Competition for the Throne

[6 word request: King drains subjects to win competition]

King Erdritch smiled as his son, the beautiful young Aros, strutted into the king’s personal chambers. “Father,” he said in his deep voice, his angular face contorted in angst, “there’s a buzz around the kingdom that your possession of the throne is in jeopardy. Surely that can’t be true?”

Erdritch, dressed in lavish purple robes, clenched his old, withered fists. The rumor, which was true, had been on Erdritch’s mind since Weider, the court wizard, had scried the skies and saw it in the king’s future the previous day. Somehow, hearing it out loud was nearly too much to bear.

“I wouldn’t say it’s in jeopardy,” Erdritch said, his hands trembling as he turned to face the beautiful young man. Only the king’s trusted few (and Aros himself) knew the secret that Aros wasn’t Erdritch’s true son. The king had never had much interest in women, and married a maiden who was already with child to ensure at least one heir to the throne. “But someone is on his way to challenge me.”

Aros shook his head and walked to a pitcher on a nearby table, pouring himself a glass of water. “Father, I’ve been sick with worry since I heard the news. If you know any details that may reassure me, please share them.”

Erdritch smiled as he walked up behind his son’s broad, strong back, admiring the sturdy muscles filling out Aros’ expensive garments. “Generations ago, an imp cursed our bloodline,” Erdritch explained. “And when night falls today he will return to put the king--your father--to a competition. Anyone may challenge him--that is, me--to a competition, and the winner will be the true king.”

“Anyone, father?” Aros said, still staring out the window. Erdritch smirked as he saw Aros’ posture change. He knew his power-hungry son had been wishing for Erdritch to pass for years, hoping to become King himself. He had no doubt come in worried about losing his spot. Now Erdritch watched his son’s posture become rigid as he dreamt of the possibility of taking the throne even sooner than he had planned. “What competition would it be?”

“That I don’t know,” Erdritch said. His hands retreated into the sleeves of his silk robes. With his fingers hidden, he squeezed the ringed finger on his left hand, feeling the enchanted jewel there grow warm as its magics began to work. “Which is why I have to do everything in my power to make sure I won’t lose.” He moved as quickly as his old, arthritic hands could, slapping one hand over his son’s mouth. With the other, he pressed the opal ring, now radiating a dark aura, into the well-built young man’s neck.

“Father, I--” Aros began, prepared to easily break the hold of the weary old man. But suddenly the man fell silent. He coughed, his throat now dry. Erdritch felt the aches melt from his body, and watched as they surged in his son, curling his posture. Aros’ thick black hair grew longer, turned to silver, then a ghostly white as the youth drained from his face.

Behind him, Erdritch felt his body twitching as his limbs inflated with the musculature of his youth. His feeble heart started to pound, pressing blood into rejuvenated veins. When he pulled his ringer hand away from Aros, he looked down at his hands, admiring their soft skin. He flexed his thick fingers, next patting his face. His beard was gone, the scars and crags of his age completely smoothed away.

Aros’ feeble hand suddenly dropped the glass. WHen it shattered, he clutched at his chest, gasping over the shock. Erdritch smirked at the grizzled old husk his son was now, looking foolish in such beautiful clothes. “As you can see, you’re in no shape to take the throne now,” Erdritch said with a smirk, fondling the opal ring. He stepped across the room and stared into his looking glass. “But it looks like I may have a good fifty years ahead of me.”

*

Erdritch recognized a tall, mustachioed guard on his post at the throne as he approached. Instantly the guard’s head snapped in the direction of the young man wearing the crown striding in with an elderly gentlemen mumbling to himself and hobbling behind him.

“Stand down,” Erdritch demanded as Dunston raised his sword, but the man, who stood a head and a half taller than the King, did not lower his blade. “Guard, stand down, or I’ll have you beheaded!” Erdritch demanded, but the guard’s blade arm went rigid, as if he were about to strike. There was shuffling in the hallway as two more armored guards, Erikur and Leifson, came in, weapons drawn.

“This imposter approaches the throne,” Dunston said, grimacing, his dark moustache twitching.

“Would someone contact the court wizard?” Erdritch demanded, but the guards just looked at each other, confused. “Have you all gone mad? Do you not recognize the king?”

Erikur motioned toward Aros, who had a large dollop of drool oozing from his toothless mouth. “I’d be more inclined to believe that geezer is the King, to be honest.”

“Have none of you gazed upon the painting in the library? I dare say I’m now no more than a handful of days older than the day that portrait was set to canvas,” Erdritch said. Erikur and Leifson exchanged glances, and Dunston’s sword-arm started to lower.

“But… but how…” Dunston began, hasti,ly adding, “...uh, your highness!”

“Allow me to demonstrate,” Erdritch said, extending his ringed hand, palm up. Dunston flinched away from it, then curiously stared at it. “Just hold still,” Erdritch said, then plunged the ringed hand into Dunston’s armored chest.

Somehow the hand passed through Dunston as if he were water, making a fist in the panicking man’s chest. Dark light spread over the knight’s body, which suddenly began to compress down in size.

Meanwhile, Erdritch’s body blossomed with size and strength. As Dunston’s eyeline sank, Erdritch’s rose while the king’s robes suddenly became full with even heavier muscles. When Erdrtich withdrew his hand, he stood as tall as Dunston had. Meanwhile, the large guard rattled in his armor. The man’s body was now small and slender, his strong face now small and cherubic. Dunston’s lower lip quivered as he looked down at his shrunken, hairless form, suddenly toppling over as the weight of his armor got the best of him. His sword clanged across the floor. Aros reached down to lift it, struggled for a moment, then let it fall again.

Erdritch crossed his now massive arms and stared down at Leifson and Erikur. The two guards took a step backward, but Erdritch crossed the floor in only a couple of strides. He grabbed Erikur first by the guard’s flame-red ponytail, yanking him back. When Erdritch tossed him aside, the well-built man was a scrawny waif, devoid of every attribute that made him a man. In a shockingly swift move, Erdritch grabbed Erikur’s fallen sword and hurled it, pommel-first, at Leifson as the guard fled from the room. Leifson cried out as it struck him in the back of the head, knocking him down.

Erdritch was on him a moment later, grabbing him by his thick leg and dragging him back. Merely moments later, Erdritch felt his body surge with strength as Leifson’s blonde, hulking body became as hairless and puny as the two guards before him.

Aron cackled as he stumbled over to Dunston, who had stripped off his armor and was studying his soft, frail body with a look of sheer grief on his face. “Too damned skinny!” the elderly prince croaked, poking a gnarled finger into Dunston’s bony chest. “Back in my day, men used to be men, not sissy little maidens like the lot of you!”

Dunston sobbed as he robbed the spot where the old man had poked him, then jolted as the room shake with a low rumble. It was Erdritch’s deep, bellowing laugh. The king was now the height of two men, his body filled with more muscle than a thunder giant’s. His robes had reduced to tatters as he’d grown out of them, revealing every flexing, powerful inch of the brute. His eyes smoldered as he stroked his now long beard. He tilted his hips, allowing the massive organ swinging between his legs to flex and buck, spattering little Leifson’s face with some ejaculate.

“Men, you’ll find that you’ll still be in service to your king,” Erdritch said, flexing his ogrish muscles and grinning. “However, your duties have changed.”

*

Purple mists coalesced in the entrance of the throne room. From them emerged Weider, the court wizard, who looked around the room in wonder. A mass of people had gathered there! Worse, he recognized none of them. Filling up half the room was a gigantic brute of a man, his wild hair brushing against the throne room’s high ceilings as he sat with his gargantuan legs cross-legged against the wall. Weider imagined that underneath the giant’s massive buttocks was the throne, probably pulverized to dust.

A dozen spritely men were draped over the titanic king, some rubbing him with oil, several fanning him, others simply worshipping his enormous size. Each of the men was clad in only a tiny loin cloth, and none of them were taller than Weder’s chest. He saw a seemingly ancient man urinating in the corner. Weider started as the godlike King held up his ringed hand and waved at him.

“So nice of you to join us,” boomed the massive king, shaking the entire castle. “As the sun is about to set, I’m assuming the imp will return to hold his fabled competition. But you’ll see that thanks to your ring, I’ve left no competition in the kingdom!”

Weider spun around as two more scrawny men escorted a much taller man into the room. Weider recognized the taller man’s powerful body, plus the bow strung across his back, as marched of an experienced ranger. He had no idea who the small escorts, seemingly operating under the king’s orders, were. Their energies did feel familiar, though, and Weider began to put things together quickly.

“Your highness!” said one of the two little men, his posture slumped, probably from humiliation as the tiny loin-cloth he now wore barely covered any of the weakling’s body. “I have brought Jinco, the kingdom’s greatest archer!”

The ranger, Jinco, looked up at the enormous (and mad with power) king with his mouth agape. The enormous man just extended a finger. Shadows poured from the opal ring, swirling around Jinco’s wilderness-toughened body. A moment later, Jinco crumpled to his knees, half the size he was before.

“And now,” boomed the King, “I am the kingdom’s greatest archer!” Erdritch’s body quivered as it grew slightly larger. He flexed his fingers and stared down at his drained subjects and laughed, which shook the whole room.

“I daresay it may be difficult to find a bow that could fit those massive fingers,” Weider quipped with a smirk. “Your highness, you have absolutely swollen to near godly power! Have you drained every talent you could think of from the men in your kingdom?”

Erdritch gestured to his cadre of devoted worshippers, each now just a slip of a man. “Not just that,” he boomed. “I drained them of their manliness, making me more man than anyone in the world! I feel like I could pop a giant’s head like a grape. I’ll be requesting whole cows for my dinner--six in fact. I’ll swallow them like tiny potatoes! Now there’s no possible way anyone could challenge me--nor would any of them dare!”

Weider nodded, glancing out the window. He pulled his pointed lilac cap from his head and stroked his grey beard. “As you can see, your highness, the sun has set. It seems to be time for you to defend your throne!”

Erdritch glanced around, then chuckled, his room-filling naked form rumbling with quivering muscle. “Then where is this blasted imp, eh? Do you think he ran for the hills when he saw that his King had grown big enough to snatch the moon from the sky?”

Weider smiled, his eyes suddenly turning black. Tiny horns sprouted from his forehead. Erdritch’s eyes went wide as he floated into the air, batlike wings springing from his back.

“Not at all,” Weider said with an otherworldly echo. “In fact, the imp has been in your court the whole time, serving as your counsel! Are you ready to compete for your throne?”

Erdritch’s enormous eyes blinked. Then his body pulsed with rage. “Are you--how… how dare you! I’ll--”

Weider held up his index finger. He blinked and the opal ring appeared upon it. “Oh, I think you’ve used this powerful artifact quite enough today, haven’t you, milord? And prepare yourself--because I am not only in charge of this competition… but I will be your challenger.

Erdritch pounded his fists together with so much force that the windows blew out. “That isn’t fair! I’ll squash you like the bug that you are, you cheating fabulist!”

“Oh, I cast the curse,” Weider said. Despite the horns and the wings, he had maintained his human appearance--that of a wizened old man--but his tongue now darted from his mouth like a serpent’s. “I set the rules. And you, King Erdritch, are challenged to… a dance competition!”

A fiddle suddenly appeared, seemingly played by invisible forces. Immediately Weider fell to the floor, tumbling forward before breaking into a spirited jig, his robes swishing back and forth as he expertly moved each of his limbs to the fiddle music. Withered old Aros started clapping his hands and soon many of the drained men joined in. Some of them danced with each other, playfully joining in the revelry as Weider pranced and darted across the floor, a spectacle of grace and inspiration with every movement.

Erdritch was now breathing heavily, his chest--so broad and thick it sat in front of his torso like a shelf of pure meat--rising and falling with his rage. He slowly rose to his feet, bumping his head on the ceiling. He growled as he realized he was too big for the room. Hunched over, he lifted up a foot and slammed it down, causing several of his shrunken admirers to topple over. He lifted his other leg, but his balance had clearly shifted. His arms were too thick with muscle to properly balance, so the king toppled over.

Shrunken men screamed and fled. When the king fell, the whole castle shook, but luckily no one was splattered beneath him. Weider finished his dance with a victorious pose, hands overhead, face smirking boldly at the fallen King. He clapped his hands and a crown appeared atop his head.

“What?” Erdritch said as he sat up. Steel manacles had appeared around his wrists and ankles. “How--how dare you! I’m the King!” he roared.

“Not anymore you’re not!” Weider said. He snapped his fingers and began to glow so brightly that none of the men could keep from covering their eyes. When it faded, the room had shifted. The throne had reformed, and Weider sat atop it, fondling his new sceptre and adjusting his crown.

Erdritch sat in the middle of the room, still massive but restrained. He fought against his shackles but it was no use. The shrunken men were still there, and Weider licked his lips as he looked out over his new subjects.

“First, what I want you to do,” Weider ordered, “is milk the giant until he has no more seed left to spill. Understood?”

Aros, still elderly but now dressed as a jester, clapped his hands and whistled. Erdritch moaned as the shrunken men oiled themselves up and approached a cock bigger than any of their individual bodies. Five of the men took positions, rubbing Erdritch’s cock at first gently, then aggressively. In minutes the five were no longer afraid of the giant. Two fo them straddled the cock, while two more ferociously massaged the former king’s cockhead. The last had climbed atop the bestial organ and had begun to fuck the piss-slit.

Erdritch moaned pathetically as ghostly feathers appeared to tickle his feet. Weider snapped another finger and a huge golden ball appeared. It rolled up to the mountainous man, nestled itself between his huge buttocks, then disappeared inside him with a loud POP. Weider’s eyes went wide, screaming silently, but the onslaught wouldn’t end.

“Oh my, it is GOOD to be king!” Weider said, clapping and licking his lips.