Empath Rising

by Archibald Bradford

  Shame.

  What are you ashamed of kitty? Don’t be afraid, I can help you if you just show me what it is that frightens you so.

  His thoughts were kind, warm, loving. He emptied himself of everything but love for her, nothing else mattered. His life was nothing, hers, everything.

  The Tenebrae’s eyes widened impossibly as she felt his thoughts. Invasive, yet gentle…The thoughts of a lover, not one of the bestial half-men who she had been forced to rut with by her own nature. Her mind clung to his, a lifeline in her turbulent sea of pain.

  Show me.

  He didn’t command, but he didn’t ask either. He knew that she needed to show him, that the guilt was eating her alive, consuming her; a poison that could only be expressed if she laid her heart bare to him.

  It was agony for her, like exposing and licking an open wound with her rough tongue. She resisted him, fought his mind with hers, threw mental daggers of hate and rage at him; anything to get him out of her mind.

  She didn’t want him to go. She needed him to see, and she couldn’t show him.

  Her mind was shattered glass, churning in on itself over and over.

  Show me. Let it go. I don’t know my name, but I want to know yours… because I love you.

  Her mind froze in its turmoil.

  She basked in the warmth of his thoughts; his light drove away the ice cold shards that shredded through her soul.

  Love? What is that? It’s warm… so very warm

  Her mind calmed, her memories flowed. The shame returned but the pain of it was blocked by his warmth.

  You want to see?

  Yes, show me.

  You want to see why I deserve this pain?

  No, I want to see so that I can help you be free of it… Show me?

  It was a request now, he wouldn’t force her. She knew he wouldn’t somehow. His scent filled her nostrils, a familiar heat returned to her groin. But this time it was different, not a pitiful torch in her belly that drove her into the arms of any man that demanded it.

  This heat was the sun.

  And it burned only for him.

  Never again would another man touch her. Only him… the thought of him, his scent, his voice, his warmth it made her so wet. She could smell her own musk, even trapped in her mind as she was. She could feel his surprise. She liked that he was surprised.

  But the shame still lingered in her soul, slowly killing her.

  “NO!!”

  A voice.

  His voice.

  He screamed in her mind and right in her face at the same time. She felt his determination, his love. He would not let her die. She whimpered, in her mind and in reality, a plaintive yowl of pain and fear. And desire.

  Show me, please!

  The pain in his thoughts, the worry for her, tipped the balance. Her shame meant she deserved to suffer, but he didn’t. With a cry she surrendered. For him, she remembered the worst day of her life.

  The day she betrayed her sister.

  __________

  “Urgh, Milly… stop pouting at me, Brant will be here any second.”

  She could feel the tightness in her loins, her accelerated heartbeat. She knew that within a few minutes she would no doubt be underneath whatever sweaty john had the bits to pay Brant for her time. The thought sickened her, but she knew once in the moment she would be enjoying it. She wouldn’t have a choice.

  “I’m not pouting! I just think that you need to eat something, you’ve gotten so skinny…” Milly had one hand on her hip and was doing her best to look stern, she held an open can of sardines in her other hand.

  She didn’t get it.

  The thought of eating made her sick to her stomach. She was eating less and less. The more sex she had, the more frequent her heat came and it was out of control. Brant was quick to capitalize on it. This had been her life for nearly five years, the bastard was making money off of her hand over fist.

  He was a ruthless fucker.

  One message to the Aegis about how she was treated would result in her rescue; of course, trapped in the roaming tent town there was no chance of that. The place moved every month or so to keep the Aegis from finding them.

  Every crime that could be committed against a monster girl was committed there. Some fought in the arena, never to the death because no one could profit that way, but always within inches of it. Others were sex slaves.

  No owner could order a monster girl to have sex, with them or anyone for that matter. But many monsters needed it, craved it, and a canny individual with no compunctions could easily capitalize on that.

  Every monster in the tents was ordered not to leave. Don’t go anywhere, seemed like a harmless order and as such it was the kind that the monster girls’ hearts just had to obey.

  She dreamt of nothing but escape for three years.

  Until the day that Brant decided to diversify. He bought a powerful monster, intending for her to fight in the arena, to earn him yet more money. He had spent a fair amount of bits on her but it turned out she wouldn’t fight. Every time she went into the arena she just stood there and took whatever beating her opponent could dish out.

  At first he was furious, he could order her into the arena, but he couldn’t make her fight, no matter what rewards he promised her. But then he noticed that his little whore had taken a liking to the cow. So he told her that she could keep Milly, as a reward for her loyal service.

  Really it was another means of controlling her. Milly was so very sweet and innocent. The cat couldn’t help but love her.

  And Brant held her heartstone.

  At any time he could sell her, take her away. Whenever her heat started, if she showed him any sign of resistance, he would throw Milly into the arena as punishment. All he had to do to keep her compliant was show her Milly’s heart and promise to not sell her if his slutty Katje just went with these nice men for a few hours...

  For two years this continued, but she had convinced herself that her life was better now. Sure she was in heat half the time, slobbering, greasy creeps getting off on her and filling Brant’s pockets with coins.

  But she had Milly.

  They had so many sweet moments together. Like the day they decided to be sisters. They had each used the tip of one of Milly’s horns to cut their thumbs, and they had made a pact; to always look out for one another, to take care of each other, and to never stay mad at each other.

  For two years, Milly was the only bright spot in her life.

  But Brant’s greed was endless.

  She was in heat nearly constantly towards the end and was seeing less and less of Milly. The cow girl was worried, and rightly so, she had lost so much weight, her womanly curves were fading. What little milk Milly was able to produce for her couldn’t keep her healthy, not with the amount of time she spent having sex.

  Too much sex could kill you. She wouldn’t be the first monster girl to go down that road. She felt the light of her heartstone, clutched in Brant’s greedy mitts, fading more and more each day.

  The sardines were the latest of Milly’s attempts to get her healthy.

  She found that she couldn’t care less. What did this stupid cow know about her life anyways? She didn’t even have the stomach to throw a punch in the arena let alone deal with the pigs that pounded their little dicks inside of her on a nightly basis.

  She found the more Milly talked the angrier she became. Her head hurt, she was sick to her stomach and that stupid cow wouldn’t stop waving those damn fish at her, making her nausea worse.

  She snapped.

  She couldn’t help herself; she started to scream incoherently, hissing and spitting as she struck out at the surprised Minotaur, slapping her across the face over and over.

  Like in the arena, Milly just stood there and took it.

  Eventually, her frail body unable to sustain her rage against the Minotaur, the cat girl broke down and sobbed.

  “I hate you! I just hate you! I wish I never met you!”

  Mi
lly tried to gather her into a hug. She would have given anything in the world to go back and accept the warmth of that hug; to apologize for hitting her, to beg her forgiveness and to try to explain why she couldn’t stomach even the thought of food.

  If it weren’t for Milly she would’ve been either dead or a Tenebrae long ago.

  Before she could come to her senses though, Brant was there.

  Shouting at them for making a scene, he dragged her off into the night and she spent the next two days underneath one man after another.

  When she finally got back to her tent, her battered body barely able to support its own weight, her only thought was of making up with her sister. They would have a long bath together, she would drink whatever milk Milly had, and eat whatever she put before her.

  But Milly was gone.

  Brant had sold her.

  He told her this, his tone matter of fact, without any hint of remorse as he counted his fucking money.

  He had snuffed out the only light in her life.

  He told her that she had been sold to a man even worse than he was. That she would spend the rest of her life being beaten and tortured in another arena. There are many who would bet on a Minotaur, he said, not knowing that she would refuse to fight, so she would lose over and over and over. He twisted the knife in her heart telling her all of the different ways that Milly would suffer.

  All because she failed, she broke her promise, to always be there for her.

  The shame was unlike anything she ever felt, she would rather face a thousand johns, without her heat to protect her, than to face what she had done to Milly.

  All she could see was Milly’s face when she was slapping her, calm, her eyes sad but patient. Those blue pools an endless font of love that demanded nothing and offered everything.

  And she took it all from her.

  She remembered all of the times Milly had been forced into the arena, the blood on her face, the bruises. Not many monsters could really hurt a Minotaur, but those that could were invariably found in the arenas. That would be her life now.

  And it is all my fault.

  Her memories became jumbled after that, she could sense the wave of shame consuming her, the last vestiges of her soul broken. She could feel the light of her heartstone dim, and an inky darkness swirling into it.

  She remembered the look on Brant’s face when she pulled out his tongue. She remembered the taste of his flesh as she ate his penis, his testicles. She had tried to beat her shame into him, to transfer the darkness over to the one who had created it in her.

  All she managed to do was let it take her over faster.

  She resisted for an age, somehow recognizing that when she killed Brant she made it worse, so she avoided people as best she could, while at the same time she was drawn to them by the dark hunger to spill their blood.

  After that her memory became hazy, days or years passed, she didn’t know. She tasted blood on occasion, but never like she did with Brant.

  She remembered scenting those that stalked her, the woman and her dog. She didn’t hate them. But she thought that maybe she had found another way to rid herself of the darkness so she began to stalk them, her feral instincts making her cunning…

  Stop.

  That warmth again...

  Enough. Please, enough.

  She shuddered, falling out of the darkness of her memory and into the light of his vacant mind.

  Now do you see? Do you see why the darkness, the shame, should be with me always?

  No.

  ???

  All I see… is a vibrant and wonderful woman, one so full of love. Who fell prey to a wicked man and was gravely hurt as a result.

  But… Milly.

  Ask yourself, would Milly want you to punish yourself forever? Would she want this pain, this darkness, for you?

  …...

  Well?

  …No… Milly would never wish that on anyone…

  What would Milly want for you?

  She would… she would want me to be happy.

  If that is what she would want, then that is what you should do, Milly forgives you, forgive yourself.

  …Who are you?

  I… don’t know… I was someone I think, who was I again?

  His warmth faltered, the heat of it dimming as confusion set in. For the first time in a long time she felt afraid. She feared for him.

  Are you okay? You seem confused.

  I, I wanted to help you... I think… I think I gave everything that I had to help you… who are you?

  …Erica… my name… I think my name was Erica.

  Erica… such a pretty name… do you know… do you know who I am… Erica?

  Yes… yes I know you…

  Who am I?

  You are… my master! I know your scent, and I know your heart!

  Your master?

  Yes… I feel, so very warm. I feel the sun on my face... you are the sun… you are my world, my master… I… I love you!

  But… what…

  If you don’t trust your own thoughts then trust mine! Please Master?

  …Okay.

  I will help you, just like you helped me!

  Okay… one question…

  Anything…

  Who are you again?

  __________

  “They’ve been like this for nearly an hour…” Jan hovered over the pair as they clutched each other tightly on the ground, he had cried out a few times and she whimpered a bunch but otherwise they were still; “What is happening to them?”

  Miranda was knelt at Milly’s side, a wet cloth held to the jagged cut on her head, the blow had glanced off of her horn, she was lucky.

  After applying the poultice she stood. Her own wounds already tended to, her arm in an improvised sling.

  She felt far older than she was as she responded, her voice grim.

  “He’s an Empath… I should have seen it sooner. He will reach her or he will lose himself trying.”

  “An Empath? I’ve heard of them before but what-”

  Jan gently brushed at the cowlick on his forehead. He had saved them both. He had saved her bond-mate; whatever he was, she wanted him to be safe.

  “It is a rare and dangerous gift. I know of only two others, and one of them is in a coma.”

  “A coma? Why?”

  Jan looked up as she felt a spike of apprehension from her bond mate.

  “Because he tried to do exactly what this boy is trying to do right now, he tried and he failed.”

  Jan’s eyes widened.

  “Can we help him?” Jan was hopeful but Miranda shook her head.

  “No, only another Empath could, all we can do… is wait.”

  __________

  What a trio of rampaging thunder-cunts!!

  The intertwined minds were working their way back through his fragmented memories and Erica did not like what she saw.

  The poor boy was huddled in a corner, mostly naked as the three girls loomed over him, taking it in turns to slap him and poke at his crotch with their toes. Her master felt the slaps as if they were his cheeks…

  I wonder who he is?

  I think that is you Master… and if I ever meet any of those bitches I will rip their…

  They’re dead.

  What?

  I think… they were swimming… Mistress… Ophelia… she told them not to, but they went anyways. The current in the river was too strong, there was a flood. They all drowned.

  Oh… well… good.

  She felt a stab of pain from him. He didn’t want them to be dead. They were his friends. Weren’t they?

  Master, anyone who strips you down to your undies and smacks you around isn’t your friend I don’t think…

  There was another memory, the three girls and him. They were much younger; before they were old enough for school, before the social cliques, the makeup, and the boys that they had to impress somehow by being terrible to each other. They played together in the dirt. They dug trenches wit
h their hands, played with wooden toys and laughed for no reason at all, innocent still.

  Huh… well, they grew up to be bitches, it happens.

  …I guess…

  Master?

  Hmmm?

  His thoughts were bemused as he watched the four children playing. It was such a lovely sight.

  These are only two memories… where are the rest?

  I…I don’t know…

  Well, let’s find them!

  …Okay.

  Darkness swirled around their shared mind.

  She was at peace, happy to help someone else for a change, someone she loved.

  He was mostly confused.

  There was a whir of sensation, distant memories he didn’t like, bitter ones. Memories of when he didn’t do a good enough job of hiding and the bigger kids found him and hurt him; emotional pain, worse than the physical kind, akin to what the girls had inflicted but in smaller doses, a lot of doses.

  He remembered crying a lot. He remembered Ophelia holding him to her soft breasts, the brilliant purple of her wings made him feel safe, blocking out anything that could hurt him. But there were so many kids to hold and only one Ophelia…

  He remembered that he was an orphan.

  That’s it!

  Mistress Ophelia’s Home for Lost Children. He was raised there.

  Wow, you got beat up a LOT, are you okay Master?

  At her words another memory swirled around them. He was stacking firewood, when a haughty girl came out with food for him.

  Erica snarled at the baker’s daughter’s unkind words.

  What a stuck up little princess! If I ever meet HER I will definitely fuck her up! You had a lot of shitty days Master.

  He felt a sharp pain, or rather the memory of pain, on his chin and across his chest. There was a memory attached to it but he shied away from it. The pain was pretty intense.

  Come on Master! I’m right here; nothing can hurt you as long as I’m around! I promise.

  Okay…

  Another memory, this one teeming with a different emotion, there was fear but mostly there was anger. How could that bastard do that to her in public like that? A man, a whip…