Hanioc: It isn’t often we get an archetypical battle between the forces of light and darkness here at the Tournament of Pleasure. Tonight, however, we have just that for all of you.
Tik Tik: Right, Right! Fight between hero friend Cynwrig and evil villain Ra’lys!
Hanioc: In the realms of mortals, the concepts of “hero” and “villain” are important. To the celestials, the distinction is a petty argument. There are only mortals who live as the gods intend and those who disobey.
T: Say every villain is hero of own story. Seem many people love Ra’lys, so can be real bad?
H: That’s probably because of her hypnosis and illusion powers. She’s hoping to use them against her opponent and those watching. Let’s see how it goes!
Cynwrig buzzes into the small arena, the bug’s wings folding back in under his shell. The buzzing echoes against the void. “I know you’re here, foul villain. I’ll defeat you and make sure you don’t use the prestige of this Tournament to further your foul goals, whatever they may be.”
The first things he sees in response to his challenge are the large, domineering eyes. Rings of magical trance-inducing power thrum through those all-seeing, all-knowing orbs. “Oh, is that so? And what exactly are you going to do to me, little bug?”
Cynwrig cannot avert his gaze. Instead, he leaps at Ra’lys with his pummeling fists firing away in a barrage aimed directly. The vision disappears into the darkness once he makes contact, leaving him open for retaliation.
The cobra queen of the spires rests one hand upon her hip, swaying back and forth and humming a little tune. “Not good enough,” she teases. “No one who just rushes in blindly will ever catch me!”
“I’ll show you!” Cynwrig begins, winding up another punch, but falters when he feels the flicker of a tongue against the back of his antenna.
“Show me what?” Ra’lys says from behind him. Arms wrap around his body, and naked breasts press against his back. “Show me that you’re not in control?”
A third Ra’lys saunters up from the darkness to caress his side. Her tail drags from behind her, brushing up along the beetle’s thigh. “You’ve lost control since the moment the divines put you up against me.”
Cynwrig plants one foot on the ground and spins, breaking free from her grasp in a topsy-turvy lariat. The more he spins, the more the room spins. And, it swirls faster, and faster, and quicker, still!
 Laughing, serpentine faces taunt him from just out of his reach. Their cackles intensify the more the room spins. Soon, they become a deafening howl that fills the insect’s ears, pounding through his exoskeleton in a furious roar that threatens to break out from within him and tear him apart.
He falls back, unable to maintain his footing. He braces for the ground, but the land does not come. Instead, he plunges further, but slower with each passing moment until finally, he lies suspended in the air.
Ra’lys walks up from the darkness once more, hands behind her back, and those eyes savor every tiny bit of the short beetle. She frees her hand enough to tickle up along his leg and his thigh. “You are an interesting specimen,” she admits, walking her hand up along his chitinous leg. “You see, most would-be heroes would put up some fight before falling to my hypnosis. You, however, came to me immediately.”
“What… what are you talking about?” Cynwrig asks, his arms straining as if insurmountable weights were tied to them. “I am fighting you. Here in this Tournament!”
“That’s what you want yourself to think,” she says, pulling her hand away from him. His hips buckle at the sudden lack of stimulation.
With a snap, Cynwrig suddenly sees himself sitting upon his knees. His eyes become a kaleidoscope of submissive, hypnotic servitude. Ra’lys, meanwhile, rests upon a chair, her legs spread, her clothing cast aside, her eyes matching the bug’s state, but domineering.
The Cynwrig that Cynwrig sees has his mouth buried between the snake’s legs, licking at a steady pace with loud, long slurps. His hands go behind his back. He doesn’t need them to please his mistress.
Cynwrig shakes his head. “No. This isn’t real. You’re showing me a trick. I’m here. You’re here. That’s an illusion.”
“Is it now?” Ra’lys says, placing a hand upon her chin. “But then, what is that taste you have upon your tongue? Savor it and tell me.”
Cynwrig hesitates, puffing out his cheeks. But, no matter what he does, he cannot ignore that strange metallic taste upon his tongue. It comes stronger in response to each lick that the phantasmal Cynwrig performs.
Or perhaps, it is the phantasmal Cynwrig that watches? He wiggles his antenna, and he feels nothing upon the body laying down, watching the ordeal. But before him, that vision of Cynwrig mirrors his intended movement.
“Now that you know the truth, my pet,” Ra’lys speaks. “It’s time I make you mine…”


T: Tik Tik no know how Cynwrig will get out of this!
H: It certainly is a predicament, and I’m not entirely sure how he can. Or, how can anyone defeat Ra’lys when she has her eyes upon them.
T: Her magic and hypnosis are super power. It might take great will to fight off. Question is if Cynwrig have that.
H: Well, you’ve spent time with him. What do you think?
T: Usually, when being hero, he break through anything, but… he also big pervy boy, so he might enjoy it and lose on purpose. Tik Tik have no knowing what will happen.
H: And we have no knowledge of whether what we are seeing is the actual truth. I guess we’ll just have to see this to the end and see what the gods have in store.


Cynwrig is caught in a daze. He watches, no feels, himself pleasuring the sorceress snake, but the him that watches knows that this isn’t true. It doesn’t matter for too much, because scaled hands tickle down along his shell, pulling him away from the sight, and locking his large compound eyes with the slitted ones of Ra’lys.
“Pleasure like that can and will be yours, little hero,” Ra’lys whispers. “All you have to do is submit to me. End this charade of fullish heroics, and embrace who you are, to begin with.
“I’m… I’m not…” Cynwrig protests.
Fingers brush over his chin, and she grips him, tilting his head up so his eyes would look into hers. “You’re not what? Not enjoying watching such a sexy display? But I thought you like to watch.”
“Wait, who told you that…?” Cynwrig gasps.
“You poor little buggy,” Ra’lys responds a giggle on her lips. “You did. I’m sorry you don’t remember.”
“I… I remember…” Cynwrig notices the color in the snake’s gaze—the rings of repeating bands that swirl in her look. It reflects off of him, bounces off of his very soul, filling his body and his being with the trance-inducing stare.
“I remember,” he says with more confidence.
“And you told me that why?” She asks.
“Because I thought you would like to let me watch.”
“Oh, baby, I want to do so much more than that,” Ra’lys says, her tongue flickering out, tasting his cheek.
Cynwrig doesn’t flinch. He opens his mouth as if to say something, anything, to ask a question, to make a quip, but all he does is keep his lips apart.
Ra’lys takes advantage, pressing her mouth against his, invading his mouth with her own.
He squirms and wiggles in her grasp. His antennae perk up, only to deflate. His arms and legs dangle with limp uselessness. His form is completely and utterly overwhelmed, tingling with numbness, but also a delight.
She pulls her mouth free, and fluid drips out from between the two of them. Cynwrig burbles a moment, his jaw slacks like the rest of his body.
When she lets go of his cheeks, he collapses to the ground, staring off into nothingness while she stands over him, running her hands over her naked form. “What’s the matter, little hero? Don’t you want to get up, and don’t you want to have me?
He tilts his head to face her to see that womanhood taunting him—those breasts, those hips, those eyes.
“All you have to do is say the words,” she continues, showing off her fangs.
He rolls onto his back, sprawled out. “I… give… up…”
“Excellent,” Ra’lys tugs on the leash around his collar. Wait, when did he get a collar? When did he get a leash? She pulls him up to stand just at the perfect height. “YOu may now attempt to please me. But should you fail, you shall be punished.
Cynwrig thinks nothing else but to grab onto those thick thighs, pressing his face up against her and letting his tongue delve deeply into the snatch of the seductive serpent.
“Cynwrig! Cynwrig!”
Cynwrig’s tongue tastes the fantastic nectar of his mistress. He sees nothing, feels nothing, tastes nothing, that isn’t her.
A sharp pain hits the beetle against the cheek, and he sprawls over, collapsing onto the floor with fluids drooling from the corner of his mouth.
Ra’lys folds her arms over her chest, a confident sneer on her face. “Not very impartial of you, Tik Tik.”
Tik Tik puffs out her cheeks, flexing the hand she used to slap Cynwrig. She doesn’t look the sorceress in the eye. “Match over… let Cynwrig go.
“I’m not done with him yet,” the sorceress coos.
“You won’t take him without him say so!” Tik Tik responds, stepping in between the two of them, holding her hands out, and looking up into the sorceress in the eyes. “Not without go through Tik Tik!”
Ra’lys doesn’t respond, except to sneer once the kobold feels a hand upon her shoulder.
“T… Tik…” Cynwrig whispers.
Tik Tik spins around, hugging the bug boy. “Cynwrig safe!”
“I… I want to go with her…” Cynwrig says
“W… what!? No, you mind-controlled. You no know what you want!”
“Actually,” Ra’lys says, stepping around the two, hands behind her back, a confident grin spreading over her lips. “I didn’t have to use my stronger mind control on him. He already desires to be subservient to me, at least in matters of the bedroom. The fact I exploited that to win is of little consequences. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be taking my toy with me.” She yanks on the invisible, no, non-existent leash, and Cynwrig stumbles along, following her. “Y… yes, Ra’lys…” he responds, rubbing his neck. “As long as we’re going to have some good, a-and safe fun.”
“Oh, of course,” she hisses, walking away from the spectators with a confident sway in her stride. Cynwrig looks over towards Tik Tik, frowns, but then shrugs.
Tik Tik growls, but the presence she feels around her alerts her to Hanioc’s desire.
“Little one,” the angel speaks up, “You have much to learn when it comes to your friends. You do not possess them, just as they do not possess you. You must learn to let them find their own way and to let them fall, should they choose to do so. This was Cynwrig’s choice to throw the match, but do not feel betrayed by him.”
“Tik Tik can feel what Tik Tik want,” the kobold says, folding her arms over her chest. “Tik Tik will want see Ra’lys lose next round.”
“You’ve been disappointed in many of the matches recently, Tik Tik. This Tournament is not your personal playground. It is a privilege to be here, and it is a privilege I can revoke.
Tik Tik grumbles, stuffing her hands in her pockets, walking away. “Stupid rules. Tik Tik find something do make her blow off steam.”