Chapter 1 – Where Dreams Turn to Ash
He barely had time to scream.
The gorilla charged like a wall of muscle and hatred. The last thing he saw was the open mouth, the yellowed teeth, and the brutal impact against his chest. Ribs cracked. Air left his lungs in a wet groan. The pain was so great the world turned white.
'No… not like this… I'm not ready yet…'
Then came the silence.
It wasn't peace. It was emptiness. A cold hole where his soul floated, far too conscious, far too terrified. He felt death as if someone had peeled his skin from the inside. The fear of truly disappearing, of no longer existing, was worse than any physical pain.
'I don't want this again… never again… I'll do any shit, but I don't want to feel that again…'
And then he woke up.
A child's body. Empty stomach. Rotten village. A dark medieval world where hunger was law. His mother died when he turned twelve. From that moment on he became an animal.
In the beginning, when he was still a child and his mother still breathed, he dreamed.
'One day I'll get out of this shit… I'll cross the forest, kill monsters, find cities of stone, become someone… someone no one can kill again.'
Reality hit harder than the gorilla.
The village was a nest of illiterate beggars. No one knew how to read. No one could count beyond their fingers. Most could barely speak properly. They lived on leftover food, bitter roots, and, when hunger truly tightened, on human flesh. Cannibalism wasn't taboo. It was routine.
He adapted.
He became fast. He became silent. He became the best.
Over time he earned a name the villagers spat with both rage and respect: **Ghost Rat**.
He entered and left houses like smoke. He vanished with bread, with knives, with clothes, with anything that could be eaten or sold. No one ever saw him. No one ever caught him. Traps failed. Dogs couldn't track him. Children pointed at the shadows and whispered his name as if he were a small, hungry demon.
'I'm the best… I have to be the best… if they catch me, I die… and I can't die again…'
Years later, already an adult, thin and quick as a true rat, he tried his luck at the blacksmith's house. Mistake.
The trap snapped.
Thick ropes closed around his legs and arms. He fell face-first into the dirt, his whole body trapped. He tried to struggle, but the more he moved, the tighter it got.
'Fuck! No! Not now!'
The villagers came out of the shadows like wolves. Gaunt faces, eyes red with accumulated rage. Years of theft, of food disappearing, of him always escaping. Patience had run out.
And this time they enjoyed it.
They laughed loudly while he thrashed. Some even clapped. Others spat. A woman shouted:
— Look at the Ghost Rat now! Not so ghostly anymore, huh, you son of a bitch?!
— Finally fell, bastard!
— Let's see if he vanishes from this too!
They grabbed him. They tore his clothes off with violence, ripping the fabric until he was completely naked in the middle of the square. The night cold hit his skin. He tried to fight, screamed:
"Let me go! You sons of bitches! I just wanted to eat!"
A punch to the stomach shut his mouth. Another to the face. Blood ran from his lip. The crowd laughed, pointed, pushed to get a better look at the thin, dirty body of the thief who had tormented them for years.
'They're right… I stole… I deserve it… but even so… I hate every single one of you…'
The rage rose hot and filthy. Even knowing he was wrong, even understanding their hunger, he swore inside:
'One day… one day I'll make you regret this. You'll pay for putting me back into this fear.'
They dragged him naked through the forest. Stones cut his knees. Branches scraped his skin. He screamed, cursed, begged, but his voice only fed the hatred and amusement of the crowd.
When they reached the sacrificial stone, they tied him with thick ropes, arms and legs spread, chest exposed to the dark sky.
— Today the Ghost Rat becomes the Serpent's food — they spat on his face. — You're going to feel what we've felt for years, you thieving piece of shit.
He stayed there, naked, trembling, his heart beating so hard it hurt.
'No… not again… I don't want to die… I'll do anything… anything…'
Night closed in.
The forest moved.
She came out of the darkness: enormous, white skin shining under the moon, curved blue horns, ancient eyes full of an intelligence that froze the blood. His entire body trembled.
He screamed, voice broken:
"Don't eat me! Please! I'll do anything! Don't kill me!"
The serpent didn't answer with words. She advanced too fast. The ropes snapped. In seconds he was free… and completely wrapped in her warm, heavy body. Smooth, slippery skin squeezed his chest, his waist, his thighs. The smell was wild, wet, alive.
He thrashed, punched, kicked, cursed. Nothing worked.
'Fuck… she's too strong… I'm going to die again…'
But when the serpent settled on top of him, he felt it.
It wasn't a mouth opening to devour.
It was a hot, swollen, throbbing slit rubbing insistently against his cock. Viscous, warm liquid ran down his stomach and thighs. A huge, tight, hungry pussy.
She was in heat.
The realization hit together with a wave of old rage. Years of hunger, of fear, of being hunted, of holding everything in. Years without touching anyone, without coming, without relief. Everything exploded at once.
'If it's about fucking… then I'm going to fuck until there's nothing left.'
His cock, already hard from panic and hatred, throbbed. He grabbed the slippery body with both hands, positioned the thick head at the wet entrance and pushed hard.
The serpent let out a long, hoarse hiss. Her entire body twisted, squeezing him even tighter, forcing him in to the hilt in a single thrust. The heat was insane. The inner walls clenched and sucked as if they wanted to milk his soul.
He groaned low, almost a growl, and started thrusting.
It wasn't sex. It was revenge.
Every thrust carried the rage of every punch he had taken, every hungry night, every disgusted look from the villagers. He fucked with rage, with hatred, with the desperate need to feel he was still alive. His hands gripped the white skin hard, his hips slammed dry, wet, filthy. The serpent's liquid ran everywhere, mixing with his sweat.
"Take it… take this shit… years of holding it in… years…"
The serpent answered with higher and higher hisses, her body writhing around him, the pussy tightening and releasing in a wild rhythm. She used him as much as he used her. The blue horns scraped the ground. The ancient eyes shone with animal pleasure.
He felt the orgasm rising like a wave that had been dammed for years. It wasn't a normal climax. It was an explosion. His balls ached from being so full. When he came, he came screaming, shooting deep, jet after jet, filling that hot pussy until it overflowed. His whole body shook, his vision darkened for a second, and he kept thrusting even while still spurting, unable to stop.
The serpent contracted hard around him, hissing loudly, and he felt her warm liquid run together with his, dripping onto the stone and the forest floor.
Even after emptying everything, she didn't let him go.
She stayed coiled, the pussy still lazily pulsing around his sensitive cock, as if saying:
You're not leaving.
You're mine now.
He stayed there, panting, his entire body aching, the rage still burning in his chest… but for the first time in years, feeling alive.
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