Arkoth cried out, writhing in pure animal reflex as Raurava’s big toe pressed down on his spine. Before all of this had transpired, the raven-haired little witch would have struggled to even budge Arkoth, even with a full-bodied shove. Now though? Decades of training and experience were no match for the simple press of that pale digit on the shrunken man’s back.
“Y-you… treacherous… bitch…” He snarled through gritted teeth as Raurava gazed at him, her expression neutral. “Are you enjoying this? I’ll bet you feel so good about slipping the knife in, after we protected you, after we helped you… Bet you feel real fucking clever, huh?”
She stared, her lips unmoving as her eyes narrowed.
“What’s the matter Raurava? Nothing clever to say? Isn’t sadistic cruelty your thing?”
Wordlessly, she lifted her heel and set about twisting the tip of her toe back and forth, grinding the struggling knight against the cold marble floor of the throne room. The place felt empty now, the hustle and bustle of the King’s court now gone as the witch sat in his place, consciously leaving the regal red smudge on the cushion as a memorial to her victory.
A plate laden with food sat to her left, barely touched. To her right, a bottle of the King’s private reserves sat uncorked, the still figure of a miniature corpse floating in the mostly-full receptacle, the shattered glass on the floor nearby where it had been roughly cast aside in a spray of red.
Her finger twined about a stay curl of hair, seemingly agitated. The tiny, protesting form of Princess Giselle tried in vain to escape from the lazy grip of her palm, even as Arch-Mage Kaveldor conjured every last spell in his repertoire to try and breach the bird-cage that entrapped him, dangling on a chain from Raurava’s pale throat.
Arkoth coughed blood as he clawed at the ground, and...
…something subtle shifted in the air. Raurava’s lips curled in a frown. She twisted harder, faster, her toe pressing down on the knight in desperation as teeth showed in her mouth.
Nothing.
The pressure mounted, she felt the imminent snap of his spine…
And with a frustrated exhalation, she withdrew her bared foot, scrunching her toes as she all but bounced on the throne, slamming her free fist down on the arm of the thing. Down on the floor, the knight floundered briefly like a half-squashed bug, before he hauled himself shakily to his hands and knees.
“M-more…” He breathed.
Raurava’s eyes narrowed.
“What did you say?” She replied. Her voice was a low, silky thread that oozed disdain.
“Please, Mistress Raurava,” the knight said, his voice quavering oddly, “step on me, crush me, smear me with your toes.”
Revulsion contorted the witch’s face as she recoiled like a noblewoman from a plague rat. She said nothing, her gaze wary. Gone was the fierce, stubborn old knight who had kept watch on her like a hawk, his defiance and stern force of will replaced with… this.
“You are so mighty, and so powerful, mistress; please grind me until my bones are powder beneath you. I want it! I need it! Do it, please!”
“Damn you Arkoth!” Raurava spat as she rose and lifted her foot over the cowering man. “Do not tempt fate with such requests; I shall… greatly enjoy crushing you into paste like the worm you are.” Her haughty tone was uncertain as the knight shuffled forwards on his knees.
“Please! Do it! Lay your wroth upon me, Raurava! If thou wish it, I shall submit myself and lick thy fee-“
The heel had slammed down before Arkoth had even finished the sentence, the hard, lumpy splat of armour compressed into two-dimensions along with its wearer all that heralded his demise. Raurava’s teeth were bared; sounds of displeasure wafting from her throat with each passing second as she furiously ground the remains onto the marble floor.
Confusion lingered at the corners of her eyes as her glance shot to the Princess in her fist. She had expected screaming. She had expected weeping. She had expected despair and denial, the sweet, succulent taste of horror and grief. But there was nothing like it on Giselle’s cherubic features.
Instead, the Princess gazed up at Raurava in awe.
“You are incredible, Raurava… Unparalleled and exquisite… Please, share your blessing with me.”
Raurava’s eyes widened, her hand trembling as cold washed down her spine.
“…No.” She said, her tone flat as she stared at Princess Giselle. Her fingers squeezed tight, harsh and ungentle in their grip as she felt one of Giselle’s arms snap like a toothpick under the pressure. “There… scream for me, little doll.” She tried to gather her composure as Giselle cried out, tears streaming from her eyes as she shook back and forth, her body reacting to the sudden pain.
“Y-yes! Mistress! More!”
Raurava’s expression fell. Anger flared inside her as she squeezed again, shattering Giselle’s other arm and causing a spurt of blood to escape the shrunken woman’s mouth, spattering crimson onto the bright blue of her gown.
“Scream you bitch; what is wrong with you?! Do you not understand? I will kill you if you do not beg for mercy!”
“I do n-not want, mercy, Mistress.” Giselle replied in a pained, straining tone, “I want you to squeeze me until I burst like a grape; show me how strong you are, how powerful you are, Raurava!”
A shriek of furious denial escaped Raurava’s throat, rattling the windows of the throne room as she threw Princess Giselle with full force down the aisle. The pleasantly plump little blonde hit the red carpet and bounced several times before coming to a halt, several patches of blood in her wake. She was nothing but a twisted tangle of twitching limbs as Raurava breathed heavily, eyes wide and staring.
Even as she watched, Giselle turned to gaze at her, adoration on her face. She writhed slowly, flopping like a fish out of water as she tried to get closer.
“What did you do, old man?” She snarled, her tone icy as she snatched the bird-cage from about her neck and glared into it. “What incantation have y-“
She stopped, a gasp of choking shock leaving her as she stared at the bowed, prostrate form of the Arch-Mage. Kaveldor’s nose was pressed to the floor of the bird-cage, his hands resting gently inside the bars as he cast worship upon Raurava.
“I am yours to command, Mistress Raurava. What use have you for my powers? May I please you with my suffering?”
The necklace slipped from her fingers with a ‘clang’ as it struck the floor. She blinked, hands trembling.
“I… will enjoy… torturing you, wizard.” She breathed, kicking the cage with all her might as it tumbled end over end, colliding with one of the marble columns with a flash of white light, the enchantments on the necklace keeping it in one piece. It clattered to the ground and rolled several feet.
Kaveldor righted himself, crawling to the edge of the cage and gazing over at her.
“Let me worship you, mistress.”
Raurava’s eyes snapped across to Giselle as she squirmed nearer.
“L-let me… suffer for you… m-mistress.” The princess said in pained gasps.
Raurava stumbled backwards, colliding with the throne as her mind raced.
“Nothing… why does nothing work… how cou-“ She froze, realization in her expression as she turned, glaring with unbridled malice over her shoulder. Behind her, the spiral staircase that led down to the dungeons lay open, dark and inviting.
“…You.” She stormed towards the stairwell, leaving the shrunken pair to their devices as she descended into the pit.
…
The only sources of light in the endless abyss of inky black darkness were the glow of the wards that held the prisoner. Her long, straight white hair hung like a waterfall about her naked flesh, wafting in the unseen force of the energies that held her aloft.
Though her eyes were closed and her head hung limp, she smiled quietly at Raurava’s approach. The witch made no sound as she appeared from the murky shadows, the golden circlet atop her head glinting in the spectrum of colours as she started down at the helplessly shrunken figure before her.
“Hey there friend,” the prisoner croaked, her voice weak, her throat parched, “how’s being the Queen of Everything coming along?”
“What did you do to me?!” Raurava spat, venom on her words as she stood inches from the minuscule figure floating by her belly.
“Hmm? What’s up pal; Godhood not quite so fun as you’d hoped it’d be?”
The witch’s jaws clenched as she sank to a predator crouch, fingers balanced in a splay on the floor of the dungeon as she stared at the miniature form.
“I… can’t… feel… anything…” She hissed, her tone husky. “There is no pleasure to be had in tormenting those whelps... The delight of screams, the exquisite beauty of snapping bones, the taste of blood… None of it reaches me now.” A glare of pure hatred engulfed the prisoner as they smiled faintly, still not looking at Raurava. “None of them beg. None of them weep in despair. Everyone from the lowliest blacksmith to the most stubborn of knights just… changes in my presence. They want it. They enjoy it. None of them even try to resist; they just…” Her head fell a moment as she bit back bitter tears.
A moment later, the witch continued, accusatory loathing oozing from every syllable as she looked at the little white-haired woman.
“You… did this to me. Didn’t you Zenith.”
“Did I?” Zenith replied, looking up at her for the first time, her eyes pure white. Blind and staring. “As I recall, it was you who drank so deeply of my power that you ascended beyond the rest of us mere mortals. I do hope that the taste of naïve friendship was satisfying for you… because it sounds like ‘satisfying’ isn’t a word you’d use to describe your rule now, hm?”
“How are you doing this?!” Raurava snapped, her hand whipping out and curling around the naked, floating figure. “HOW?! Nothing feels good anymore; sleep brings no relief, food has no thrill of flavour, torture is just… routine. There is no pleasure to be had in cruelty now… but you have no power left; I took it from you! HOW ARE YOU DOING THIS?!”
Zenith laughed a hoarse, weak little laugh.
“It’s not my fault you’re such a conceited, treacherous, self-absorbed, power-hungry fool that you didn’t think twice about opening up and absorbing everything from me. My divinity, my power… my final curse… call it a gift from one friend to another. You didn’t even notice it, did you? Everyone is always beneath you, you smug little bitch… nothing could hurt you, right? Well so long as my power remains inside you, my curse will survive… and you will feel no joy. No pleasure. No satisfaction.”
Raurava’s fist clenched hard; not hard enough to kill the mortal body and release it from its prison… but enough to break two dozen bones.
She did not enjoy it.
“I… can’t… die…” Raurava said in a low whisper. “The transformation... is permanent…”
“Then I hope you enjoy not enjoying the rest of eternity.” Zenith replied, her parched throat shaking with a silent, visible laugh. “It’s funny… despite the treachery… and the torture… and the imprisonment…” Her teeth were bared in a lopsided smirk as she gazed blindly at Raurava.
“… I feel real fuckin’ satisfied right now.”
Raurava trembled, tears on her face as she held herself back from pulping the little ex-deity in her fist.
“There’s a good girl… cry for me…” Zenith purred.
“I may not enjoy it… but so help me… I will break every bone in your worthless body…” Raurava’s voice was hateful… bitter… despairing.
“I look forward to it.” Zenith laughed maliciously as she felt the witch squeeze…