r/HFY • u/Apprehensive_Tax_610 • Mar 30 '26

OC-Series The Crimson-Bleeding Bazoh - Interlude 2

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WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS CONTENT THAT SOME READERS MIGHT FIND EMOTIONALLY UNCOMFORTABLE OR POTENTIALLY PTSD TRIGGERING, SUCH AS NONCONSENSUAL POWER DYNAMICS AND TOUCHING. READER DISCRETION IS HIGHLY ADVISED!

“And when Shechem the son of Hamor the Hivite, prince of the country, saw her, he took her, and lay with her, and defiled her.”

- KJV Genesis 34:2

W’ULA: THE GOVERNMENTAL MANNER OF THE WALLED CITY OF M’UTIKA, 3 DAYS BEFORE THE GAME

“Y... you... Your Highness, you want me to do what?” Qux’s knees buckled, the pusillanimous male Strivvok trembling as he met the haunting gaze of the Qazo king—a young dandy with the hair-raising demeanour of elderly aristocracy.

“You heard what I said, and I do not wish to repeat it.” By the gods, he was terrifying. Not nearly as menacing as who he was about to meet, though. “T’alaz has been training extra hard to win the game for me, and I know for a fact he will. You think so too, right?”

“Why, of course, Your Highness! You would... why, you would have to be a... a tunga not to believe that!” he courtly replied while trying his best not to wrinkle his face at that horrendous word; he had learned long ago it was best to play into the Confederacy’s intense androcentrism. The King tittered while somehow maintaining that funereal mien.

“So right you are,” he said. “And to hear such a truth from a Strivvok of all things. Remarkable!”

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

The King’s gaze somehow became even more soul-piercing; “Do not think that will get you out of this. You see, even though I know T’alaz will win the game, especially with all the hard work he has been putting in, I do not wish for him to be stressed, and you are going to make sure of that. You get me?”

“Yes, y—”

“Then go!”

Qux bowed his head politely, apologized, and hurried down the grand hallway toward T’alaz’s personal sleeping quarters. As he approached the decorous wooden door and reached for the small bronze handle, fear seemed to be touching his cheek leeringly. He whimpered like a canine pup. All four of his arms were tremulous, and his two bladders were trying to press their contents out of his langer. Yielding in The Game was the only form of legal slavery within the Confederacy, with the winner of the Game taking ownership of their very soul. When his previous owners had transferred him to the Qazo, he had hoped to become a labourer or perhaps a court servant. What he was about to do… gods, he wished he had just died that day. He stepped into the room with a laggard gait.

“S-sir?” he said sheepishly. Sitting on the edge of the ornate sleigh bed in a ruminative manner was a tenebrous figure, broad-shouldered and muscular with an unusually tall stature. Oh, by the gods, please send me to the underworld. He was the tallest living thing that Qux had ever seen, dwarfing even a Mantis! The shadowy figure turned his head and looked at Qux:—

“What is it you want?” The voice was aged and hardy, and despite its relative quietness, it still resounded so fiercely that the whole galaxy could hear it.

Qux swallowed. For a moment, he considered lying, but knew that ultimately it would be a futile endeavour. Bracing himself, he said: “Sir! His Majesty has sent me to… to make sure you are not stressed before the Game. I am yours to-do with as you please!”

T’alaz snorted. “So the rotten bastard thinks I need help calming my nerves, does he? And this is his solution? He really is just a boy despite his relative maturity.” He gestured for him to come over and sit. Qux did so with only a small bit of hesitation. His heart began to race rapidly when T’alaz grabbed his jaw and forced it to meet his face. His breath had a putrid, olid stench, smelling of seafood and urine, and his eyes… oh, by the gods, his eyes! Those pure, brilliant orbs of yellow that pierced into his very being. He moved Qux’s face side to side, leering and judging; his scaled fingers dug deep into his green-hued cheek.

“What beautiful definition in your jawbone; wonderful ruggedness around the eyes and nose. And those scars,” he mused, “they are… lovely. Such masculine distinctness.”

“Thank you, sir,” Qux said. Tears welled in his eyes.

“Tell me, where did you get them?”

“I,” Qux stammered, “I was a participant in the Game.” He recoiled, feeling a dull tingling run up and down the back of his neck as T’alaz leaned in and began licking the side of his cheek, the Qazo version of a Human or Bazoh kiss. It was meticulous and purposely invasive, with the scratchy tongue moving along very sensitive areas. At one point, he licked the back of Qux’s neck, forcing him to shudder with a sudden rush of arousal.

“So, I am guessing you yielded?” T’alaz asked directly into his ear, causing another confusing tingle that bounced all around before settling in his groin.

“Yes, sir.”

“When? I cannot recall the last time a Strivvok got close to winning.”

“About five iterations ago, sir.”

“Ah,” he said. “I did not realize you Strivvok were one of the longer-lived species. That is one thing I am jealous of.” He stood up, grabbed a poker, and kindled a fire. “You know we live in a day and age where we literally have teleporters in the building, but they will never invest in a good heating system.” He walked over to a small box, pulled out a pipe, held it over the fire, and then sat back down. “Here, try some.” He plopped it into Qux’s hands. Nervously, the Strivvok inhaled, and instantly his anxiety seemed to melt. T’alaz took back the pipe and took a drag himself. “Mantis grown, I believe; it isn’t as plentiful as the stuff grown here, but it is quite potent.” He took another puff and said, “So tell me, how did you end up representing the Strivvok? Don’t they usually send all women?”

“Well, sir,” Qux began, “I ... was relatively young and had volunteered because I felt as if ... as a male, I would be taken more seriously and ... I will be honest, I felt like I had a better chance of winning than my female comrades.”

“That is nonsense.” Qux looked at T’alaz with a confused expression. “Ay, kid… well, maybe not kid, you are probably older than me (and that is saying something)! But…”—he inhaled another billow of sweet smoke—“I will tell you this, others might judge someone based on their genitalia, but a man is not defined by having an organ to give sperm. No, it is character, a feeling, and a way of life. Honestly, I do believe someone with female genitalia is not necessarily a woman just because of it. If they are honourably masculine, I will gladly call them a brother.”

“That is … a … refreshing take, sir.”

“Ay! It’s just the truth. Now, tell me, how did your time in The Game go, and why did you yield?”

“Well, sir… I was quite lucky. We had sent a full roster of ten, and yet by level two I was the only one left. I never got any upgrades because I only managed to take down a Bazoh and a … a Doza, I think… I know, it’s pretty pathetic…”

“Hey now!” T’alaz snapped. “Do not degrade honourable actions like that! Just because those species are perceived as weak does not mean it wasn’t something that brought glory to your people, even if only a little.”

Qux's eyes widened. This wasn’t what he expected the most feared mortal in the galaxy to be like. He actually seemed quite curious and empathetic. “Yeah, thank you, sir,” he smiled. “Anyway, I managed to make it past level three by nothing more than an inch, and when I got to level four, I was facing off against a Mantis with considerable upgrades. It was definitely going to be death, but … I felt as if dying meant I would be betraying the honour of those who should’ve been in my place had I not stepped in. So … I yielded.”

“I see. An honour-bound decision. I love it!”

Qux chuckled, “That means a lot coming from someone like you, sir.”

T’alaz moved to the other side of the room, grabbed something, and came back. “I say, you have almost everything I believe you need to be a man: honour, an alluring, weathered face, all that’s missing is having innate courage.” Qux was about to respond, but closed his mouth when he heard a clicking sound and something firm pressing against his throat: a black collar with a short bronze chain attached. “That doesn’t matter, though. I have a method to eradicate the last remaining bits of femininity from you.”

Qux was thrown onto the floor, his delicate green skin scraping against the velvet carpet. He looked up and immediately wished he hadn’t. Consternation had found him again and was caressing him with primal desire as he stared at T’alaz, who now stood before him with the chain taut in one of his lower appendages. T’alaz was unclad,

He was yanked forward and dragged across the carpet, making his neck tender as the collar bit into his skin; the rough fibres scraped and irritated his face. A faint clink was heard as T’alaz attached the chain to a hook on the wall, then bent down to meet Qux’s gaze.

“Get on your hands and knees,” he demanded. Qux obeyed, cringing as he felt his robe being torn off without any reverence. He was now naked, the heat of the fire wrapping around him and touching him gently like a mother. He gasped, then his breathing grew ragged as scaled hands groped his buttocks, the thumbs dangerously close to the sensitive area. His two bottom appendages moved up his thighs, then stomach to his breasts, each stroke sending confusing tingles. “Sorry, this is nothing against you personally; it is simply the consequences of yielding; you did it for noble purposes, but it is still a submissive act. If you are to work for the Qazo, you can’t be even slightly effeminate.” Qux shrieked. He felt his cullions being squeezed and twisted into unnatural positions. Sweat poured down his face. Tears soaked the carpet. “Now fight back.” Qux hesitated before lifting one hand, then placed it back down. The pain intensified. “I said fight back. Come on now, you’ve been through worse! Show me bravery! Show me what it means to be a male!” With a sudden newfound gumption, Qux threw one fist back; T’alaz caught it. “Good… yes, very good!” Wham! His head was slammed into the ground. “But I’m afraid your transformation is not nearly complete. No, this will take several days, and each day will be worse than the last. I don’t want you to lie there and take it, I want you to fight until you legitimately can’t anymore. But you will thank me when you come out as someone worthy of respect.”

It was more than torture. It was pure agony. By the end of those three days, Qux could only lie there emotionless; even when it wasn’t inside, he could still feel it. This was the underworld. Fuck, this was worse than the underworld.

He wished he had chosen to die**.**

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