This story is a work of fiction. Any relation to any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. This story contains male-to-male erotic scenes. If you are under the age of 18, or if it is illegal in the area in which you live to read such materials, please continue no further. This story is copyrighted by the author, and no portion of this story may be copied, distributed or republished without the author's express, written consent.
Hercules enslaved - by Catgenie [Gay Male Stories/Authoritarian]
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Chapter 11 - the mayhem
But unbeknownst to Demetrius, Hercules was not admitting defeat. Instead, the demigod was turning to his last, and perhaps most powerful, resort -- the aid of his father, the mighty Zeus. Hercules' lips moved in a silent prayer, his mind reaching out to the king of the gods, beseeching him to lend his strength to his son's struggle. The demigod's faith in his divine heritage was unwavering, and he firmly believed that even Demetrius' meticulously crafted contraption would be no match for the power of the gods. As Hercules' plea echoed through the heavens, a shimmer of energy began to emanate from the demigod's form. Demetrius, startled by this unexpected development, leaned forward, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
Suddenly, a burst of divine light enveloped Hercules, and the demigod's muscles seemed to swell with the heaven-sent power to inhuman proportion. The chains and mechanisms that had previously resisted his efforts now groaned and strained under the onslaught of his augmented strength.
Demetrius watched in stunned disbelief as Hercules, with a mighty roar, wrenched his arms and legs together, shattering the unyielding steel with a deafening shriek as if it were mere parchment. The tyrant's carefully crafted creation, his supposed triumph over the mighty Hercules, had been reduced to twisted, mangled metal in the blink of an eye, while the twenty men stumbled into a heap. The spectators gasped in awe, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and reverence as they witnessed the demigod's triumph over the tyrant's ingenious creation. Hercules stood tall, his gaze fixed upon the cowering Demetrius, a glimmer of triumph in his eyes. The tyrant's face was marked with horror, for he had underestimated the true extent of the demigod's power and the unwavering support of the gods.
Panic flashed across Demetrius' features, and he frantically waved to his henchmen. "Quickly, fools! Put that accursed collar back on him! We must contain this beast before he annihilates us all!"
But Hercules was too swift, his movements a blur as he tore the remaining chains from the collapsed contraption and broke the manacles on his ankles. With the heavy steel links still dangling from his powerful arms, the demigod turned to face Demetrius' men, his eyes blazing with righteous fury. The henchmen, sensing the demigod's wrath, hesitated, their eyes widening with fear. But their momentary pause was all the opening Hercules needed. With a swift, fluid motion, he lashed out with the chains, the steel links slicing through the air like deadly whips.
The first guard crumpled to the ground, his armor rent and his flesh lacerated by the demigod's devastating strikes. One by one, Hercules' steel-forged "whips" found their mark, the henchmen falling like dominos as they scrambled in vain to escape the hero's relentless assault.
The spectators, once enthralled by the display of Hercules' strength, now fled in terror, their screams echoing through the cavernous throne room. Demetrius, his face contorted with a mixture of fear and rage, cowered behind his throne, his eyes darting frantically as he tried to find a means of escape. The tyrant's once-confident demeanor had been shattered, replaced by a desperate, primal fear. Hercules advanced steadily, the chains in his hands swinging with a deadly grace, each strike landing with bone-shattering force. The palace guards, who had once proudly defended their tyrant, now lay strewn about the chamber, their once-formidable weapons and armor utterly useless against the demigod's wrath.
Seeing no other option, Demetrius made a break for the exit, his robes billowing behind him as he fled in terror. But Hercules was faster, his reflexes honed by years of arduous training and divine blessing. With a lightning-quick flick of his wrist, the demigod sent the heavy steel chain lashing out, the thick links snapping through the air with a resounding crack. Demetrius barely had time to react before the chain wrapped itself around his throat, the steel links constricting with merciless force. The tyrant let out a strangled gasp, his hands clawing futilely at the unyielding metal as he turned to face his pursuer. And there, towering over him, was Hercules, his massive arms flexing with inhuman strength, the bulging biceps tightening the chain with relentless, deadly purpose. Demetrius' eyes widened in pure terror as he realized the true extent of the demigod's power. In that moment, he knew that he had fatally underestimated his opponent, and that his own twisted machinations had sealed his fate. With a final, desperate gurgle, Demetrius felt the life leaving his body, the steel chain cutting off his air supply and crushing the life from him. He crumpled to the ground, lifeless, his expression forever frozen in a mask of abject horror.
The spectators watched in stunned silence as the tyrant met his demise. The demigod had proven himself to be a force to be reckoned with, a defender of justice who would not be cowed by even the most ingenious of traps. As Hercules surveyed the fallen guards and the lifeless form of Demetrius, a sense of grim satisfaction washed over him. The tyrant's reign of terror had finally been brought to an end, and the people of the land could now look forward to a future free from oppression and fear.
Hercules stood tall, his chest heaving, the chains still gripped tightly in his hands. The spectacle of his triumph over Demetrius' twisted machinations had become a testament to the power of the gods, and the unbreakable spirit of the legendary hero.
Hercules turned and strode towards the exit of the grand palace. The spectators, their faces etched with a mixture of awe and terror, hastily parted to make way for the towering demigod. Hercules paid them no heed, his mind already focused on his next objective. Glaucetas, a scourge upon the seas, was another evil that had eluded justice for far too long. The demigod knew that he must seek out this vile marauder and put an end to his reign of plunder and destruction. As the hero passed through the palace gates, the crowd outside fell silent, their eyes downcast, unwilling to meet the piercing gaze of the legendary Hercules. The air was thick with a palpable sense of fear, for the people had witnessed firsthand the sheer power and unbending determination that the demigod possessed.
Hercules paused for a moment as he torn apart the remaining manacles on his wrists, his keen senses attuned to the subtle shifts in the atmosphere around him. He could feel the trepidation of the people, their unease palpable in the heavy silence. The demigod understood their fear, for he knew that his actions had invoked both awe and terror in equal measure. Yet, Hercules firmly believed that he had delivered justice, and the people would come to terms with that. With the fire in his eyes and the blood still boiling in his veins, Hercules took huge strides out of the city, as if to escape from the ordeal of captivity and torture that kept replaying vividly in his mind. Only upon reaching the tranquility of the wilderness did his nerves start to calm down. But exhaustion swiftly kicked in as the sweat-slicked muscles of Hercules ached with a thrum. He knelt by a cool, clear stream, cupping his hands to drink deeply. The water tasted like victory, like the sweet relief of a burden lifted. As he leaned back against a moss-covered rock, his eyes closed and he fell immediately into a deep slumber.
Deep into the night, Hercules stirred, his body overburdened with aches. The searing pain from the needle wounds throbbed, a stark reminder of his ordeal. A whisper of movement, barely audible in the pitch darkness, caught his attention. His senses, sharpened by fear and adrenaline, strained to make sense of the shadows. Then, six figures materialized, their forms slowly emerging from the ethereal light filtering through the trees. They were young men, their faces and bodies sculpted with a perfection that defied mortal standards. Their skin shimmered like polished marble, and their eyes, pools of fathomless depth, seemed to pierce his very soul.