Thank you for reading! Me and my coauthor Darinost are gradually combining forces and blogs, so the joint comment section for our stories is currently located on discord! Come on in and let us know what you thought, we don’t bite.
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Hyperlinks in the text are intended as supplemental material, discussing elements of the science behind the science fiction. They are not intended as required reading for the story. Hyperlinks will be provided at the point in the story where it comes up, but all the links will also be collected at the bottom of the post for easy reading.
260 years before the attack of the Midgar-6
Once, she thought that the misery of their fate was something too foul to be believed, some kind of cosmic horror. It had taken her captivity to really just how wrong she was. They weren’t new, or novel, or original… they were banal, just one of many species conquered by the Kthid. The Alician knew that now. Their doom had not been a unique tragedy or some metaphysical apocalypse that constituted the end times of material existence. Instead, they had been conquered by a roving horde of planet-consuming monsters, just the latest on the list of an intergalactic race dedicated to murder and rape… lifeforms whose culture had evolved towards the extremes of evil and malice.
Nicia’s screams filled the Death of Hope as Huntmaster Askvar whipped her exposed, swollen tits. The snake-woman experienced such agony that it felt as if his multi-tongued electric lash had by now burned its way right through her sensitive breast flesh. The Alician hero lay recumbent against the ground, with Askvar’s gigantic foot placed atop her belly and pressing down, her serpentine lower parts undulating and flopping about as the Harvestmaster slashed her.
“I think you might be brain-damaged, idiotic serpent clone-slut!” Harvestmaster Askvar taunted as he flung his whole arms into the blows. Each time the whip came down there was an echoing boom of discharging electricity, and each stroke increased the scent of ozone and cooking meat. “Have you really lost so much of your wits? I asked you who you are.”
“I am Nicia 2281 of the Nightsisters!” the suffering snake-woman said. “I am a defender of the holy pla-NNIIIIAAAAHHHH!” Her words dissolved into a scream as the hulking Kthid leaned down and seized hold of the left side of her facial hood, pulling upon that sensitive flap of skin until it went taut and then strained as if about to rip off of her skull.
“No, it isn’t,” Askvar said firmly. “Nicia is mine. There is only one of her, and she’ll be mine until the day she dies on my cock, and I won’t have you diminishing my victory by claiming her place. Now tell me, who are you?”
He brought the lash down, and Nicia’s scream echoed at the same time as a laugh came with it. One of her most horrific torturers, a young, brash Kthid Warrior-caste, sat nearby upon a pile of Alician corpses, his rear planted atop this mini-pyramid of the evidence of Kthid brutality. The serpentine Alician were tough warriors, athletic and fit, but they were not meant for coitus like that Kthid intended… and their wombs were not meant to hold or birth a child of Kthid size. They were masters of medicine, and Nicia didn’t doubt that Alician doctor would be able to prevent much of this… but they weren’t calling any of the shots anymore, and the Kthid clearly scarcely cared. As such, grievous injuries and a horrible spike in mortality following labor were startlingly high. Whenever one of them was passed the point of being biologically able to bring more Kthid spawn into the world, either by death or too severe an injury, Askvar’s orders were simply to throw them into the pile.
After all, there were enough of them that they were disposable.
“I said your name, whore!?” Askvar snarled, stomping down upon her downed belly as if trying to crack something hard, his foot creating a deep crater-like an asteroid that had struck a moon.
Nicia-2281 gaped and clutched her pulverized midriff, her thunderous scream so hollow that she did not even make a sound. The pain though left her paralyzed for several moments, waggling lightly to and fro upon the ground like some worm. The brutality of these Kthid knew no end. She had only been captured and enslaved weeks ago, and already the Alician Nightsister had been brought past the point of what she could survive several times over… and then some.
The young warrior idly grabbed a chuck of Alician meat and pulled his teeth into it, pulling and chewing to rip viscera from the bones of the dead. Nicia knew enough of the Kthid to know that, while predatory, they did not usually consume such. The fact that it was being done specifically to distress her, however, did not make it any easier to tolerate, did not make it any less nightmarish. “Harvestmaster Askvar, what do you care if these snake-women have names or not?” he asked while chewing. “The clones all look the same. You can’t tell one apart from the other, and everyone knows you have their progenitor… So what? Not even the Dark Star does not care about the individuality of those who die. And we only care about females in that they can bring forth more Kthid!”
Askvar gave Nicia-2281 one final contemptuous kick before turning around to face the other Kthid, sending the Nightsister rolling across the floor, her whip-scarred body flopping over onto its belly. “Abandon that superstition, boy,” the Harvestmaster said firmly. “The casteless believe in those ancient gods and their worship. I did not raise your and your clan for their ranks for you to hold onto that foolishness.”
The young warrior bowed his head, putting his fist over his heart. “Apologies, my lord. You are right, of course. I will do as you say.”
“You ever learn quickly. It is why you earned your gene line ascension,” the Kthid master nodded sagely. “Learn now, for this is what you have to understand. Think. These slaves must be broken, Sarcand,” Askvar answered his young underling. “These… clones… still cling to their identity. The rest of their species was tamed long ago, or shall be quickly now that they are conquered. Only the spawn of Nicia remain now. That cannot be bourne. It is not enough to conquer, to kill, to enslave, and to impregnate. The aliens need to be annihilated spiritually as well as physically. Is this not so?”
Sarcand chewed, frowning as the young student thought. “We ever should be cruel to our slaves,” he mused, “but what good is it to eliminate their identity, their strength? Is that not why we want them in the first place?” He hesitated, as if fearing angering his mentor. “Is that not why you keep Nicia as a prize? If she were nothing special, if she clung to no identity still, what difference is there between her and one of her clone sisters?”
Askvar, far from being angry, grinned savagely as he looked down at the prone Alician. “Many among the Kthid would call that sentiment foolish. That what could be crueler than being insentient to their very identity and existence? Might alone make us superior. They would call you weak for even noticing what makes them special.” Askvar chuckled, surveying his surroundings, gazing at the ongoing orgy all around them. Many other Kthid were about in the hall, as well as Alicians, some dead, others still breathing, these various parties engaged in sessions of torture.
“What care I for what they think?” Sarcand said firmly. “They were foolish enough to think me unworthy. You, and I, know better.”
Askvar laughed. The Harvestmaster, in his flagship the Sanguine Spear, ruled over the fleet as it made its multiple-year trip back to Maldoror, completely aware of the stunning cargo it carried. Once, Askvar had been an ancient Kthid. A crusty, gray flakiness had laid itself over his scales and the deep orange of his eyes had started taking on a glassy sheen. Now, however, he looked barely older than Sarcand, and he was almost as hulkingly large as the young Kthid warrior was. As always when his people conquered slaves they took every bit of wisdom and research they could salvage, and this time they had taken something of unmatched value… the secrets to eternity. No longer would the Kthid age.
“You speak true. To breed, rape, and slay is valuable, but what is life if only to survive and propagate? A constant struggle for the existence of your genes, to respond to every challenge in life with violence? There might be bestial purity in that, but are we mere beasts, as lost in the mindless needs of the Dark Star’s light as lower life forms?” Askvar answered. “For many slaves, there is not much more. For them, mere might and savagery in its purest form are enough to break them. Those are slaves for lesser Kthid.”
He smirked, his teeth shining. “Not for ones such as us. The only worthy slave is a challenge. Some of them, a precious few of them, are strong enough to survive the worst we do. There is a tiny fire inside them. You rape them and rape them day in and day out to the pleasure of your loins and the glory of the Kthid Imperium and throughout it all they lay dormant, waiting for the time that they may spring at you… keeping their fire burning. That is why you tame them. Not to shatter them, but turn their strength into something that pleases you. Make their concept of themselves something that cannot exist without you.”
Her entire existence screaming in agony, Nicia-2281 was barely able to follow the conversation. She was weakly crawling across the floor in an attempt to get away using only her arms, the serpentine part of her body so sore and injured that she could not even use it to slither. Ever watchful, Askvar stomped down upon her tail so as to have her stopped. This time, Nicia-2281’s resulting scream was not hollow but rang out across the hall, resounding across its ceiling and walls like so many of her sisters did.
“This one might be a paltry reflection of the true woman, the one so great they decided to base their war efforts off of her,” Askvar said. “But she does have that kind of will. She is worthy. Elsewise, she would have bent by now.”
Nicia-2281 had not been alive during the Alician species’ golden years… but she remembered them anyway. Like all clones, her existence came into being shortly after the Kthid had attacked. Once, their species had been a highly advanced and prosperous race. They took to the stars as scientists, colonists, and explorers instead of as conquerors. That left them wholly defenseless when the Kthid armada arrived from out of the interstellar darkness.
Most of their race wasn’t equipped to serve as pilots or soldiers… but that didn’t mean that all of them were unprepared for war. To compensate for the rest, the scientists proposed a daring plan. They had selected the greatest soldier from amongst their number — a woman named Nicia — and cloned her more than a billion times, imprinting each copy with her memories and skillset. In this way, the Alicians built their army. They were clone warriors, referred to as the Nightsisters, and the only difference between them was their numbered names and unique facial tattoos imprinted upon their scaled skin… brave soldiers for the defense of their people. They had been peerless warriors, the most ferocious fighting force that an Alician mind had ever been able to conjure.
They had not been enough. Their entire civilization had been vanquished and overwhelmed. There was nothing left to defend.”
“What is your name, slave?” Askvar roared, digging his reptilian sole into her tail.
“NICIA 228EEEEYYYAAAAHHHHH!” Nicia thundered, her whole serpentine body shaking like a vibrator as he brought the tazer-whip down on her again, trembling until the paralyzing agony at last calmed. There was nothing for the Nightsister to look forward to but this. Harvestmaster Askvar had ordained that all Nician names would be purged from the Sanguine Spear. Every single snake on board would be tortured until they gave up on their identities and instead chose a proper name to refer to themselves… One which was suitably disparaging to their very existence. She had heard them talking… her resistance did little but arouse them. Many of her fellow clones had already given up, no longer clinging to their names that marked them as members of the Alician’s army of survival. What was the point to continue?
Sarcand had by now finished consuming the Alician limb, tossing away the morsels of leftovers like one would discard the core of a fruit. The young warrior rose from the mountain of corpses, and the young, freakishly large warrior gazed at Nicia 2281 with the utmost contempt. His predatory face broadened into a wicker leer as some fiendish idea struck his thoughts.
“You think this vat-grown bitch is worthy?” he asked. “Well, let us see… I have some ideas how we could test that theory.” The warrior laughed as he turned and strode away from the scene, clearly planning something dire.
Tears streamed from Nicia 2281’s pain-slitted eyes. She could not go on denying these savage space dragons much longer. Many before her had already fallen. The Nician clones were made to take on a name in the Kthid tongue, abandoning even their own language. Those names would what they would be referred to from now on. Their identification numbers which had been issued to them at birth were to be forgotten, never spoken of again, destroyed just like the corpses littering this room. Most of them weren’t even slightly original, a further blow against their independence and identity… How many Alicians named cunt or slut or whore or other obscenities could there be?
Sarcand returned, hefting a limp-hanging Alician under one arm and a sex toy in the other. Said warrior tossed the snake-woman down next to Nicia-2281, the woman landing with a heavy thud, so despondent that she did not even try to break the fall. Seeing her, Nicia-2281’s heart was filled with sadness. This woman was not a clone… she was just another Alician. Perhaps a scientist, or a doctor… one of the members of her species who had been too pure-hearted or unfit for war. Judging from how many of them Nicia-2281 had seen deceased lately, she had no idea how many were left on this ship, how many survived the cruel treatment the Harvestmaster intended. This woman might very well be one of the last ones living aboard the ship.
His face a sneer, Sarcand threw the sex toy onto the floor before her. It was a strap-on dildo, an artificial manhood modeled after a Kthid’s size constructed out of hard metal. Its end was studded with knobs. Nician eyes went fully orbed with realization at what he was intending.
“What is your name, whore?” Sarcand snarled.
Nicia-2281’s mouth opened and closed. She didn’t know why she held out. She didn’t know how she held out.
Screaming resounded as Sarcand and Askvar seized ahold of the two struggling Alicians and then fastened the strap-on dildo onto Nicia-2281’s hips. All Alicians had a gap beneath their hips, enabling them to be skewered from both their fronts and their rears. It also provided leverage enough for the Kthid to wrap the toy into place and keep it from moving. Then, still weakly struggling, the two Alicians were hefted over to the mini-pyramid of corpses that Sarcand had recently been seated upon. The normal Alician was placed down first, her body folded over its summit by the midriff so that her posterior was projected outwards. Then, Nicia 2281 was placed atop of her, the dildo now jutting from her loins being forced to slot into the other woman’s exposed pussy.
“No!” Nicia bellowed as the innocent Alician was skewered by her artificial phallus, that metal prong barraging in until butting against the entrance of her womb. “Please, please, no!” She longed to resist. She longed to die instead. None of it mattered. Instead, she and the woman that she had been created to protect were now sexually joined atop a mountain of corpses. One person she had failed to save, was raped atop the bodies of others she had failed to save. Both the victims cried out as it happened, one from sadness and horror and the other from pain.
The two Alicians locked into place atop that corpse pile was a macabre spectacle, and more than one Kthid stopped to watch. For these two interlocked victims, the greatest woe was their lustful gazes, however, nor was it seeing the dead-eyed stares of their comrades – it was feeling the coldness of their lifeless bodies.
“What is your name, slave?” Sarcand hollered, though Nicia felt sure it was more a call to gloat than a demand for an answer. The Kthid still had many more fiendish ideas on how to break her. Lots more that he wanted to do.
Askvar stepped forth behind Nicia-2281, his enormous dick ragingly rigid. She had oftentimes been fucked by the merciless aliens, but never like this… on top of her charge, forced to help rape her. The malachite giant that ruled her life now seized his erection with one hand and then guided its bulbous end into the clone warrior’s snug pussy. His massive weight pinned both of the Alicians down onto the corpse pile, and as he held Nicia-2281 the thrust forward her to move forward as well. Both of them scurried with arms and tails in an effort to crawl away but it was impossible as the Kthid Harvestmaster raped two women at once with a single cock.
“Look at her!” Harvestmaster Askvar growled, thrusting forth with all of his strength, impaling Nicia-2281 and dragging her back and forth to make her hammer the other woman. The vicious thrusts were so forceful that it almost seemed like the corpse heap was going to collapse and tumble over. The clone warrior — though created after the genetic likeness of their species’ greatest champion — bellowed in pain from this savage penetration. The Alician underneath her, however, screamed even louder, the force of Askvar’s thrust having transported itself onto her as the bottommost partner. Being punted into also meant that Nicia’s attached dildo would punt into this poor unfortunate woman as well. “Look into her eyes. You dare call yourself Nicia’s equal, a Nightsister, as you rape her?”
With characteristic Kthid cruelty, Askvar began pumping his hips against the presented alien in front of him. His monstrously cruel cock drove in and out of her tortured femininity, each thrust a veritable tackle against her body. Just like the Alicians had not evolved to birth Kthid babies, nor had they evolved to be able to house savage draconian cock, or to bear up to the brutal force they could muster! The fuck tested her sanity with each thrust, urging her to retreat into herself, urging her to do something, anything, to make the pain stop.
“What should be this one’s name, Sarcand?” Askvar exclaimed while sending ferocious lurches into Nicia-2218’s rear, loud thudding noises resounding as scales hit upon scales.
“Well, if I were to pick…” Sarcand mused. “How about ‘Friend Violator?’ Maybe ‘Slutty Traitor.’ Or maybe just go simple… what is it they call us? Give her a name in her own tongue… ‘Rapist’!” He sneered, laughing. “You were right, after all, Harvestmaster. Maybe these Snakewomen do need names of their own.”
“Nnnuughh! Uuuggghhh! Eeeehhh!” the bottommost Alician wailed, her outcries proving even more prodigious than Nicia-2218’s own, and just as damaging to the warrior’s soul. If someone as physically durable and as mentally strong as a clone of Nicia found this virtually impossible to endure, then how difficult could it be for a normal Alician to stand? Nicia-2218 was haunted by her weakness, her failure to protect the other woman, that she was being used to cause her extreme pain. She tried to keep her own midriff as immobile as possible yet every time Askvar impacted against her rear she was flung forward with more force than her own muscles could ever possibly generate. The Huntmaster was slam-fucking her with his colossal prong, and she was fucking the woman she should have been protecting with a savage metal cock, and the damage being inflicted against her poor cervix had to be brutal.
“You’re ready to accept your new name!?” Askvar hollered in his victim’s ear, able to communicate even while pummeling her with full vigor.
“YE-YEASSS!” the tortured clone wailed, ready to commit any self-desecrating act to see this defilement ended.
The three of them were tightly interwoven, bodies pressed together like a sandwich atop that hillock of cadavers. With every plunge, there was a tremble to the pile’s structure. Bodies were lightly flung about, arms displaced, heads lolling in a new position. Rigor mortis could not save them from being yanked to and fro. It was as if this strenuous interspecies skewering was threatening to undermine the pyramid’s very stability, sending it tumbling at any moment. This was exactly what Askvar had intended. He was going to fuck until having broken down the body pile underneath them. In a way, he wasn’t just fucking the two of them, he was fucking their entire species.
A species that now mostly constituted corpses.
“Please! Please stop!” a weeping Nicia-2218 cried, shaking her head from left to right. “I’ll pick a new name! I’ll pick a new name! Please just stop hurting her!”
The Alician underneath her couldn’t communicate so clearly. Her pain was too great for her vocal cords to formulate words. But it was not like she needed to. The Kthid did not desire anything out of her. She was powerless to end this… Like the rest of her kin she was merely fated to be raped until dying in childbirth. The thick dildo crammed into her weakened body was just one more torture that she would experience before meeting her untimely end. Who was she before the invasion? A scientist? A politician? A common civilian? It didn’t matter anymore. Not after the apocalypse which are the Kthid.
“Please! I’ll call myself anything! Fuck-Face! Snake-Cunt! Anything!” Nicia-2218 screamed, desperate for mercy, horrified by the fact that the Harvestmaster wouldn’t cease his triumphant fucking.
“Yes, yes you will,” he growled. “I’ll let you pick one… right after I fill up that cunt of yours. The time that you could have done anything to stop this is long past.” And if anything, he fucked her harder.
As with every time that the Kthid defiled her, the process seemed to go on for hours. Askvar skewered, jabbed, and punched with his dick into her hole until both Nicia-2281 and her fellow, nameless Alician were flattened like flat cakes against that heap of corpses. But after extreme arduous thrusting, one final poke, at last, sent Askvar over the edge, making him grunt while hitting balls deep into the clone warrior’s body. The floodgates connecting his ballsack to his penis opened and creamy-thick sperm sluiced forth through the Kthid’s lengthy shaft. A torrent of virile seed was jettisoned into the Alician warrior’s rear, spurting into her guts with several sticky salvos of cum. She felt this deluge infest the deepest pit of her body, and while the Alician underneath her had the misfortune of being lanced with the thick cock every time the Harvestmaster thrust but at least she did not have to suffer the sordidness of taking a Kthid orgasm.
Upon hilting balls deep, the corpse heap underneath them at last gave way, collapsing from the accumulating impacts. As if signaling the very destruction of their species, this stacked pile of dead Alicians tumbled in all different directions, scattering until the mound had become a field. Nicia 2218 and the other Alician were just one among them, both breathing hard and weeping, still connected dildo to pussy even as Askvar pulled his dick out from her and rose. The Huntmaster jerked his still stolid dong a few extra times, shooting out the last salvos of spunk over their fallen bodies, some of this jizz hitting Nicia, others hitting the bodies that surrounded them.
Sarcand placed his foot atop Nicia-2218’s upraised hip, pressing down so that her metal dildo impaled the innocent Alician even further. That held down alien shrieked with extreme agony, having thought her excruciation to finally be concluded. “Now… What’s your name, snake-whore?” Huntmaster Askvar demanded to know.
Nicia-2218 grimaced terribly as the moment of truth had come. It was time to give up on her identity.
“Rith,” she whimpered.
Both Sarcand and Askvar bellowed laughter. “That is a good name!” Sarcand declared, pleased. She had given her name in the Kthid tongue, as she was supposed to. The word translated simply… “Shit.” What she had become.
“Shit, eh?” Sarcand remarked. “Simple, yet truthful! When I release my waste, I oftentimes think about your despicable serpentine race!” he snarled.
“Shit, what do you think of your new name?” Askvar pressed.
A single tear traced down Rith’s cheek, that area already a wettened rivulet. “I love it, Master, it’s so accurate to our race!”
“Good!” he remarked. “If you ever refer to yourself as Nicia again, I’ll cut your tail into very thin slices, and I’ll feed them to your sisters, one bite at a time.”
Rith’s chest blared with both agony and humiliation… but deep inside it, something tiny glowed. The Kthid had destroyed her entire civilization. They had laid waste to everything the Alician ever knew or valued. But there was one thing they still couldn’t take from her, that inner fire burning within her. She had renamed herself as Rith, yes. But she knew something they did not. The word was a cognate. The sounds existed in both Alician and Kthid, and while it might mean waste in their language, to the Alicians it had another meaning – “Flower.”
Every time that Nicia-2218 – Rith – was forced to call herself by her new name, she wouldn’t be thinking about the humiliation of it, or how she had been forced to call herself by that name… she would be thinking of the tiny victory she had, stealing a shard of herself back. It was one tiny, microscopic thing she still held over these sadistic monsters. In her head… the tiny flame of freedom would still burn.
Askvar had been correct when stating that some enslaved women held onto their fire no matter what. She pledged to be one of those.
Sarcand — still with his foot planted atop Rith’s posterior — began thrusting with that limb. This forced Rith to commence a humping motion which sent her metallic dildo pummeling into the Alician’s rear. The snakewoman wailed like a skewered animal, causing Rith’s heart to likewise wail with sadness over their faith. All across this room, similar scenes of defilement occurred as other Kthid forced clones just as hear into accepting their new names of humiliation, their names as slaves.
Inside her mind, thoughts of rebellion still pulsed.
Rith. Rith. Rith.
Flower. Flower. Flower.
Near Orbit, Set III
Rith’s body was one enormous bruise by the time she made it back to her room. Room. Cell, really. Just because the doors weren’t locked didn’t mean it wasn’t a prison. The Alician hurt everywhere from the latest of the rewards she had been used to service… Harvestmaster Sarcand was in the habit of offering some of his prized slaves around to his most accomplished soldiers after a battle, and Rith was very familiar with being used like that by now.
It was the primary use her old tormentor got out of here, these days.
Alicians didn’t hold up very well to getting pregnant by the Kthid, but her kind was rare now… so very, very rare. It made them useful symbols, or valuable gifts, so Sarcand hadn’t bred her in over two hundred years. She was still fertile, so long as she knew – the medical treatments that she had been given by her people after she had been cloned ensured that the ravages of age would never be a problem – but even though Sarcand still regularily made them compete for the priveledge of being bred he never selected her, or her fellow Nightsister, anymore.
The door closed behind her, and the serpentine woman all but collapsed onto the bed. At least it wasn’t horribly uncomfortable. Part of trying to keep her valuable meant that she got a very, very, very scant few luxuries, and this one was of them… a soft bed that was large enough for her to coil herself in, made in her style rather than the bunk that Kthid or most humanoid aliens used. It was important that she rest. Tomorrow was going to be more of the same suffering, and she needed to be strong if she was going t-
The door opened, and her Arane handmaiden stepped into the room, carrying food. Rith didn’t move, waiting for the grey-skinned woman to leave it before her before she left… only she didn’t leave. One of her six hands rested on the yellow-skinned woman’s shoulders, squeezing it. “Enjoy it,” she said softly. “And make sure to eat it all.” And then she left without another word.
Rith lay there for long minutes without speaking, without moving, before her tired brain really processed how strange that was. Slowly, she pushed herself up, reaching up to begin eating, her mind elsewhere… until her fingers found something hard.
She hesitated, then carefully continued to eat, carefully going through the food until she found a small, metal device about the size of her hand. She recognized it immediately – her breath caught. This one a small Aegis unit… the same ones they gave to the casteless when they went into battle. They weren’t nearly as good as the ones that the warriors used, or the ones her people had used… but it was a genuine war shield, ready to go into battle.
And someone had just put it in her hand.
Rith’s hearts all started beating faster as she stared at the door. Something was happening… and she had to be ready.
3 thoughts on “Event Horizon – Chapter 18 – The Best and Brightest”
Sorry to ask on a different series and work, but do you ever plan on continuing your current unfinished league of legends series?
They should all get finished, yes.
I’ve been with a wrist/elbow injury the last 8 weeks or so so I haven’t done much writing, mostly working with what I e already had more or less completed. The kda story and the next chapter of Lux’s story should be coming soon-ish
Yikes, with the slower release schedule lately I had wondered whether you were out of commission for some reason, but having a less-than-fully-functional hand/s is no fun for a whole lot of reasons.
I officially recommend amputating the limb in question and replacing it with a peg arm. Now 30% as effective as peg legs! (The previous message comes from a non-attorney, unpaid spokesperson…)