Chapter 3: Surrender
The agony of denial was a physical thing, a wound twisting deep in his gut. He-Man hung suspended, every muscle quivering with the aftershock of being pulled back from the edge. The cold air of the cavern was a brutal contrast to the feverish heat of his skin. He couldn’t meet her eyes. Shame, hotter than any forge-fire, seared through him.Evil-Lyn watched him, a predator savoring the tremors of its prey. She circled him slowly, the hem of her robe whispering against the slick stone. “All that power,” she mused, her voice a low, intimate murmur that cut through the distant chanting. “The Strength of Grayskull.And it can’t stop this. It can’t stop you from needing to spill yourself into my hand.” She stopped in front of him again, her gaze dropping to his still-thickened length.“You’re dripping with it. The want.”
He swallowed hard, his throat dry.“It’s… a trick. Your magic…”
“My magic didn’t make this hard.” She reached out and flicked him with a fingernail. He jerked, a fresh wave of humiliation crashing over him at his own responsiveness. “My magic just showed you what was already there.Under all the virtue.All the nobility. A lonely, desperate animal.”
She leaned in, her lips a hair's breadth from his. Her breath was sweet with decay and power.“I can give you the release you need. I can let you come until you’re empty. I can make it feel so good you’ll forget your own name.” Her green eyes held his, capturing the shattered fragments of his will.“I have the Power here. Not Grayskull.Mine. Just say yes.”
The word lodged in his throat, a forbidden, heavy thing.Yes.It would be so easy.To let go. To surrender to the screaming need in his veins.To not be the champion, just for a moment. The loneliness he had carried for so long yawned open inside him, a void darker than Skeletor’s pits. She saw it.She recognized its shape perfectly.
“Say it,” she urged, her voice softening into a perverse kindness.“Just one word. ‘Yes.’ And all this pain stops.”
His resistance was ashes. His shoulders sagged, not in defeat, but in a profound, weary acquiescence.The word emerged as a shattered whisper, torn from a place deeper than courage. “Yes.”
A smile, triumphant and terrifyingly gentle, touched Evil-Lyn’s lips. “Good.”
With a fluid gesture of her hand, the magical bands vanished. He collapsed forward, his legs buckling, but he never hit the cold stone. A pool of deepest shadow coalesced beneath him, softening, rising, shaping itself into a large, barren bed of writhing darkness. It was firm yet yielding, cradling his massive frame as he fell onto it. He lay on his back, gasping, the shadowy bed cool against his burning skin.
She ascended to join him, kneeling over his hips.Her staff was gone, dismissed. Her hands were just hands now, but they crackled with latent energy.She placed them on his chest, feeling the frantic drum of his heart. “This won’t hurt,” she whispered. “It will feel like worship.”
She trailed a finger down the tense midline of his abdomen, over his hip, until she reached the root of his erection. She traced a symbol there—a complex, spiraling rune that glowed a sickly, possessive violet as it etched itself into his skin. He flinched at the brief, hot sting, but it was immediately followed by a surge of deep, thrilling pleasure that made his back arch. Another rune, then another, she painted them along his length with her fingertip, each one branding him, claiming him. The glow pulsed in time with the humming mountain, with the throbbing of his own blood.A visible, magical corruption snaking around his most vulnerable flesh.
“There,” she purred, admiring her work.“My sigils.My claim. This sword,” she said, wrapping her hand around him, her touch now electrified by the glowing marks, “is mine now.It gets hard only for me.It comes only for me. Do you understand?”
He could only groan, his head thrashing side to side on the dark fabric. The runes were awakening every nerve, amplifying sensation a hundredfold. He was already on the brink again, just from her touch on the symbols.“Look at me,” she commanded.
His eyes, clouded with desperation, found hers.Holding his gaze, she positioned herself. She guided him to her entrance, and he felt the hot, tight clutch of her, already wet. She sank down onto him in one slow, inexorable motion.
He cried out—a raw, broken sound that wasn’t human.It was the sound of a breaking dam. She took him to the hilt, seating him fully inside her, and he felt the runes on his skin flare, searing their pattern into his consciousness.Her inner muscles clenched around him, a vice of silken fire.
“Oh, fuck,” he choked out, the obscenity foreign and perfect on his tongue.
Evil-Lyn began to move, a deliberate, rolling rhythm of her hips. She rode him not with wild abandon, but with a terrifying, controlled precision.Each rise was a slow torture, each descent a crushing, perfect relief. The glowing runes on his cock pulsed brighter with every thrust, feeding sensation back into him, winding the tension tighter and tighter.
“Does that feel good, hero?” she breathed, her own composure beginning to fracture, a flush rising on her pale chest. “Does it feel better than saving the world?”
He couldn’t speak. His hands, finally free, clawed at the shadow-bed beneath him.Then they rose, trembling, and grasped her hips.Not to throw her off. To pull her deeper onto him.To fuck up into her from below. The bed shook with the force of his thrusts, his massive body driving into her with a strength that was no longer heroic, but purely, selfishly desperate.“Use me,” she hissed, her head thrown back. “That’s it.Use my cunt.Chase your pleasure. Give it to me.”
Her words shattered the last fragments of his mind.He was nothing but a animal, a machine of need. The slap of their flesh echoed in the cavern, a brutal counter-rhythm to the chant. He pounded into her, his vision blurring, the world narrowing to the feel of her tight, wet heat around him, the blinding light of the corrupt runes, the piercing triumph in her green eyes.The coil, wound so tight for so long, finally snapped.
A roar tore from his lungs, a sound of utter ruin. His body locked, shuddering violently as his orgasm ripped through him. It wasn’t a release; it was an eruption, a volcanic convulsion of pleasure so intense it crossed into pain. He spilled into her in great, pumping waves, his hips stuttering against hers, his grip on her hips bruising-tight.
As the peak washed over him, a final, vicious spark of magic flared from the runes. The violet light raced up his body, over his chest, up his neck—and flashed in his eyes.
When the shuddering subsided, he lay spent, gasping, collapsed back onto the bed. His eyes, when they fluttered open, were no longer their clear, heroic blue.
They glowed with a faint, defeated, and utterly corrupted violet light.
Above him, Evil-Lyn smoothed a hand over his heaving chest.A slow, deep smile of perfect victory spread across her face. She leaned down, her lips brushing his ear.
“Welcome,” she whispered, “to the other side.”
He didn’t speak. He just stared up at the jagged, pulsing ceiling of Snake Mountain, the alien light in his eyes dimming to a soft, permanent stain. The chant of the mountain had settled inside his bones.He was, for the first time in his life, truly empty. And he knew, with a certainty that chilled his very soul, that she could fill him again with whatever she desired.