The thought of losing his Master makes Corey snap, and a new villain is born.
Corey’s blood ran cold in his veins. It was unthinkable, impossible, and yet it had happened. He did not have the facts to say so for certain, but he knew in his gut that the Centurion must have taken his Master. Where, and to what end, he didn’t know.
The lights overhead flickered. Electricity arced along the backs of Corey’s hands as he balled his fingers into fists. His eyes were incandescent, glowing blue-white as the air around him filled with the scent of ozone.
The prospect of losing Imperious made something inside of Corey snap. A shadow fell across his face, and with a glance to the side he could tell that his expression was scaring Castor. He would have liked to care about the terror in his friend’s face, but it was as if all the kindness in his body had suddenly evaporated, leaving him with no capacity for sympathy.
Despite his outward calm, a tumultuous storm raged inside of Corey. Anger clashed with fear, level-headed determination with panicked hysteria. He felt as if he was being whipped around on currents of emotion, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself through the withering gale.
The rational part of Corey recognized that now was not the time to be emotional. Speculation wouldn’t help, but action could, and to act effectively he needed to have his head on straight. It didn’t take him long to find his center, to seize the serenity waiting for him in the eye of the storm within.
The lightning crackling across Corey’s skin subsided. The glow from his eyes faded, but not the fire that burned behind them. His resolve had hardened into icy steel inside. He took a deep breath and the tremors in his limbs stilled.
"How could this happen?" said Pollux, more to himself than to Corey. Corey would have liked to know the answer to that question, too, but he knew they didn’t have time to entertain it. He suspected a rat, but there was no use acting on incomplete information. The first order of business was finding Imperious.
A veteran hero like the Centurion would not have attacked without having a plan. Despite Imperious’ reputation, the Centurion must have had some way to either mitigate the effects of Imperious’ powers, or nullify them entirely. It was the first lesson of being a hero: be prepared or die.
"N3M0," said Corey, his voice taking on a harsh edge. He was perhaps a tad harsher than he intended, but he couldn’t work up the energy to care. "Find Master. Use every resource you have at your disposal. I don’t care what it costs."
Had he been a stronger man, Corey might have taken the chance to free himself of Imperious’ influence, but he wasn’t. That particular fight was over, and his old self had suffered utter defeat. Now, he couldn’t tolerate the mere thought of living without his Master.
While he had no doubt that given enough time, N3M0 would be able to find Imperious, Corey couldn’t stomach the thought of standing around the manor waiting for an update on the situation. He turned on his heel and made for the door, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. "What are you going to do?" said Pollux.
Pollux hid it well, but Corey knew the big guy well enough to know that he had been affected by the news as well. There was a quaver in his voice, subtle but audible, that betrayed his feelings. Corey could only imagine what was going through Pollux’s head.
"I’m going to find him," said Corey. He didn’t look back toward Pollux. He couldn’t bear to. "I’m going to find him even if I have to overturn every last rock in the Commonwealth. I can’t sit here waiting for news. I need to get out there and look, myself."
Corey had meant every syllable, but he doubted that he would actually have to overturn the entire Commonwealth. Thinking rationally, he doubted that the Centurion would have taken Imperious far. Imperious was far too dangerous a villain to risk transporting, so the Centurion was likely to be keeping Imperious somewhere in or around Selene City.
Pollux breathed. He walked in front of Corey, his expression grim. "I’ll come with you," said Pollux, his fingers digging into the flesh of Corey’s shoulder. "I owe Master my life. I don’t want to fail him now. Not when he needs me. Us."
For a moment, Corey truly considered accepting Pollux’s offer, but it was a non-starter. On any other day, for any other reason, he would have accepted, but the situation as it was left little room for error.
Corey didn’t know much about the Centurion, but he did know that the Centurion was one of the more ruthless members of the Hall of Heroes, part of a team called the Legion. The Centurion, especially, had no qualms with extrajudicial punishment and had been disciplined more than once for leaving his villainous opponents horrifically maimed or outright dead.
Every moment that passed was a moment that Imperious spent in potentially-mortal peril. Corey couldn’t afford delays and as much as he appreciated Pollux’s offer of help, as much as he understood the way that Pollux felt, he knew that taking the duplicant hero would only slow him down.
"No," said Corey. "You need to stay behind here. If the Centurion knows about Master, somehow, there’s a chance the rest of the Hall knows. They might launch an attack here while he’s away, and I don’t want to leave the estate undefended. I need you to rally the others and defend our home."
Pollux clenched his fists on either side. Corey had no doubt that Pollux had seen through his excuse—Pollux was too shrewd to be misled like that—but Pollux also couldn’t argue against his assertion. "Fine," said Pollux, through gritted teeth. "But you’ll keep an open line with me. If I think you need my help, I’m coming."
That was acceptable enough to Corey. Pollux reluctantly released him, but before he could open the door he realized that he was in no state to be leaving the estate. "I can’t go out like this," said Corey. "And I can’t use my powers the way that I want to in civilian clothes." With the amount of electricity he was going to be using, normal cloth would burn right off his body.
"U-Um… I think I might know where you can find something to wear," said Castor. Corey looked at him. "Uh… Follow me," he said.
Even though he looked like it was the last thing he wanted to do, Castor vaulted over the bed and landed with the grace of a leopard. He walked to the door and rushed past Corey before Corey’s brain had even caught up with what was going on.
Corey and Pollux shared a look, before bolting out the door and taking off after Castor. The changeling hero led them down the halls and corridors of the manor until they reached a small study with a bookcase that opened into a secret staircase leading further down into the house.
Using his newfound powers, Corey felt out the general layout of the structure beneath them. It was familiar, though that didn’t come as much of a surprise. Corey could tell which room was the one he’d spent hours in training his new senses, but Castor took a different turn than the one Corey was used to.
Corey and Pollux found Castor leaning against a heavy wood door, panting. "Master said that he wanted this to be a surprise for you, Corey," said Castor, as he pushed the door open to a room that Corey had never imagined would be in Imperious’ home.
The floor of the gallery was smooth, made of black marble polished to a mirror-finish. Museum cases containing costumes mounted on mannequins paraded all the way down the length of the hall. On the right were the outfits of all the heroes, ostensibly, that Imperious had conquered over the years. On the left were the outfits of villains who had simply disappeared.
The footsteps of the trio echoed in the cavernous darkness as they walked down the central aisle. Corey would have never pegged his Master to be the sentimental type. The gallery certainly didn’t look like it was built for gloating.
At the far end of the room was another door with an ornate gold handle and the symbol of Imperious carved on its face. Corey shared a look with Pollux, who seemed just as confused as he was. He pushed the door open into a smaller room.
In niches along the wall, sealed away with polyglass so thick that Corey doubted even the Hammer at full power could break through, were old iterations of Imperious’ outfit. What truly stole the show, however, was the costume inside a case mounted on a dais in the center of the room.
"What is this, Castor?" Corey breathed, even though he knew just from the look of it that the suit was meant to be his. Tears pricked at his eyes at the grandeur of it all, at the position of importance that Imperious had seen fit to enshrine the suit in.
"Master showed it to me a few weeks ago. Made me promise not to tell," said Castor. "He said that he didn’t want you to give up Tempest, but that if you ever wanted to do something that wasn’t heroic, he wanted you to wear this instead."
Pollux sucked in a sharp breath. Corey couldn’t breathe at all. He walked up the steps of the dais, brushing past the handprint scanner at the base of the display case. He placed a hand against the cold glass and leaned his forehead against it for a moment. He looked over his shoulder and said, "How did you know I wanted to do something that wasn’t heroic?"
"You said you couldn’t go out like this," said Castor, something unreadable in his eye. "You always bring your suit with you to Master’s house, but you didn’t say you wanted to put it on. You said you couldn’t wear civilian clothes."
Castor’s lower lip trembled. He reached for Pollux’s hand and squeezed it. "And the look in your eye, it scares me," said Castor. "I don’t think that’s the kind of expression a hero like Tempest would wear."
Corey barked a bitter, sardonic laugh. "Guess you’re right," he said. He took a step back and placed his palm on the scanner. A faint blue line of light swept from the tips of his fingers to the heel of his hand. There was a beep, and then the polyglass walls of the case slid into the ground.
As he reached for the first piece of the outfit, Corey hesitated. "Are you sure about this?" said Pollux. Truth was, what he intended to do, what he was prepared to do, felt like an even greater betrayal of all the principles Corey purported to hold than his surrender to Imperious.
All the same, Corey said, "More sure than you can imagine." The pieces of the suit were held in place by hard-light constructs. As soon as Corey touched the first piece, the shorts, it went limp like normal cloth in his hands.
The fabric was soft and luxurious to the touch. It slid smoothly up Corey’s legs, and was so tight and perfectly measured that it clung to every contour of his body. The midnight-blue booty shorts edged with brilliant gold and embroidered with bolts of lightning along the sides felt amazing and wonderfully snug. Despite the gravity of the situation, Corey couldn’t help but get a little excited by the sensation.
Corey picked up the footwear next. They were gladiator sandals that went halfway up his calf. Two lightning bolt motifs raced up along the outside of the sandals, and the material, which felt like leather, glimmered like pure gold.
The next piece of the outfit was a midnight-blue skirt that wrapped from one of Corey’s hips, along the back, to the other hip. Rich gold patterns of intricate lightning decorated the skirt, which lacked a front.
Corey shivered as he pulled the midnight-blue crop top over his head. It was tight, sticking to his body like a second skin and conforming to the contours of his musculature. The front was emblazoned with a four-point star with a tail in the shape of a lightning bolt, while the back was decorated with intricate gold patterns.
Corey’s fingers tingled as he tugged the pair of midnight-blue fingerless gloves edged in gold over them. He looked amazing, like a Greek God in the flesh. His electricity hummed just under his skin, especially around the pieces of the suit, and he felt an itch to let loose with his power.
There was one last piece to the outfit. Corey picked up the intricate golden circlet and placed it upon his brow. It had two filigreed flanges that framed the sides of his face, coming to points just under the line of his jaw. A filigree mask over his eyes protected his identity, and two horns, stylized like jagged lightning bolts, curved up and over his head.
"Wow…" Pollux breathed, his eyes wide with awe as Corey summoned the winds and rose from the ground. "You look amazing. Like a glorious demon king."
Corey floated down the steps of the dais toward Castor and Pollux. He could feel power tingling at his fingertips, energy pooling in the core of his being. He felt like a god. "I know you can find him," said Castor, reaching forward to squeeze Corey’s hand.
Pollux nodded. "Good luck, Tempest," he said.
Corey shook his head. "No, not Tempest."
The door swung shut behind Corey. Castor and Pollux were left alone together in the gallery of Imperious’ old outfits. It was interesting to see how the design had changed over the years, but all the suits had one thing in common: they were regal and elegant, like their Master.
"Will he be alright?" said Castor, leaning against Pollux as they slowly made their way out of the room, past the glass cases of the gallery, and back toward the main floor of the manor. "I’m worried that he might be biting off more than he can chew."
Pollux chuckled. "What do you think?" he said. "You’re one of the few people that know about Corey’s real classification in the Hall database. Do you really think the Centurion has a chance? He hasn’t even unlocked his full potential and I already doubt half the Hall put together could beat him."
"You wouldn’t think he’s a Tier VIII looking at him service Master’s cock," said Castor, as the two made their way up the staircase. "Do you think this might be it? The Second Catalyst Master was talking about?"
A smile tugged at the corner of Pollux’s lip. To think that he used to be one of the people who didn’t believe in the concept of Awakening. At the time, the notion had seemed so fantastical that he rejected it outright, but over the years he’d seen it enough times with his own eyes not to know that it happened.
Awakenings were a messy affair, especially First Awakenings. As far as First Awakenings went, Pollux’s had been relatively tame. He’d been suffering from such bad blue balls at the time that he was desperately wishing he could fuck himself when poof, his duplicant powers manifested.
Other supers, especially those who had more destructive abilities, tended to destroy things during their First Awakenings. Come to think of it, Pollux had never heard about Corey’s First Awakening. Not that it mattered now that they were on the cusp of Corey’s Second. "Probably," said Pollux, though he trembled to think of what it might mean.
Corey clenched his jaw. He was flying high above Tranquility, using every last scrap of power that he could muster in his body to search for Imperious’ signature in the area, but it wasn’t enough. It was too slow, and his range too limited.
The tears came without prompting, falling from Corey’s eyes as he soared through the sky vainly searching for his Master. Hope that he could find Imperious in time was dwindling, and he couldn’t stomach the thought of what could have already happened if the Centurion had been feeling particularly ungenerous.
Corey stopped. He wiped the tears from his eyes. No, he told himself. Now was not the time to be defeatist. It wasn’t over until he cradled his Master’s corpse in his arms, and he wouldn’t let it get to that. He just needed more.
The very air around Corey seemed to tremble as he set his sights toward the tether that rose into the air in the distance. He shot off toward the center of Selene City, squeezing every last bit of speed that he could manage from his body. He arrived in record time, hovering just above the capitol building.
From his vantage point, Corey could see a few fire hydrants within striking distance. His eyes glowed bluish-white as he called upon the lightning in his veins. The world was cast in stark light and shadow for a moment as a bolt of heavenly fire arced from Corey’s hand to one of the fire-hydrants below.
The people in the square screamed in alarm as the fire hydrant was blasted off the concrete and water shot into the air. Another bolt of lightning struck the opposite side of the square, and a third lanced toward an adjoining street.
With all the extra water at his disposal, Corey rose into the air, the cold fury inside of him hardening to a sharp and icy edge. Great black thunderclouds formed above him, blanketing the ceiling of the miles-high dome that protected Selene City from the harshness of space. From this high up, the citizens rushing about in panic below looked like little more than insignificant specks of dust.
As the storm coalesced around Corey, he felt its energy feed into him. The more he nurtured it, the more it fed him, a positive feedback loop that made his heart race and his blood sing.
From so high up, Corey felt less a man than a god. Power overwhelming was at his command. He didn’t know how to wield it, but he knew that he had to. The storm rumbled with discontent, lightning flashing through the roiling black clouds. The first drops of icy-cold rain began to fall.
It was time. Corey didn’t know how he knew it, he just did. He let go, embracing the tumult of emotion inside of him. He wallowed in the despair of the situation, felt the cold knot of terror squeeze his heart. But most of all he burned with wrath as bright as the sun.
Corey turned his head to the heavens and screamed. A bolt of lightning arced from the storm and struck him. The sensation was exhilarating. He had never felt so alive. A loud peal of thunder reverberated through the storm and another bolt of lightning struck Corey.
The clouds flashed and trembled like a light show as bolt after bolt after bolt of lightning crashed into Corey. The agony was unbearable. Corey felt like he was being burned from the inside out, but he fought through it. The power surging through him was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, and he wrestled with it to keep control.
Corey’s screams echoed against the vaulted ceiling of the dome until he felt something inside of him shift. Instead of waiting for the lightning to come to him, he called it to him.
Smoke rose from Corey’s skin in curling trails, but not a stitch of his outfit was singed. His eyes were incandescent with power, glowing like two bright stars against the backdrop of the storm. Lightning struck him with increasing frequency until he looked like a second sun, a halo of electricity shining from around his head.
Corey closed his eyes and expanded his consciousness. He could feel every last excited electron in the air, could "see" the world around him in astonishing detail. He knew the place of every wire and every nerve in Selene City, and not even the earth itself could block his gaze.
It was as if Corey had the eyes of God, and none could escape his sight. He found Imperious in the span of a heartbeat, and assumed that the other being in the room with him was the Centurion. Letting loose a howl of unadulterated rage, Corey dove toward Imperious’ location like a bolt of lightning.
Above Selene City, Godspark’s storm whipped into a frenzy. Cascading sheets of lightning crackled through the clouds, flashing so brightly as to turn night into day for a moment. Icy rain poured as buildings were struck and sparks flew from transformers, plunging parts of the city into darkness.
Marcus regarded the Centurion with a level gaze. He had never personally met the hero, but knew a great deal about him. His knowledge was largely second-hand, but he knew that much of it, at least as far as the facts were concerned, was reliable.
A harsh childhood had left the Centurion, born Titus Kelly to a poor family in one of the enormous slum districts of Greater Cascadia, with a bleak and cynical view of the world. That he hadn’t already stuck his spear through Marcus’ gut would have seemed entirely out of character.
Disciplined and unbending, at least as far as his personal moral code was concerned, the Centurion was not the kind of person that Marcus would have expected to look so nervous after launching a bold attack on him. "Something the matter?" said Marcus, the corner of his lip twitching.
The Centurion refused to look Marcus in the eye, protecting himself from the mesmerizing gaze that Marcus had borrowed from Psyphon. "No," said the Centurion. "And I won’t listen to what you say. You have no power over me. I know that now. You’re not what you were cracked up to be, at all."
"Of course," said Marcus. Despite what it might have looked like, with his arms and legs bound to the chair, he still felt in control of the situation. He wasn’t going to die, though there was every chance that he would come close. He was confident that Corey would find him.
"You’re such a big, strong, hero, after all," said Marcus. "Now that you know my tricks, there’s no way that they could work on you. But surely it would be easier to just get rid of me now so you don’t have to risk anything."
The Centurion glared at Marcus. "Your words have no power over me," he repeated. That was alright, as far as Marcus was concerned. Even if the Centurion had figured out his "weakness," if it could even be called that, words had power in and of themselves. Besides, there was not a thing in the world that the Centurion could do to interfere with his other gifts.
"Perhaps you think that I serve your purposes better alive than dead," said Marcus. "Ah, yes. You hope to rescue your friends, don’t you? And you think that I’m the only one that knows how to undo the spell I’ve placed on them."
"Enough!" the Centurion thundered, his face flushed red. His stormy grey eyes were withering as they glared at Marcus. "You’re powerless. Helpless. No one will come for you. I don’t need to listen to your meaningless drivel."
Marcus smirked. His faith had been rewarded. "The torturer you hired isn’t going to come," he said. The Centurion’s eyes widened. "I think you’ve underestimated my connections, Titus. I might not be as strong as any of the others, but I understand my gifts, and I know how to use them to my advantage."
"W-What is happening?!" the Centurion stuttered. He took a step forward, his body moving in staggering, jerky movements. His fingers, moving seemingly of their own accord, wrapped around the haft of his spear. Marcus simply smiled as the spearhead slipped under the rope tying him down and cut one of his arms free.
"Someone came for me," said Marcus, as the Centurion cut away his other bindings. Today hadn’t exactly gone as planned, but he had a feeling that it hadn’t been a total loss. One of his cards might have been played a little early, but he didn’t mind that.
A heartbeat later, a brilliant, blinding flash filled the room as the doors were blasted in off their hinges. The Centurion was rooted to the spot and could only squeak out the words, "W-Who are you?"
The billowing smoke cleared around the horned figure that stood in the doorway. Marcus grinned. "From this moment on, your god," said Corey, his voice dripping with far more malice than Marcus would have ever expected of his protégé.
Marcus walked over to Corey and placed an arm around his waist. He leaned in and kissed the top of the boy’s head. "You’ve done well, Godspark," he said. "Shall we?"
Godspark flushed at the praise, but rescuing Master wasn’t the only reason that he had come. He was after vengeance, and he sought to make an example of the Centurion. "I’m not finished here yet, Master," he said.
Godspark strode into the room and stopped a few feet in front of the Centurion. The hero snarled at him, clearly unable to discern his true identity. "Now, is that any way to greet your god?" said Godspark, the words pouring from him with a vicious iciness. "Kneel."
"Never," said the Centurion, straining against the absolute control that Godspark exercised over his body. Amused, Godspark relinquished control back to the Centurion. As soon as he was back in control of his own body, the Centurion hefted his spear and charged. "That was a mistake!"
"No, Godspark!" said Marcus, from across the room.
"Don’t interfere, Master," said Godspark, glancing furtively at Marcus. He turned his attention back to the Centurion and the gleaming spearhead trembling half an inch from his eye. "I said kneel," Godspark hissed. With a thought he stimulated every pain receptor in the Centurion’s body whilst locking down every muscle so that the Centurion had to endure the agony in silent stillness.
Godspark shut off the pain and relinquished his hold on the Centurion’s voice. The bloodcurdling scream that followed didn’t perturb him at all, but instead filled him with a strange, perverse thrill. "N-Never," said the Centurion, though tears were dripping from his eyes.
Scarcely had the words left the Centurion’s mouth than his face contorted in agony. He screamed again, the raw, savage, tortured sound reverberating through the room. "I-I would rather di—" Another scream was torn from the Centurion’s throat.
"Kneel," said Godspark. He took a step back and let go of the Centurion’s body. The spear fell to the floor with a clatter. The Centurion followed after it with a broken sob. As soon as he was on his hands and knees, Godspark rewarded the Centurion with rapturous pleasure.
The hero’s body went stiff, back arching, eyes locking to the ceiling as every pleasurable nerve ending in his body fired off. His cock, which had softened considerably from the pain, shot to full hardness. A moment later, a wet spot formed in the front of the Centurion’s suit, as Godspark ripped an orgasm from his body.
"Kiss my foot," said Godspark. The Centurion craned his neck upward and glared. For his impertinence, Godspark rewarded the hero with another few seconds of searing agony. "Are you going to make me repeat myself?" said Godspark. A broken whimper escaped the Centurion as he bent forward and pressed his lips against Godspark’s foot.
The Centurion’s moans filled the air as Godspark punished his obedience with the most exquisite pleasure that was possible for a man. Godspark’s control was absolute. He kept the Centurion on the edge until the hero was kissing his foot like a lover, at which point he permitted yet another earth-shaking orgasm.
The Centurion’s legs trembled as Godspark said, "Get back on your knees and look up at me." The Centurion hesitated, but the mere threat of pain, the sensation of his pinkie finger burning, was enough to snap him into obedience.
"You tried to take away something that was precious to me," said Godspark, his voice cold and devoid of emotion. "To pay for your sins you will give yourself to me or else you will spend the rest of your natural life in the most agonizing pain you’ve ever felt."
"You will devote yourself to me or you will spend the next few decades begging for the release of death, which won’t come until long after the pain has driven you to madness," said Godspark, stroking the side of the Centurion’s face with the back of his fingers. "Death is too good a fate for someone like you."
"P-Please, no more…" whispered the Centurion. The sight of one of the Hall’s most hardened veterans broken and on the verge of weeping at his feet sent a strange thrill up Godspark’s spine. "No more… I-I swear I’ll be yours…"
"Good," said Godspark. He placed a finger on the Centurion’s lips. "Suck it," he said. The Centurion hesitated again. This time, Godspark gave him the equivalent sensation of being kicked in the nuts, and he obeyed promptly, sucking the finger into his mouth despite the lingering pain.
While the Centurion suckled on his finger, Godspark replicated the sensations in the Centurion’s cock. It was no surprise to him when the sucking became more sensual, the Centurions’ tongue flicking at the tip of his finger. When he presented a second finger, the Centurion accepted it without question and sucked even harder on the pair.
"Be good and I can make your life pleasant," said Godspark. He placed a hand on the Centurion’s head and paralyzed the hero’s body as he flooded it with ecstasy. The Centurion’s cock strained against the fabric of his costume, the hero’s face frozen in an expression of utter bliss.
The spot in the front of the Centurion’s suit grew larger, and he dropped to the ground panting when Godspark returned control of his body to him.
"However, displease me, and I will make sure to teach you a lesson you will never forget," said Godspark.
Even Marcus averted his gaze as the Centurion writhed on the floor under the impassive eyes of Godspark.
Later that evening, after the unexpected storm had passed and power was restored to the neighborhoods that had lost it during the downpour, television screens across the Commonwealth crackled to life.
In a dark room lit only by the spotlight shining down on him from above was the Centurion, who had been the buzz of the evening news. He seemed worse for wear. His face was stained with tears, and his uniform was torn in places—intimate places.
The Centurion’s iconic spear was buried point-first in the ground behind him, and his hands and legs were bound to it with thick, coarse ropes. His cock and balls dangled from a gash in the front of his suit, a tear that revealed his cobbled abs and firm, muscular chest as well.
From the darkness behind the Centurion, a figure emerged, and the hero seemed to tremble at the sound of his approach. The figure wore an ornate golden circlet upon his brow, with horns styled like lightning bolts curving up and over his head, flanges that framed his face, and a mask that hid his identity, but not the piercing, ice-blue eyes that stared straight into the camera.
The figure placed his hands on either side of the Centurion’s face. The hero flinched as lightning arced from the tips of the figure’s fingers to his skin. The hero squeezed his eyes shut and whimpered as the muscles of his stomach spasmed and cramped.
"Citizens of the Commonwealth and dear friends at the Hall of Heroes," said the figure, his tone smooth but icy enough to cut. The quirk at the corner of the figure’s lips belied the fury raging inside of him. "You may call me Godspark."
"I would have been satisfied to live among you without trouble but earlier today, one of your so-called protectors made a profound mistake." Godspark stroked the side of the Centurion’s face. "He tried to take away something that was precious to me, and I couldn’t stand by and let that happen."
"You have all seen my power. The storm earlier today was just the beginning of what I can do," said Godspark. He pressed his thumbs against the Centurion’s temples. The hero’s body locked up, and his mouth froze open in a scream. "Let me show you what else I can do. Right now, every pain receptor in this hero’s body is firing off, but I am not letting him scream or thrash. He has to suffer the agony as a prisoner in his own body, every excruciating moment of it. This is his punishment for his transgression."
Godspark released the Centurion’s temples and the hero gasped for air, tears streaming down his face. "To atone for his sins, the Centurion has pledged himself to me. This, I find pleasing, and as such I have found fit to reward him for it."
The Centurion moaned and bucked against his bindings as his cock slowly rose to fullness. He whimpered, bucking his hips, thrusting fruitlessly into the air as Godspark steadily flooded his body with pleasure. After a minute, the Centurion stiffened, his back arching, his toes curling, a long, low moan escaping him as his cock, without so much as being touched, shot spurt after spurt after spurt of thick white cum into the air.
Godspark ruffled the hero’s hair. "As you can see, the Centurion is now my creature. My pet." Godspark paused. He looked meaningfully at the camera. "If you do not wish to follow in his footsteps, you will leave me in peace."