Fantasy Starship Gods

The Gods Khalid, Ahmed, and Chaka​

The Festival of Blood and Pain, which occurred several times during the calendar year, was an excellent opportunity for Khalid to introduce himself and the God of Laquinta to the broader population of Heraklion.

The audience, which could seat 2,000 or more, was completely filled. Khalid eyed the audience with satisfaction. The people of Heraklion were not especially devout. They had their "Loving Tollahs", of course. Had, being in the past tense. Nearly all the "Loving Tollahs" had been discharged from their duties, or, in a number of cases, simply liquidated. They had begun to be replaced by new Tollahs, men with grim expressions who grew fierce beards who would pledged their loyalty to the Great God of Blood. Several of them stood in front of the hall now, looking sternly at the audience. Good.

Khalid's Stranglers had been out and about all morning, rounding up people to come to services, by intimidation and sometimes by force. The same scene was playing out throughout Heraklion, where citizens were coerced into going to their local shrines of Sparticus, but it was here, at the Great Shrine of Sparticus, where the most spectacular events of the Festival would be held, the very first execution to honor the God of Blood.

Khalid felt a wave of elation as he took to the stage, flanked by his Stranglers. This is what he had been waiting for all his life.

"People of Heraklion," he boomed, putting a megaphone disc to his face. "I bid you greetings. I am Brother Khalid, the voice of Laquinta, and your new Master."

People started to chatter nervously.

"Your Book of Sparticus speaks of many Gods. That may be. But one stands far above the rest. Laquinta, the Great God of Blood. He is your God. He is your ruler. You are all subjects of the Great God of Blood. It is he you will worship every day, for the rest of your lives."

People started to stir uncomfortably.

"The God of Blood has but one demand, and one only: your complete and utter obedience. Blood and pain are the key to your spiritual enlightenment. The Great God requires both of these to prove your devotion! At the same time, the shedding of blood also will improve you. It will make you more divine. It will make you more worthy. Feeling pain, or giving pain to others, will shape you, mold you, evolve you into a more proper subject of Laquinta. We will teach you all these things, how to receive pain, and how to give it. Before long you will come to embrace the blood, to embrace the pain, and know the everlasting love of Laquinta."

The people in the audience were shaking their heads openly and talking nervously among themselves now.

"There are many rules and requirements you must learn. You will find pain to be an excellent teacher. For too long you have followed a corrupt path, and for that, there will be punishment. But out of punishment you will find the joy of enlightenment, and bliss, as you devote yourselves to being true slaves to the Great God of Blood."

"In our new society, there will be three classes of persons. There will be Masters, such as myself, and my immediate servants, the Stranglers of Laquinta. We must be obeyed in all things, as we are all the Voices of the Great God of Blood. The second class of persons are men. Some of you will become devout followers of Laquinta, and will be rewarded. Others will not, and have to suffer the penalty. And the last class of followers will be women. Women will be pleased to know how much Laquinta values them. Indeed, in our brave new world, he has assigned women the most crucial role in society: to serve men. They will serve eagerly, without reservation, or they will be punished."

"And now, in honor of the Festival of Blood and Pain, I give you a vivid demonstration of the roles of men and women under the Great God of Blood."

Suddenly, eight women came onto the stage, led by several guards carrying long black whips. They were completely nude. They started to dance erotically.

"These are the very first of the women to be properly trained," said Khalid, smiling as he walked over to them. One of them was Acacia, and the other was her daughter Benecia. They wiggled their breasts and rotated their hips as they had been taught, and waved their arms out hypnotically. Smiles were pasted to their lips.

"Look how content they are to serve. Look how happy they are." Khalid held the microphone disc up to Acacia. "Are you happy, slave?"

"I am very happy, Master," said Acacia, in a flat voice. She was facing the audience, so they could not see the whip marks on her back.

Khalid beamed. "That's all we want. For everyone to be happy." He clapped twice, and three more guards came out, escorting a man.

It was Acacia's husband, Gentrig. His hands were tied behind his back. One guard put a chopping block on the stage, and pushed Gentrig's head down on it. Acacia and Benecia looked on with horror as their loved one was being prepared for execution, but they were too frightened to stop dancing. They continued to gyrate their hips and thrust out their breasts, but terror was now the expression on their faces. Someone near the stage was playing a lute, and Acacia and Benecia were commanded to keep up with the rhythm. The tune was bold, adventurous, sensual, and rapid, and Acacia and Benecia were forced to gyrate faster and faster to keep up with it, or risk a taste of the whip from guards standing behind them.

Khalid indicated Gentrig, with his head bent over the chopping block. "This dog dared to touch my royal person," said Khalid. "That alone merited death. But we have decided to honor him by executing him here, in the Festival of Blood and Pain, in front of his wife and daughter," he said, smiling as he gestured to Acacia and Benecia.

The crowd gasped in horror.

"You may carry out the sentence," said Khalid.

For the rest of her life Benecia would always remember that moment a headsman stood over Gentrig and raised a mighty axe. Benecia was desperately gyrating her hips, her hand rubbing herself between her legs sensually, desperately trying to keep up with the music of the lute to avoid the lash from the Strangler watching critically behind her. And then, even as she gyrated her hips, even as she sensually rubbed her clitoris as she had been taught to do, she watched the axe came whistling down, and her father's head was chopped clean off his head. Blood started to spurt everywhere. Never again would she be able to touch herself between her legs without feeling the pain of Father losing his life.

"Father!" Benecia screamed, stumbling as she lost her concentration. A half second later she screamed in pain as a whip tore a strip of skin from her back.

"Keep dancing!" Acacia cried, reaching down and pulling Benecia up. She started to wiggle her breasts again, and anxiously indicated for Benecia to do the same.

The rhythm of the lute was pure torture now. Benecia and Acacia, crying openly, grinded their hips in front of the audience while rubbing their breasts and vaginal lips sensually. Khalid found the combination of intense distress and sexual movements to be extremely erotic. He looked at the audience, many of whom were screaming. That was a good reaction. Khalid was sure that many of them felt exactly the same way.

Khalid reached down to Gentrig's corpse and scooped up some of the blood spurting out of his neck. "BLOOD!" he screamed, holding up his hand. "BLOOD AND PAIN! This is your future! This is your future with Laquinta!"

And then, smiling, he casually walked over to Acacia, who was doing her best to continue to perform an erotic dance, and Khalid rubbed some of Gentrig's blood on her breasts. Acacia cried out in agony, but she knew better than to stop dancing, and she continued to wiggle her breasts and her ass frantically, even as lines of her husband blood started to drip off of her breasts, down into the curves between her legs. She felt a shock to her system as she felt Gentrig's blood slide inside her own body. Khalid smiled and embraced her face with his bloody hand, giving her a strong kiss. She never stopped dancing even then, and when he pulled back, he smiled again as he saw his bloody handprint on her cheek.

The audience started to scream and run for the exits.

Khalid turned and yelled into the megaphone disc, as loudly as he could. "THIS WILL BE THE FATE OF ALL WHO OPPOSE LAQUINTA! SUBMIT! SUBMIT TO PAIN AND BLOOD, OR YOU WILL FACE AN AGONY A THOUSAND TIMES WORSE!" Khalid cried, a wide smile on his face, his eyes shining with glory.

Afterwards, Khalid enjoyed a sumptuous dinner of lamb and rice. "That went off quite well," he said, conversationally. Gone was his megalomaniacal tone of just a few hours ago.

"Yes," said Ahmed. "You could see the fear in the eyes of the sheep."

"They fear us, but will they love us?" Chaka asked.

Khalid looked sharply at Chaka. Chaka was always the weak one. "Fear. Love. It does not matter. It is all the same. We have shown them the terror of Laquinta. They will obey. That is all that is required," said Khalid, wiping his greasy hands on his robes. He remembered the expressions of terror on Acacia and Benecia's faces as they danced so erotically. Even the memory aroused him, driving him to satisfy his urges.

"Now have the woman and daughter brought to me. We have one last bit of celebrating to do tonight," said Khalid, stroking his oily black goatee.

Chaka, displeasure written on his face, nodded and left.

"He is weak," said Ahmed, echoing what Khalid was thinking.

"He is our youngest brother. We will bring him along," said Khalid.

"And if he can't be brought along?" Ahmed said.

Khalid shrugged. "Laquinta always has an insatiable appetite for blood."

"Master, did you really have to execute that poor man?" Ailborne asked.

Khalid admired the man's courage. Or was it his fool heartedness? Ailborne had already seen what Khalid had done to the Loving High Tollah. Since that time, a number of other Loving Tollahs had been whipped or even executed for questioning the will of Laquinta.

Ailborne was down on his knees before Khalid's Throne in the Palace of Sparticus, along with his fellow council members Erianthe and Helene, the lattermost who was also his wife.

Ailborne looked at Khalid expectantly.

"Oh, I'm sorry, were you expecting an actual answer? I thought that was merely a rhetorical question," Khalid smiled broadly, stroking his goatee. "Yes, he had to be executed. He touched my royal person."

"But you were uninjured, Master," said Ailborne.

"He injured my dignity," said Khalid. He gestured for a bikini clad woman to come over to him. He started to fondle her breasts.

"But to execute him in front of his wife and daughter-"

"A great teaching opportunity, was it not? Sometimes Laquinta inspires me in great ways," said Khalid.

"It was monstrous!" said Helene, Ailborne's wife.

Khalid's eyes grew wide. "What did you say?"

Ailborne quickly juxtaposed his body between Khalid's gaze and his wife. "She is... upset, my Lord. She knows not what she says."

"She is untrained. You must whip her for her insolence."

"Whip me?" said Helene.

"Yes, yes my Lord, it shall be done, at once," said Ailborne, dragging his wife out of the Throne Room.

Khalid smiled, looking at the remaining councilwoman, Erianthe. "And what brings you here, my sweet? Have you come to offer your body to me?"

Erianthe, gazed at him, but was afraid to speak. She turned her head, and departed, as Khalid laughed and worked his way underneath the slave's bikini bottom.

The time had finally come.

The time had come for Ahmed to reap some of the rewards of being a good and loyal servant of Laquinta. At least, that's how Ahmed saw it. Brother Khalid had already taken several of the local women. Chaka had that whore he had acquired on the Asgard. But Ahmed didn't have anyone. That was about to change.

Ahmed was out on patrol, with a team of his Stranglers, including Masharaf. Masharaf was showing more and more promise every day. Unlike others he had recruited. Masharaf never showed any hesitancy when Ahmed gave him an order, whether it was to whip someone, to behead them, or even to welcome a 14 year old girl into adulthood. He was fast becoming a most virtuous servant of Laquinta.

As Ahmed and his men walked by a farmhouse, he saw a young dark haired beauty putting up wet clothes on a clothesline. She had dark eyes, long flowing hair, bright red lips, a thin waist, and, most importantly, firm round breasts, which Ahmed could view through the tightness of her dress.

"Hello there, good looking," said Ahmed, as he and his men approached.

The woman's eyes radiated with fear.

"What's your name?" Ahmed asked.

"Leila," said the girl, still focused on her laundry.

Anger flared in Ahmed. He took her chin and pointed it at him. "Look at me when I talk to you, Leila."

Her eyes were full of fear and loathing.

"How old are you, Leila?"

"18," she said.

"18, Master," said Ahmed sharply.

"Yes, Master," said Leila, bowing her head.

Ahmed stared at her intensely, even as she shyly avoided his gaze. "Have you ever been with a man before, Leila?"

Leila blushed.

"Don't make me ask you twice, Leila," said Ahmed.

"No," said Leila. "No, Master," she quickly amended. "I have never been with a man."

"Well then, you're in luck. I shall be your first," said Ahmed. And he pulled her to him, and he pressed his lips against hers. Her lips were soft and gentle against his rough lips and even rougher black beard.

"No!" She cried, pulling away.

Ahmed backhanded her, and she fell to the ground.

"What's going on here?" said her father and mother, running out. They had been watching from the farmhouse, but had been too fearful to approach. Leila's father was named Demetrios, and her mother was Karnya.

"I have excellent news!" said Ahmed. "Your daughter... Leila," he said, smiling at her to show her he had remembered the slut's name. "Leila has been selected to be my very first concubine."

"No!" cried Karyna, running over to bend down by Leila.

"You can't have her," said Demetrios, wavering between fear and outrage.

Ahmed's eyes flashed. "Can't? Can't? You tell a Master of Laquinta a forbidden word? I will show you 'can't', old man!" Ahmed drew his curved sword, and in one even stroke, chopped Demetrios's head off. Wife and daughter screamed as his headless body fell to the ground.

Karnya jumped to her feet. "You bastard!" She yelled, charging Ahmed.

She might as well have been moving in slow motion. All it took was another flick of Ahmed's sword, and her head was also separated from her body. By chance, her head landed next to Demetrios's. Ahmed chuckled.

Leila, looking simply gorgeous as she was covered in streaks of her parents' blood, screamed hysterically.

Ahmed backhanded her, silencing her. "You have not been permission to scream." He turned to his men. "You should be happy. Your parents have been sacrificed to serve the God of Blood. You should feel blessed." He turned to his men. "Take her!"

Amadeus was an artist and an actor. Neither of which made his father Demetrios happy. "How will you make money as an artist? How will you make money as an actor?" he had asked.

Amadeus never had a ready answer. But acting and painting were his passion, and he pursued both, much to the disappointment of his father. His mother was no more accepting but was kinder, and would often hug him after his arguments with Father. His sisters were split down the middle. His older sister Selene was sympathetic to him, but his younger sister Leila always sided with Father.

"You have to be practical," Leila had said.

And so Amadeus had an uneasy relationship with half of his family.

When he returned to the farmhouse that evening after a day of disappointing auditions, he saw blood outside the front door. He heard sounds of digging. He ran around the side of the house, and saw his older sister Selene, weeping, as she filled two holes in the ground.

"Selene?" Amadeus said.

"Mother and Father," she cried, running into his arms.

"What happened?"

Selene had gotten the story from the neighbors. She told Amadeus how Mother and Father had been killed, and how Leila had been taken.

"Taken?"

"She's going to be a concubine at the Palace!" said Selene, with tears in her eyes.

"We've got to save her!" said Amadeus.

"No!" said Selene, grabbing him tightly. "There's nothing we can do! You don't even know how to hold a sword. And there are too many of them, Amadeus! If you go to the Palace to rescue her, you'll die, just like Mother and Father!"

"We have to do something!" said Amadeus.

"There's nothing we can do," said Selene. She collapsed, crying in his arms.

"There's something we can do," said Amadeus stubbornly. "There's always something we can do."

Two days later, Ahmed and his Stranglers tied a man to a pole in the village square.

"No, your greatness! I didn't mean it! Really, I didn't!" Ahmed smacked him in the face to shut him up. He ripped off the back of the man's shirt, and drew his whip.

"Excuse me, what are you doing?"

Ahmed turned to roar an answer, when he saw what looked like a boy, very skinny, not more than 19 or 20 years of age, perhaps. "This heretic is being punished! He questioned the Great God Laquinta!"

"Really, I didn't!" said the man.

"Liar! Did you not question the validity of Laquinta?"

"All I said was... I... had some... uncertainties."

Ahmed roared, and raised his whip.

"Wait!" said the boy. "Wouldn't this be a more effective lesson if one of us whipped him?"

Suddenly, Ahmed's rage abated. He lowered the whip. The boy had raised a good point. "Who are you?"

"Me?" said the boy. "No one, really."

"Well, would you like to whip the Infidel in my place?" Ahmed asked.

"I would be honored, Master," said the boy.

Ahmed, with an odd expression on his face, handed his large, black whip to the boy. The boy looked at it, and flickered it experimentally. Then he turned to Ahmed, who was waiting expectantly. "I'm ready," said the boy. "But don't you think it would be better if we waited an hour?"

"Why?" said Ahmed suspiciously.

"This is the lunch hour. Look how empty the street is."

And it was true. There were only a handful of passerbys.

"If you wait an hour, I guarantee you a crowd," said the boy.

Ahmed considered.

"If you wait an hour, I can get his family here to watch. After all, is that not the purpose of whipping, not only to punish, but to teach?"

Ahmed reached out and patted the boy on the head. "Good thinking, boy." He paused. "I and my men will go and get lunch ourselves. We will leave the man tied to this pole and come back in an hour." And then he leaned forward. "But if, upon our return, we find the man is no longer tied to the pole, we will come looking for you. And when we find you, we will cut you and your family to pieces for betraying us. Do we understand each other?"

The boy nodded. "I will guard him with my life. You have my word."

Ahmed nodded, pat the young man again, and actually chuckled as he motioned for his men to head off.

Amadeus, still holding the big black whip, smiled as he watched them go.

An hour later, when Ahmed returned with his men, he heard screams of agony. He turned a corner to see the man, still tied to the pole, yelling at the top of his lungs. Amadeus had the whip in the air, and was flicking it again with a crack.

"What is this?" said Ahmed.

"Oh," said Amadeus. "When the crowd started gathering and you didn't return, I started early. I hope you don't mind." He went over to the man, who was now slumped against the pole. "He's unconscious. I guess I overdid it." He handed the bloody whip back to Ahmed.

Ahmed looked at the man, slumped against the pole. Deep red welts lined his back, crisscrossing in every direction. He had been given a thorough whipping, even more thorough than Ahmed would have given him. He looked at the man, and then back at the boy, and then he patted him in the head again. "Good work, boy," he said. He spoke to the crowd. "Attend this! This will be the fate for all those who defy Laquinta!" And he and his men moved off.

When they were gone, Amadeus turned to the man he had whipped. "You can get up now."

The man stood up, and Amadeus quickly untied him from the pole. "How do I get this off me?" he asked, indicating the whip marks on his back.

"Soap and water," said Amadeus.

"You did such a convincing job," said the man. "I thank you! But how did you do it?"

"An actor's secret," said Amadeus, smiling.​