all sorts of novel ways, awakening muscles that had been used to the stoic expression. Even his eyes were open wide from the desire, the lust, the need he felt. He craved for more. He craved… To be bred.

And so, as that tendril was still wedged into his ass, Hassan only had one choice but to clench his sphincter in an attempt to pull it closer.

Until now, he hadn’t done so. No, he wasn’t aware he could do so. Could he have done it before?

It didn’t matter. Only mattered the pleasure of having his asshole suctioning on that tendril. On the pressure he employed to squeeze that tendril and force more of that black liquid inside him. More liquid, more liquid that was pumped inside his belly, pushing against his guts, pushing his innards, until they were swollen and then smoothened by the sheer pressure. Pressure that was accumulating from every corner, every nook, every little spot as that substance was getting… Everywhere.

And above, the creature that had been taking Hassan was trembling, the tendrils lashing out obnoxiously. It smacked against Hassan’s rounder posterior; it even hit his testicles, covered with veins and big like oranges.

It didn’t hit the shaft, however, nor the other tendril that was currently locked onto the urethra, seemingly injecting that blood within the tense aperture until even the underside bulged.

It didn’t hit what was beyond… it didn’t hit the strange sigil that seemed to grow out on Hassan’s belly, twisting and coiling until even a triskelion-like symbol took root at the center, with one skull at each twist’s center.

Such a symbol was abnormal, impossible. But Hassan? Oh, he wasn’t caring. His swelling and engorged breasts were getting sucked and milked by the creature. Even if his milk was dark and oily, it was perfectly fine for the Servant who continued to smile and lick onto that tendril, to kiss it under his mask. To… Yearn for more and even suck the clammy skin while the creatures seemed to shift.

To… move. To approach his head.

“Come forth. Prepare mine womb for thine blessing!” cried Hassan, his eyes wide.

Activating ‘Magic Resis- R3m0\/3d Activating ‘At the Boundary’

And his eyes wider, his shout louder, when one tendril had snuck somewhere… Somewhere that it ought not to be.

But the moment it pressed against his ear, Hassan knew it was over. The small part that was still cognizant and capable of fighting against the order knew it. Even if his faith protected him, even if his power kept him alive. He would be gone. Crushed. Erased.

And so… The squelching sound echoed through Hassan’s skull, his traits turning stoic and cold for a mere second, as if he’d snap free from the bondage.

Then… His traits relaxed.

‘At the Boundary’ locked. Emerg-E-R-R-O-R

One of the tendrils, the size of the one that had been taking and filling his ass, had squeezed itself through his earhole. It had crushed everything, broken everything. And at that moment, Hassan, or what remained, could sense the pressure in his skull shift. Some of the liquid was pumped out, some pumped in.

And that black oily substance was already dripping from his other earhole, from his nostrils, from his everywhere. It was everywhere. It was everything. It was becoming him. He was becoming that substance.

He was becoming a mere toy, a mere womb for the Beast to use him.

And he was feeling great. Greater than anything before. Happier, too. His smile was not unfeigned as the tendrils were happily licking his profuse breasts, forcing them to keep gushing out that oily milk that would feed more spawn.

Unfeigned as the tendril inside his ass was pushing more of the oily substances that were sticking to his inner walls before it changed, coalesced in a myriad of eggs that were to grow, incubate, and be prepared inside his guts. His entire self was rearranged through magic and biology, a magecraft of beyond measure that was to turn a Servant into a fertile ground.

His belly swelled with that black load, rounded up like he was pregnant for nine months while the tendril remained inside him… Of the creature, nothing. But there was nothing Hassan could see but the tendrils. Even as he was lifted off the ground, lifted from the bed, and carried into one of those womb structures.

He couldn’t see. Only smile. Only listen to the squelching sound of his brain getting fucked, getting abused, getting smacked, getting rearranged. Similar to his guts, to his entire body as his limbs were absorbed inside the flesh… until there was nothing but a shell of him.

Another pod, among a long line of pods on either side, moaning and groaning.

The Old Whore of the Mountain – Slut Hassan N°187 | Master: The B43st