Chapter 13: The Serpent's Claim
The heavy door sealed behind them with a finality that echoed in the marrow. The chamber was a cold stomach of stone and humming brass, lit by the faint pulse of runes beneath their feet. Powder’s head throbbed where the blow had landed, her vision swimming as she was thrown forward onto the unforgiving floor. Caitlyn caught herself on her hands, a sharp gasp tearing from her lips.
“Careful now,” Virro’s voice was a smooth poison, dripping from the shadows. “The inscriptions are rather delicate. We wouldn’t want to disrupt the flow before we begin.”
Powder pushed up, her tools digging into her hips. Her blue braid had come partly undone, strands sticking to her damp cheek. Caitlyn was already upright, poised like a dagger, her eyes scanning for exits, for weapons, finding only seamless walls and the silhouette of the man who had brought them here.
“This is insanity, Virro,” Caitlyn stated, her enforcer’s cadence firm, but Powder heard the brittle edge beneath. “You have the attention of every Ward in Piltover. Release us.”
Virro stepped into the pale light of a floating orb. His smile was a wound. “But we’ve only just arrived. And after what I felt in Demacia… that little light show your children put on… I find myself positively famished.”
He moved, not with a rush, but with an inexorable glide. Caitlyn lunged, not to flee, but to attack, a lifetime of training propelling her forward. Virro’s hand shot out, not to strike, but to grasp the air in front of her. A visible ripple, like heat off summer stone, erupted from Caitlyn. She convulsed, a choked cry escaping her as her legs gave way. She collapsed to her knees, panting, her eyes wide with a new, visceral terror.
“What… are you?” she whispered.
“A connoisseur,” Virro said softly, his gaze sliding to Powder. “Your resilience is impressive, inventor. But your mind… it shines so brightly. All those clever, intricate thoughts. It must be exhausting.”
Powder scrambled back, her hand closing around a small shock-charge on her belt. She triggered it and hurled it. The device crackled through the air, a tiny star of Zaunite violence.
Virro caught it in his palm. The electricity writhed around his fingers for a moment before being snuffed out, absorbed into his skin. He sighed, a sound of profound disappointment. “Petty toys.”
He was on her before she could breathe. His grip on her arm was iron, yanking her up. With a brutal shove, he forced her down beside Caitlyn. Both women were on their knees before him, reflected in the polished toes of his boots.
“The ritual requires proximity,” he murmured, as if lecturing. “And a certain… vulnerability. The magic woven into your blood, Briv’s legacy, it clings tightest during primal moments. Fear. Agony.” He unbuckled his trousers with deliberate, casual slowness. “Ecstasy.”
Caitlyn spat at him. The saliva gleamed on his pant leg. His smile didn’t waver. He backhanded her with a crack that snapped her head to the side. Powder cried out, reaching for her, but Virro’s other hand fisted in Powder’s hair, holding her fast.
“You will watch,” he told Powder, his breath hot on her ear. “You will learn what happens to precious things in this world.”
He released Powder’s hair only to tear at the fastenings of Caitlyn’s uniform. Fabric ripped. Caitlyn fought, her strikes weakened, her power muted, siphoned away by the same force that now loomed over her. Virro manhandled her onto her back on the cold, etched stone. He pinned her wrists above her head with one hand.
“Stop,” Caitlyn ground out, her composure shattered into raw fury.
“I don’t think I will,” Virro whispered. He positioned himself between her spread legs. With his free hand, he guided his stiff cock, pushing the broad head against her. She was dry, tight with terror and resistance. He leaned his weight forward, sinking into her with a ruthless, penetrating thrust.
Caitlyn’s body arched off the stone, a raw, guttural sound ripped from her throat. It wasn’t a scream of pleasure, but one of brutal violation. Virro buried himself to the hilt inside her, pausing to let her feel the full, stretching invasion.
“There it is,” he hissed, his eyes closing in pleasure. “That sharp, bright spark. Your discipline. Your control. It tastes like silver and gunpowder.”
He began to move, setting a relentless, punishing rhythm. Each drive of his hips slapped flesh against stone. The wet, obscene sound of the act filled the chamber, mingling with Caitlyn’s ragged pants and choked sobs. Powder could only watch, tears streaming silently down her face, as the proud Sheriff was ruthlessly fucked on the floor.
Virro’s gaze found Powder, glazed with predatory delight. “Your turn soon, little tinker. Her pain is crisp. But your sorrow… your beautiful, aching sorrow… that will be a vintage.”
He fucked Caitlyn harder, deeper, his grunts becoming animalistic. He released her wrists to grip her hips, nails digging in, yanking her onto him with every thrust. Caitlyn’s cries had subsided into a tense, shaking silence, her face turned away, eyes squeezed shut, every muscle rigid in a futile effort to distance herself from what was being done to her body.
Virro’s pace grew frenzied. He fucked her with a final, brutal series of strokes, his whole body tensing. With a low groan, he emptied himself inside her, pulsing deeply. He stayed there for a long moment, buried in her, before pulling out. Caitlyn curled onto her side, trembling, a trickle of fluid and seed staining her thigh.
He turned to Powder. His cock, glistening with Caitlyn’s violation, was still hard. The runes on the floor began to glow brighter, a hungry magenta.
“Now you,” he said, his voice thick.
Powder tried to crawl away. His foot came down on the hem of her coat, trapping her. He hauled her up by her arms and slammed her face-down over a low, arcane console. The brass edge dug into her hips. He shoved her legs apart with his knee.
“Please,” Powder wept, the word dissolving into a whimper.
His hand smoothed over her backside before grabbing a handful of her trousers, tearing them down. The chamber air was cold on her exposed skin. He didn’t bother with any pretense. He spat into his palm, slicked himself roughly, and notched the head of his cock against her tight hole.
“This will hurt,” he promised, not unkindly, and shoved forward.
Powder screamed. The pain was a white-hot lance, tearing her open. He was larger than any she had known, and he gave her no time, no quarter. He forced his way in, inch by brutal inch, until he was fully seated, her body stretched obscenely around him. He leaned over her, his chest pressing against her back, his mouth beside her ear.
“Give me the ache, Powder,” he whispered, his voice intimate, filthy. “Give me all that lonely yearning for your lost hero. Let me drink it.”
He began to fuck her in earnest, a deep, grinding rhythm designed to invade every part of her. Each thrust jolted her against the console, knocking tools from her belts, sending them clattering across the runes. The pain began to blur, mutating into a shameful, unwanted friction. A broken moan escaped her lips.
“Yes,” Virro crooned, pounding into her. “There. That’s the song. The brilliant, broken little song of you.”
He fucked her like he was trying to break her apart, to reach the very core of the magic she carried. Powder’s senses dissolved into the slam of his body against hers, the wet, slapping sounds, the smell of sex and ozone and her own fear. A perverse, traitorous heat began to coil in her belly, a physiological betrayal that made her sob harder.
Virro felt it. His movements became more precise, targeting the spot that made her gasp. “You can come on your violator’s cock, inventor. It won’t save you. It will just feed me more.”
His words unraveled her. The coil snapped. A harsh, shuddering orgasm racked her, ripped from her against her will, her inner muscles clamping violently around his invading length. Virro roared in triumph. As she clenched around him, he followed, his own release flooding her depths, hot and claiming.
But it was more than an orgasm. As Powder cried out into the metal console, she felt a pulling, a draining sensation that started in her soul and radiated outward. The glowing runes flared blindingly bright. A shimmer, like the ghost of her blue hair, seemed to leave her body and be sucked into Virro’s.
He slumped over her, spent, panting. Then he pushed himself up and out of her. Powder slid to the floor, a boneless heap of torn clothing and shattered dignity, feeling hollowed out, less than herself.
Virro stood above both broken women, fastening his trousers. He breathed in deeply, a man after a fine meal. On the back of his hand, a new, intricate mark flickered—a faint, geometric pattern that pulsed with a soft blue light, the exact shade of Powder’s hair.
He looked at his hand, then at the weeping women at his feet.
“Remarkable,” he breathed, his voice filled with genuine, horrifying awe. “Just a taste… and the power is already so… articulate.”
He stepped over them, walking towards the far archway. “Rest. We have so many more wives to visit.”