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As the bell stirred, sending its dull reverberations all about the shrine shifting ash from its well-trodden steps, so too did the Fire Keeper. She had been slumbering, or rather resting, her mind occupied with what some might consider to be the kind of peace achieved through intense meditation. Nestled there on those ash covered steps among the burnt-out embers of generations of flame and cinder, a faint smile appeared on her dainty porcelain face.
The bell of awakening, a sound unfamiliar to her ears and yet its meaning solidified at once in her mind. She had read scriptures, or rather had scriptures recited to her by the Fire Keeper before her, instructions to prepare her for the arrival of those she would inevitably serve. She repeated her predecessor’s words in her soft sweet tone, her fingertips exploring and tidying her soft silken hair as she did so. The bell would toll when the fire was threatened, when lords need be laid to rest and the fire restored. This was why she was here, why this sacred role had befallen her. Finally, her time had come to fulfill her purpose.
She would be lying if she said she wasn’t excited, if a little nervous. Firelink was her home, and even if the shrine was scarcely used let alone graced by guests; she still took great pride in it. Of course, being blind, there was little she could do to actually maintain its visage or tend to its somewhat crumbling condition. Rather as her role, and indeed soul, was that or a Fire Keeper she was as much a part of the shrine as the steps she now sat upon. As such, it befell to her to keep the once welcoming and well needed respite of the shrine very much alive and well, through her words and actions alone. This was a responsibility she had not just as a Fire Keeper, but to honor those Fire Keeper’s before her too who had not been so blessed as to witness the rousing of the Unkindled and Lords of Cinder alike. She was remarkably fortunate, and though her excitement threatened to bubble to the surface, she did her best to maintain a traditional stoic and professional appearance.
Though the position of Fire Keeper was sacred and revered, that wasn’t to say it was all sunshine and roses. Forced to maintain an elegant silver mask that sapped her of her sight, she had been rendered blind for much of her adult life. At first it had frightened her, almost succumbing to the sweet siren song of abandoning her post even at the expense of forsaking her duties, but as she grew accustomed to traversing the ash-covered building around her she soon found herself forgetting what benefit the gift of sight had ever given her. She had support of course, having made acquaintances of the spinster that acted as somewhat of a caretaker and that of a burly looking blacksmith who had taken refuge from the hostile world outside the Shrine’s walls. He had set up a small forge in the rear of the building, and though it was not strictly permitted according to her teachings, as the maiden of the Shrine she extended her kindness to him by allowing him to stay in exchange for the pleasant company. He was hardly chatty of course, much like the ancient Handmaid, but the rhythmic hammering of his anvil helped stave off any thoughts of loneliness, nonetheless.
It seemed the residents of the shrine along with those who rarely graved it’s walls viewed her as something less than human, not out of malice or spite of course and most were very polite but rather it seemed that her devotion and commitment to the shrine portrayed her as merely an extension of the building itself. It seemed that even those from far off lands held the title of ‘Fire Keeper’ in high regard, and would extend to her their respect but unfortunately for her, never their friendliness; No one had so much as asked for her name in all the years she had tended to this Shrine. In fact, in recent years she had taken to periodically walking, or rather wading, into the very depths of the Shrine where her voice could not be heard by the other inhabitants. Softly, as if tending to a fragile flame that might flicker and fade if she were too loud, she spoke her own name. It was pleasant in her well-trained and well-rehearsed tone of voice, both the demeanor and dialect of a Fire Keeper being something of great importance instilled in her at a very early age, and every time she spoke it she couldn’t help but smile with a renewed sense of identity and self-worth.
Her name was Amelia. And while she shouldn’t remember that, while she should strive to be a perfect, hollow vessel for humanity, she clung to that name. That was her.
There was no time for such personal dalliances now however, reminding herself that she should prepare for the coming of the no doubt countless unkindled soon to grace her shrine. She was told they would be undead, incapable of death and singularly fixated on finding and rekindling the first flame, and that she must do all in her power to support them in this endeavor. She knew the importance of her role and though she was no fighter, she could assist these warriors in many other ways. She was to provide insight, to aid with transportation, and to act as a crucible through which wayward souls may be instilled unto the undead in the form of great power. It was an ancient magic and all but lost to even those who reveled in the pursuit of arcane knowledge, which was no small part as to why her and all those before her were so well respected as keepers of the flame.
As the hours passed following those unmistakable tolls of a far-off bell, she began to feel a little nervous. She was no fool; she knew the outside world was hazardous and fraught with evil. But the Unkindled were undead, were they not? The loss of one’s body through physical injury was but an inconvenience to such soulless beings, so surely at least one of them should have made their way to her safe haven by now. She got up from the steps, pacing slowly in small concentric circles around the bonfire at the shrine’s center. With her sight removed she found her senses almost supernaturally heightened and subsequently even otherwise imperceptible sensations, such as the bottom of her dress sifting slowly through the ash at her feet with every step, to be pleasant and enjoyable. She hummed quietly to herself to calm her nerves, wondering which of the flittering cinders on their way to her home might arrive first, and which of them would carry a coiled sword in their possession.
The fire at the center of the shrine was ceremonial, yes, but it hadn’t served its purpose for generations. It had been lit of course near nightly, providing a warm embrace next to which she could nestle down next to and sleep the cold away, but its real purpose was that of tethering a soul. The undead, with whatever semblance of a soul they harbored within them still, would find themselves restored from the very ashes of these fires should they fall in battle. That was provided it contained a coiled sword from which the fire would be eternally stoked. It was said these swords were forged at the site of the very first flame itself, but as to the validity of these claims she was unsure. All she knew was that Firelink had gone without its kindred sword for far too long, and she hoped it would soon be reunited with the fire pit she had so loyally tended to all these years.
Hearing heavy footsteps, those telltale clanks of armor-clad feet against the cold stone floor, she paused her walk and straightened her back. Taking a few moments, able to tell from their echoes around the walls that whomever this first unkindled was had not descended the steps down to the main steps yet, she dusted off her dress and allowed a pleasant welcoming smile upon her lips in preparation for their meeting. She went over the words in her head, unspoken and yet practiced a hundred times over, the introduction she had been trained to speak. Her lips moved in anticipation as the footsteps drew nearer, her heart beating hard in her chest, her hands held against her bosom ready to extend her greeting to the new guest.
“Welcome to the bonfire, Unkindled one. I am th-”
Blackness. Though not of vision, of the mind. A percussive jolt of disruptive absence that ruptured her very thoughts and left blood replacing the words that had been at her lips. Dazed and disorientated, all she could manage was an animalistic grunt of desperation as air was forced from her lungs as her back collided with the stone floor. It felt like hours of silence, devoid of thought and comprehension, her entire being brimming with the singular unsettling feeling of confusion and fear. Had she been struck? As the nerve endings in her face slowly had their voices heard over the sweet serene silence of shock, the pain came to her. Her nose throbbed, as did her lip. The hot wet now adorning her lips and chin, her nose bloodied and lip thoroughly split, indicated to her what she had feared. She was being attacked.
Her mind raced with questions. Why? Who? Had some errant beast or brigand somehow pierced the protective veil of the shrine? She wanted to call out, knowing the Handmaid was likely sleeping not far off, that Andre was undoubtedly hammering away on some new project at the far reaches of the building. As her mouth opened, all that left her lips were pained gasps and retches as her lungs heaved hard to be filled with air once more. Her back arched, her hands covering her face in an effort to defend herself from whoever or whatever was attacking her. To her dismay, she found herself knowing the identity or rather the status of her attacker, even before he reached down to roughly grasp her wrist. This was no deranged hollow nor hound, this was indeed the Unkindled one.
She found herself being dragged along the floor, too shocked and gasping for breath to try pull away from his grasp nor reach out for something to stop herself. This was wrong. She was supposed to be a matronly figure, a light of guidance and comfort in the otherwise dismal quest undead such as this had to undertake. Why had he attacked her? Her mind raced with what she might have done or said wrong, second guessing her teachings. Was she supposed to introduce herself first? Had he mistaken her for one of the many wandering hollows outside? Where was he dragging her to? The fierce strength of his hand around her dainty wrist filled her with fear as to his intentions, still reeling from what she assumed to be nothing more than a simple punch.
“Unk-k-indled one, urgh-” She found the unfamiliar taste of blood deeply unpleasant, fighting not to spit out the substantial amount that had pooled in her mouth from her nose and lips just yet in an effort to get her words out swiftly. “I am a Fire Keeper, I tend to the fla-”
“Shut up.” Was the blunt and brutish reply she received, an evident lack of care or respect for her title made clear by his irritated tone and continued manhandling of her. She found herself being dragged up the stone steps, her back impacting each well-worn slab and forcing yet more oxygen from her lungs. Her dress was now heavy with ash, as was her hair and shawl, desperately reaching out to try and grasp at the stonework to prevent being dragged any farther. Her fingers gripped the final step and for a brief moment she managed to stop her ascent, but any semblance of relief was torn from her immediately as the undead simply lifted her by her wrist off of the ground entirely. Her arm was yanked unpleasantly, as if about to tear and pull loose from her body, finding herself lifted to her feet which slipped and skidded on the ash covered floor.
The journey she had been forced upon had disorientated her, and the layout of her shrine which had long since become second nature was rendered hostile and foreign to her sightless being. Breathing heavily, gripping her well bruised wrist that had for the moment been released, she tried to orient herself by forming a mental image of the path he had taken her. This attempt at discovering her position proved quickly fruitless, realizing that she had no idea which direction she had fallen after being dealt a blow to the face. For the first time in a very long time, she was well and truly blind. Utterly helpless and afraid in her own home. Any thought of perceived comfort and calm that might have blossomed from the knowledge that she could not die, at least not while the flame persisted, was quickly snuffed out by the very real pain she continued to feel in her face and wrist. It was then that the morbid realization set in for the first time, that being free from death did not make her free from harm.
She had just enough time to wipe some of the blood from her split lip off of her chin, arms held close against her chest in instinctual protection of her vitals, before she received another much stronger blow. The source of this impact was no mystery however, feeling the distinct shape of a heavily armored boot bludgeon her back and force her sprawling forwards. She wasn’t falling long however, able to locate herself instantly as her stomach collided painfully with one of the thrones overlooking the fire pit. The wind was sucked from her once more, a barely audible cry of pain wheezing from her lips. What was the purpose of this violence? Was she not satisfactory for him? She had expected indentured servitude, but never once had she entertained the possibility of senseless abuse. The kick had been brutal, almost as if trying to snap her spine in twain, and for a moment all she could do was grip the throne in fearful panic as tears welled in her eyes.
Expecting another blow at any moment, all Amelia could think to do was remain still. Perhaps it was her resistance to his grasp that had prompted such a violent response and attempting to move would only incur further beating. She wanted to try speaking, the determination instilled in her from years upon years of training, feeling obligated to welcome the unkindled properly even if he was barbaric and cruel. After all, it was her purpose, her reason for being. She bit her lip as tears began to trace her delicate pale cheeks, red raised bruising already beginning to show along her cheekbones, worried that perhaps it was her voice that had angered the man. Her mind raced alongside her heart, trying desperately to formulate some kind of explanation, desperately searching her actions for some flaw or error that might be responsible for such violence against her person. There had to be a reason, didn’t there?
There was the sound of shifting metal, as something heavy and iron sounding fell with a resonant thud to the cold stone floor behind her. Amelia sniffled, trying her best to remain silent, shaking uncontrollably though whether from the beating, the shock, or the mounting dread, she could not tell. He clearly was not mindless, for he had spoken to her, so there had to be a reason-
She gasped as she felt hands move up from her ankles towards her lower back, carrying with them her dress. His reason was now made clear. Her legs trembled and she fought the urge to scream or shout out for help, though could not muster the courage to utter a sound. She was here to serve the unkindled and she could feel in her bosom that this man, no matter how monstrous, was indeed one which she had to serve. It wasn’t so much a matter of morals, of personal preference or opinion, or even that of her own free will. She was a Fire Keeper. That was a role that shaped not only her mind but her very soul, intertwining it with any ashen one who graced her shrine by way of indentured servitude. But was this really something she must endure? Was he really about to…?
Her body trembled with fear as rough hands gripped her underwear, practically ripping the delicate white linen in an animalistic jerking motion that only succeeded in pulling them halfway down her legs. She was exposed, humiliated, her privates put on show for this complete stranger to see. This wasn’t right. She shouldn’t be… he shouldn’t be… Tears continued to stream down her face, the helplessness of her situation beginning to truly set in. Even as the adrenaline in her veins screamed at her to fight back, to resist, to scream out for help, she knew she could not. Even if her soul were not bound to this undead, what could she reasonably do? If she called out he’d hurt her again, and she certainly couldn’t physically escape. No, his strength was of magnitudes greater than her own, that much was made clear by the still aching wounds rapidly swelling upon her face. To try to physically resist would be a fool’s errand.
It seemed all she could reasonably do was clench her eyes shut, telling herself that if the Unkindled willed it, it was her job to provide. No matter how many times she tried to convince herself of this, the fear didn’t dissipate. It became clear that the heavy sound of metal against stone earlier had been him dothing some of his armor, as he now laughed as his heavy manhood was laid atop her ass and lower back. She gasped, and apparently this was enough for him to think she might struggle as immediately he leaned forward over her and placed a meaty hand forcefully against the back of her neck. Her face was pushed down hard, her features pressed uncomfortably against the dusty seat of the throne with her body contorted uncomfortably over the steep arm of the chair he had bent her over. Her toes now barely reached the floor, struggling to maintain some semblance of balance. She anticipated fingers, perhaps even his tongue, but was granted no such luxury.
The undead pinning her in place seemed to deem foreplay wholly unnecessary, using his thumb to easily spread her supple pale cheeks as he positioned the head of his cock at her entrance. This movement and subsequent feeling sparked renewed panic in the Fire Keeper, like a lamb hearing the baying of wolves for the very first time. She was being taken against her will. Her body trembled fiercely with a sickening fear, only succeeding in getting her face held harder against the uncomfortable dusty stonework. He pushed forward with his hips, her seemingly ill-equipped opening providing a frustrating amount of resistance to the man’s attempted penetration, after all there was scarce lubrication given how the maiden before him was anything but turned on. For a blissful moment of foolish optimism, Amelia thought he might be too big for her to accommodate and might let her off with just the beating she had received thus far. That was until she felt the splash of his spit against her entrance, her fingers clenching uncomfortably as she felt him push his way inside of her.
There was some give, something apparently reprehensible to the man looming over her, as he adjusted his grip to be reached underneath her with his hands wrapped about her throat. The sensation of having her airways restricted was new to her, causing her to gurgle in an attempt to scream, panic pushing any prior resolve to endure this event from her mind. The tightness about her throat only increased as he pulled her fiercely towards him, causing a near unbearable pressure against her pussy. He pulled harder still, threatening to bend her spine back upon itself and permanently collapse her windpipe, before with a wet slapping sound her body was forced to accommodate his cock. Tears streamed down her face, vision beginning to blur as a fresh pain erupted from within her. The feeling of his cock head against her labia had not prepared her body nor mind for how well-endowed he was, feeling as if she had been unnaturally impaled as its girth threatened to rip her cunt apart. The lack of lubrication beyond the man’s vile saliva meant that every twitch and push against her insides was unpleasant and almost agonizing.
She thought he had thrust her up to his hilt, alarmed to find him pressing harder still both against her throat and the back of her thighs, threatening her consciousness as he strained against her entrance. He pushed another half an inch inside of her, a guttural though stifled whimper of pain springing forth from her restricted throat prompted by the bludgeon-like manhood now crammed against her cervix. The ache was unbearable, feeling as if she was well and truly being split in twain. Thankfully, his grip on her throat faltered allowing her to gasp down raspy breaths, instead finding his powerful hand move to the back of her head smashing it back down against the seat of the throne. The impact emphasized the gash already upon her lips, feeling a fresh trickle of heated crimson dripping down her chin. His other hand grabbed her slender waist, now holding her still as he began earnestly beating at the entrance to her womb with his girth. As she whimpered and tried to suppress the sobs beginning to wrack her ravaged body, she tried not to think about the warm ichor slowly dripping down her inner thigh from her genitals.
She was a virgin, as the Unkindled pinning her against the stone surely gathered by the crimson now staining his cock. Part of the ceremony surrounding a Fire Keeper was that they should be chaste, supposedly the air of purity of an unsullied woman aided in their ability to tend the flames. This fact seemed forced into her mind, alongside the cock stretching her uncomfortably open, as she silently sobbed. The pain seemed to egg on the humiliation she felt, unable to shake a feeling of failure in her role despite the fact her virginity was being robbed of her and had not been given up of her own accord. She hated the experience, she hated the feeling, and she hated that her own body seemed to be betraying her. Despite the pain and discomfort, the friction and pressure against her sensitive walls had mercifully prompted some lubrication though at the expense of her shame and disgust. She was repulsed that there was some semblance of pleasure being forced upon her, unable to appreciate the slight relief to the pain inflicted by each thrust due to her mind being thoroughly clouded with guilt.
Her nails grasped and scraped against the seat of the throne, the pressure of his hand against the back of her skull becoming an increasing concern, her head a mere sparrow’s egg when compared to the destructive potential of his strength. She closed her eyes tight and bit her bloodied lip, able to taste iron and dust. The ferocity of his thrusts grew more alarming, with each movement into her depths threatening to topple her over the arm of the chair. All at once he stopped, both arms firmly about her buttocks, squeezing firmly so that his nails were dug into her skin. His cock was crammed into her impossibly tight cunt as deep as it could go, pulsing within her. She lay in an uncomfortable heap, face down in a puddle of tears and blood, as her rapist’s seed began dribbling messily down the back of her thighs.
He wasn’t one to hang around evidently, his meaty cock slopping out of her with an audibly wet sound as a deluge of liquid lust dripped messily to the floor below. He stood just behind her for a moment, Amelia assuming he was admiring his wretched handiwork, surprising her as he laughed and spanked her ass painfully. It may as well have been a punch with the effort he threw into it, sending a spike of shock up her spine and immediately forming a sore welt across her pale rear. Removing his hands from her entirely, she slumped down towards him over the seat, kneeling in the messy ash now soaked with crimson and cream as she fought to suppress her sobs.
“World’s full of fucking idiots if you’ve managed to go this long without getting dicked down good and hard. You chaste prudes always have the tightest cunts.” He marveled, spitting at her which soaked into the disheveled dress still hiked halfway up her back. She cowered, keeping her head down, daring not to utter a reply. Even in her distressed state she was keenly aware of the sharp drop to her side down into the fire pit below, and as such she gripped the throne tightly expecting a kick in that direction at any moment. No such kick came, however. Instead, she felt the iron kiss of steel on her neck for an instant before the sharp blade cut it out.
The Fire Keeper tried to gasp but no noise came out as her blood poured from the wound, staining the stone throne beneath her. Disinterested in the woman he had just raped and murdered, the man simply laughed at the dying woman before him, the steadily distant sound of his heavy footfalls indicating that for the time being at least he had headed deeper into the shrine.
Amelia knew cold for the first time since she had been given to fire as she bled, the drip drip drip of her life ebbing away. She didn’t have vision to go dark… but even so, her awareness of the world seemed to fade, terror taking her mind despite herself.
Then Amelia was gone.
And then she was back, gasping, rising… her wounds restored, her body pristine once more. One of her hands flew to her throat… it still stung from the wound. She could still feel the blood there, but… but she couldn’t die. She was bound to this place, and until the fire was prepared to allow her to die and the humanity within her to feed the flame, she would return.
Still, she lay there for long seconds, unwilling to movie as she heard the echo of the Unkindled One’s boots through the shrine. When they were sufficiently muffled, far enough away to risk movement, Amelia slowly turned around so that she was sat with her back against the side of the throne. She could already feel the bruising beginning to form on her back and rear, unable to find any semblance of comfort from her sitting position. She was still sat in a combination of the man’s vile lust and her life blood, the smell of salt and iron utterly repulsive to her. Her privates still ached and gaped, the last of his juices spilling messily to the floor below as she struggled to pull her panties back on. Having hidden her shame, her dress lowered around her though doing little to disguise the shaking frame beneath, she began running her trembling hands through her golden hair in an effort to comfort herself. It took a few moments of quivering and sobbing, using her shawl to absorb her tears and wails, before any semblance of composure began steadily creeping back into her mind.
She tried to suppress the thought of any long-term effects of such reckless lust, for the moment at least, finding her mind able to more bearably focus on the immediate options before her. He had beaten and raped her, but he was still the Ashen One. He was destined to rekindle the flame, to take on the lords of cinder, and for him to do so he would need her aid. She came to the realization that perhaps her role was beyond that of serving this monster, but rather of serving the interests of humanity as a whole through her aid provided to him. This thought offered no comfort, only serving to amplify the intense nausea crippling her ravaged frame. She crossed her arms over her stomach, rocking backwards and forwards slightly as if an infant, allowing her mind to go blank for a few blissful moments and her consciousness to drift away and allow her some semblance of comfort.
After catching her breath and allowing her resolve to trickle back slowly into her being, she found herself possessing the strength to stand once more despite her shaky bruised legs. Her back complained, her cheeks and lips still torn and swollen, but she found herself able to force the frown into something more neutral and hopefully unprovocative. She had to keep her composure, showing weakness or resistance would surely only result in further torment after all. She took a deep breath, fighting the urge to wince as every step seemed to pull at her rearranged insides; the blows to her cervix aching more than those to her body. Carefully, she descended the stairs on shaky legs, stumbling slightly as she came to rest by the central bonfire. She could hear his footsteps still and she guessed that after finding the shrine devoid of other women to plunder, he would soon return to her. She straightened her dress and did her best to tidy her now ash covered hair. She had a duty to this man, and she intended on making her purpose known. His footsteps grew in volume until she was certain he was only mere feet away, reminding herself that he could not hurt her.
“Uh…” She paused, fear gripping her heart for a brief moment of indecision before balling her hands into fists at her side and mustering just enough will to power through the interaction. “Unkindled, I am a Fire Keeper and to this end I am to serve at your side,” She began, a small spark of pride in her unwavering tone of voice despite the trauma still fresh in her mind.
“You’re still fucking dumb enough to be talking? Trust a dumb blonde cunt not to learn her lesson the first time…” he retorted, his tone as harsh as his treatment of her had been thus far and though she could not see him, Amelia sensed he had raised his hand in preparation of another punch.
She flinched as her surprisingly stalwart stance faltered, and her tone slipped into something more akin to desperation. “A-as a Fire Keeper, I may assist you in your endeavors! I can imbue you with great strength if yo-urgh” Her plea was cut short by familiarly brutish fingers about her throat, threatening to lift her dainty form off of the ground entirely as he held her in his grasp. Adrenaline forced its way through her body in an instant as despair caused any hope of a successful negotiation to dwindle. Her eyes clenched closed beneath her mask anticipating a fist at any moment, but as she struggled for air, she was surprised to find his grip loosen and his fingers to grip her instead by her cheeks. She could feel his hot sickly breath against her face, leaving her to assume that he was studying her features uncomfortably closely.
“Are you taking the piss, pretty girl? Was my demonstration of strength not enough for you? Very well, I guess I’ll just have to break that cunt of yours proper-” He was cut off, much to his surprise, the dainty blonde in his grasp speaking in what was more akin to a fearful squeak than the pretentious tone she’d first addressed him with.
“N-no! The Lords of Cinder! That is thy quest, and without my boon an undead such as yourself, even as strong as you are, would struggle to bear the burden of the task at hand!” She almost screamed, blindsided by a fierce slap across her face that from the force alone assured her that she now bore a raised red handprint upon her pale cheek.
“Watch your tongue you wretch, I’ve gutted men for less and you’re fucking lucky there isn’t another pretty little hole around here for me to tear up otherwise…” He paused, chuckling as Amelia whimpered in his grasp, evidently expecting another slap. He held her roughly by the jaw, tilting her head up, seeming to savor the sight of tears streaming down her bruised face from beneath her intricate mask.
“What possible strength could you give me then, you frail bitch? You volunteering to be a new sheath for my sword? You couldn’t fight off a three-legged mongrel let alone the shit I’ve butchered getting here.” He tormented, the nastiness and vulgarity of his word choices falling flat for the meantime however as Amelia was simply grateful, he seemed to be considering her proposition.
“Errant souls of those you’ve slain, Unkindled One! I-I may imbue your body with strength steeped from their source, improve upon any characteristic you desire, you only need ask for I-” She was struck again, a second open-hand strike meeting it’s mark upon her cheek, though noticeably less firmly than before. It was as if the callous man viewed such an action as the proper way to interject, viewing physical assault as a worthy replacement for any verbal objection.
“I’m not going to ask you shit, you’re going to do whatever the fuck power-imbuing magic that slutty little body of yours possesses, and you’re going to do it when you’re told to. Hey, if I think it’s worth my time, maybe I’ll even keep you around as more than a place to dump my cum.” He explained, his tone less angry than before and instead taking on more of a stern degrading lilt, indicating exceptional joy in his sustained mockery of her. Amelia felt hot humiliation in her cheeks, but at the mention of his intentions to take her physically again even despite this revelation of her usefulness, she felt she had to do something. She was bound to him, so if he wanted to rape her again there was very little she could do to stop him. But perhaps she could convince him to be less violent, at the very least.
“As a Fire Keeper, I am bound to thee Ashen one. Thou may do what thou want of me, be it making use of my powers or satisfying other more… physical desires. I am at thy service and shall do as thou requests.” She explained, and even though the intent was to spare her further physical assault, the words still filled her with shame as they left her lips. She closed her eyes tight, expecting a third and hopefully final strike, but none came. Unbeknownst to Amelia, the Unkindled was actually grinning. His silence seemed to her to mean he was puzzling something over, or perhaps deciding what next horrid action to inflict upon her next. As it turned out, he was doing both.
“Yeah? Well if you’re going to be a willing slut, then better start right fucking now so you get in my good graces after being such a frigid bitch and making me do all the work when I stuffed you full of cock earlier. Get down on your knees, Fire cunt.” He instructed, leaving only a moment for the Fire Keeper to dwell on the request, before pushing aggressively down on her shoulders. Her legs, already weakened and fragile from the aforementioned forced fornication, buckled immediately and she sank to her knees. A small whimper left her lips as her knees came to rest against the ash covered floor, prompting a sadistic smirk from the undead currently manhandling her.
“My own personal Fire-keeping-slut, what a shitty prize. Would have stayed dead if I knew you were the bitch I’d get for my efforts. Name’s Kerris by the way, but you don’t get to fucking address me unless I tell you to. Now are you going to start fucking sucking or am I going to have to pin you down and fuck your throat. You left a hell of a mess on my cock, so take some responsibility, whore.” The undead instructed, Amelia not needing eyes to know he had pulled his cock free of his trousers and was undoubtedly rock hard before her. She could practically smell it, that salty smell of sex that turned her stomach and made her insides ache from the associated experience now forever burned into her memory. She opened her mouth nervously, for though she knew she was about to degrade herself beyond what she had ever imagined experiencing, she felt a small victory in being allowed some autonomy in her actions.
She moved her head forward slowly, her tongue gingerly moving to touch the tip of his penis. The taste was immediate, faintly sweet and strange, she tried not to think about the fact it was her own lubrication. Having never done anything like this before, quite literally having never seen a person’s manhood before, she didn’t quite know what she was doing. The thought of prompting further smacking or kicking however forced her to try her hardest to emulate what had clearly pleased him before: moving her lips back and forward along his cock. For a moment, she was able to take his silence as a win with the assumption that she was satisfying him. The taste now coated her tongue, and though she tried not to dwell on it lest the shame of her actions overwhelm her, she couldn’t help but recognize the familiar iron tang of blood on his shaft. He had stolen her virginity by brutally tearing her hymen, so the presence of some blood wasn’t exactly unexpected, but the fact she was being forced to taste it was appalling to her. She had to fight hard not to gag, swallowing the mess down as quick as she could.
However, her zeal for cleaning his cock was apparently far from satisfactory for her new Unkindled master. No sooner had she flinched from his rough hand now placed at the back of her head, than had her lips been forced against the base of his cock. The entirety of his length invaded her throat with an alarmingly effortless plunge, her eyes watering immediately and her chest jerking and twitching as she gagged from the need to breathe. This didn’t seem to deter or even phase Kerris in the slightest, maintaining his hold of her head for what seemed to her as an eternity. Her tongue was forced against the bottom of her mouth, the taste of salt and sweat bitter and unpleasant. Her consciousness was consumed by the need for air, and her head began to throb, and her body tensed and struggled. She wanted to push away, her survival instinct taking over her rational thought, but her soul was bound to his and even this fierce desire for freedom could not muster any resistance from her. After a short time, he released his grip, laughing heartily as she coughed and spluttered, a deluge of thick bubbly saliva spilling from her lips down onto her dress.
“Like that, see. You take the whole damn thing, or you don’t take it at all. You fucking chaste bimbos are useless I swear…” He commented harshly, a not so veiled threat in his voice as his hand withdrew from her head and came to rest on the pommel of his sword. Amelia got the message, taking a moment to catch her breath before reluctantly pushing her head forward once more. His cock was now well-lubed with her own spit, any and all of her own cervical juices having now disappeared down her gullet. The turgid trunk of his cock proved troublesome to accommodate of her own free will however and she found herself struggling hard to push even half of its length into her throat. Her eyes watered vehemently, and the tears mixed with the blood of her battered nose as it dripped down her chin. Fighting against every urge to stop, every spasm of her chest and throat as she suppressed her retching, she reluctantly took him one more into her throat.
For a time, Amelia assumed her new master was pleased with her oral endeavor, a shameful though faint pride in her bosom at having completed the task as instructed. As she began to move her head backwards to free up her airways once more, that assumption turned to fear as his hand violently gripped a large ball of her silken hair. Her hope for fresh air was denied as he yanked her forward, her forehead pressed uncomfortably against his gut. She winced and just as she was about to come to terms with the renewed depth at which his manhood now resided, she found her head yanked backwards until the head of his member lay perched between her lips. She struggled for air, choking and panting as she unintentionally sucked down her own messy saliva, her desire for oxygen left unsatisfied as he yanked her forward once more. Her hair balled tight in his fist acted as an excellent hand hold, with Kerris making thorough use of such a discovery as he used her pretty face as nothing more than a toy to fuck.
“Fuck sake, I ask you to do one fucking thing and I end up having to do it myself. Useless bitch, your powers better be more pleasing than your throat because holy shit.” He paused, holding her firm against his crotch as he smirked, watching her face turning delightful shades of sickly pale blue. Holding her still for just a moment longer, and then another, feeling her frame tremble and start to convulse; he threw her off of his cock with a flourish of his wrist and sent her sprawling onto the floor. She choked and wheezed in the ash, struggling not to faint as oxygenated blood began steadily circulating her body once more. Disoriented once more, she reached out only to gasp as her fingertips met the unlit bonfire at the center of the shrine. The Unkindled must have noticed her reaction, stepping towards her as he inspected the firepit.
“I take it this is of some importance then?” He asked impatiently, half a mind to kick the mount of ash and bone across the floor, only stopping himself in case such an action might remove the aforementioned ability for her to. Amelia, still bereft of adequate breath, simply nodded. Though Kerris was cruel beyond words and undoubtedly one of the most unpleasant men to grace the kingdom of Lothric, he evidently wasn’t unintelligent. Seeing the lightly smoldering embers swirling about the hollow center of the ashen construct and having already noted the same effect on the coiled sword he had retrieved before discovering the shrine, it was no mystery where the sword belonged. He plunged it into the pyre without warning, the bonfire springing to life in a flood of warmth that would have singed the Fire Keeper’s skin had she not been able to scramble successfully back. She swallowed hard, for though she was suffering, she saw an opportunity for momentary peace in this discovery. After all, the training and lectures she had received from her predecessor meant she knew exactly what this particular bonfire’s purpose was.
“Ashen one, thou hast-” She paused, hacking and wheezing as she covered her mouth with her sleeve, her lungs fighting to rid themselves of the dust and debris she had inadvertently inhaled. “You have produced the coiled sword, stoking the bonfire. Thou can travel onwards to High Lothric, so that thou might pursue the lords of cinder and return them to their throne” She explained, her highly formal tone faltering slightly as the abuse began to wear her down both mentally and physically. By his silence she assumed him to be pondering its use, or perhaps even contemplating the truth of her words; whatever the case, the prospect of being so close to being rid of him for a time yet having to wait further seemed to sap her of her energy. She squeaked and adrenaline more than overcompensated for the rapid onset of exhaustion as fear pulsed through her body once more; she had been picked up.
His strength frightened her, only feeling one hand on the back of her dress as he lifted her into the air. She clenched her eyes shut and gritted her teeth expecting to be throne, kicked, or much, much worse. Her hands moved protectively up in front of her face, which turned out to be a mistake given that he had dropped her just as soon as picking her up. She managed to catch herself on all fours, a fierce unexpected heat mere inches from her face. As she tried to back up away from the central fire he had evidently placed her right in front of, she felt a now familiar thick shape resting against the small of her back. Her wrists and legs turned to jelly in anticipation of him ravaging her again, wincing at the uncomfortable heat of the fire caressing her face. In a flash his hands had lifted her dress and grasped her rear, effortlessly tearing the sodden fabric of her underwear to expose her lightly swollen cunt. She could tell just by how it ached that he had been merciless in his pounding, the prospect of her once-virgin pussy being used once more forming tears in her eyes.
“Ok so, great I can travel now. But I don’t want to travel right now. What I want is to fucking cum, like I expected to when fucking that pretty mouth of yours… But since that thick fucking skull can’t seem to comprehend basic instruction and you’re too fucking weak to commit to actually taking my cock into your throat like a good slut, I guess it’s up to me to satisfy my desires once again. Here’s an idea, after I’ve finished up slaughtering more gargantuan dickheads in armor and accumulated more souls, why don’t you try not being an unreliable little shit and do as you’re told. Here, I’ll even make it easy:”
As he spoke, he slapped her ass hard causing her to whimper, involuntarily moving forward closer to the flames before quickly backing into him once more to escape the heat.
“In my presence, you’re not to wear fucking anything. In fact, you can burn that ugly dress the moment I’m done with you. The mask can stay, means there’s less of your face to look at after all.” He laughed, spanking her hard once more and immediately causing a raised handprint similar to the one currently adorning her face. She braced herself as his cock moved off of her back and took up position behind her. She anticipated the feeling of her labia being forced apart once more, gasping as she instead found his cock perched at her asshole. Even whilst slick with her saliva and a fair amount of precum, he couldn’t seem to penetrate her, however.
She was thankful for a brief moment, hoping that perhaps she would be incapable of hosting his manhood in such an inappropriate hole. She would take being vaginally penetrated any day over being defiled in such a dirty entrance that was never intended for such a purpose. She feared it would hurt considerably more than the bludgeoning against her cervix, and tried to shift her hips to encourage him into her still-dripping cunt. Kerris was undeterred, simply grasping her by the hips and pushing harder. To his delight, her positioning was perfect for such delightful violation of her person, as the harder he pushed against her the harder she pushed back; desperately trying to keep her face away from the fire.
As a result of her struggling and the persistent presence of his cock pressing against her asshole, she soon found her entry parted unpleasantly and stifled a whimper as she felt the head of his cock enter her body. While his invasion of her pussy had been deeply unpleasant, there had been at least the small comfort of it feeling naturally, something she had not realised until so unnaturally penetrated in this way. It was as if her body were just an implement of pleasure, using whatever avenue he saw fit to please himself. There was no pleasure, no matter how shameful, to be found in this position. With every thrust he pushed deeper and with every subsequent movement of her body forwards she winced from the hot air against her face. She could smell the ends of her golden hair beginning to smolder and singe as it repeatedly swayed out over the flames.
Tears streamed her face, once again feeling as if she were being torn apart by his girthy member, feeling a keen pressure in her gut as he was able to plunge even deeper into her rear than he had been able to using her restrictive cunt. There was no cervix here to halt his fun, able to bottom out and feel her entire frame quivering with sobs around his manhood, free to violate her depths unrestricted. The painful experience may have been a blessing in disguise for the poor tortured Fire Keeper however, as her exceedingly tight rectum was quick to squeeze out the frustrated orgasm her throat had unintentionally stoked within him. The experience of being filled was much more unpleasant however, having her face yanked back by his meaty fist grabbing at her hair in an attempt to ensure his load be shot as deep as humanly possible inside of her. She whimpered and pleaded silently for him to let go, physically unable to voice any protest, the brief few seconds of his selfish orgasm feeling like an eternity to the fragile woman.
As he pulled out, he was pleased to see no deluge of lust like he had with her pussy, evidently having succeeded in depositing his semen deep enough that she’d be carrying it around in her long after he’d left. Amelia could feel it too, an uncomfortable heavy hotness in her stomach, an intense feeling of shame she wanted desperately to be rid of. Finally, he released his grip on her hair, laughing heartily as he pulled up his trousers and watched her scamper on all fours away from the flames. He could see the tips of her hair smoking, rolling his eyes as she proceeded to try to roll down her dress. It seemed that despite her apparent blindness, she could somehow sense his eyes upon her and knew what was expected of her. Unable to stand courtesy of her aching legs, she pulled her dress clumsily up over her body and removed her shawl. She was skinnier than he had supposed under all that cloth, and he couldn’t help but smile at the bruising clearly visible on her knees.
“There, so you do have a use, you can be my cock warmer and cum depository. Do yourself a favor and burn those fucking clothes and do whatever you need to do to prepare for imbuing me with soul-magic-shit before I get back because I’m going to go outplay whatever dumb cunt is next.” He instructed, a smirk stuck firm on his face as he watched a frown appear on hers. He wanted to wait around to watch her burn her dress, but he’d gotten all the sexual satisfaction he needed for the moment and was sorely in need of some post-coitus slaughtering.
With an innate knowledge of the arcane bonfire, courtesy of his status as an Unkindled, he crouched down and touched the coiled sword and Amelia could sense at once that he had used it to transport deeper into Lothric. It took a few moments, sitting in the solemn silence of her shrine turned home, before the feelings began to catch up to her. She hugged her knees to her chest, sobbing silently as she curled herself up into a ball and lay down in the ash around her.
She was bound to the Ashen One.
She was bound to a monster.