The crimson comet struck like a hammer from the gods.
It streaked across the night sky, a blazing wound that lit up the heavens before slamming into the remote wildlands of Athera. The shockwave rippled through the kingdom, shaking stones from castle walls and rattling the bones of its people. The next morning, scouts brought grim tales: men who ventured too close to the fallen star returned changed—or didn’t return at all.
Within weeks, the kingdom was beset by monstrous attacks, creatures once human now twisted by the stone’s alien power. Rumors spread of a curse, a sickness that infected men on contact, corrupting their bodies and minds. Women, however, remained untouched.
In the royal keep, the air was thick with tension.
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THE CALL TO DUTY
Brin stood apart from the gathered soldiers, her tall figure unmistakable even in the shadow of the council chamber. She wore the same armor as the others, though the crimson skirt draped over her legs marked her apart—a practical adaptation for riding that somehow made her presence more striking. Her long blonde hair, tied in a warrior’s braid, gleamed against the dull steel of her breastplate. Her icy blue eyes remained fixed on the councilor as he spoke, but she could feel the other soldiers’ glances—curious, dismissive, envious—all of them.
“The General is infected,” the councilor said, his voice grave. “We have no time to waste.”
Her attention snapped to the man standing at the king’s side. General Darnell had always been an imposing figure, his stout, muscular frame radiating command. But now his broad shoulders were hunched, and his ebony skin glistened with an unnatural sheen of sweat. Even standing still, his arms trembled slightly at his sides, veins bulging as though his body were fighting to hold itself together.
“His transformation is accelerating,” the councilor continued. “The touch of a woman slows the corruption, but it will not be enough. He must reach the stone’s core to retrieve the cure.”
“And what does that have to do with me?” Brin asked, though she suspected the answer.
“You are the only woman in the army with the skill to endure such a journey. But the General is no ordinary man now.” The councilor hesitated. “You must ride him.”
Brin blinked. “Ride him?”
“His strength is no longer human. He can carry you faster and farther than any horse. But you must be his commander in all things. His movements, his pace, his direction—they will all be under your control.”
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Her stomach churned at the thought. She glanced at the General, expecting outrage, but his expression was unreadable, his dark eyes fixed on her. He looked like a man swallowing a bitter pill, knowing he had no choice.
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A RELUCTANT BEGINNING
Hours later, Brin stood in the courtyard, her boots crunching against the gravel as she faced the General. He was bare-chested now, his uniform abandoned, revealing the grotesque changes overtaking his body. His muscles seemed almost too large for his frame, his veins dark and pulsing as though alive with foreign energy. Yet his eyes remained sharp, defiant.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered.
“You think I like this?” Brin snapped. Her crimson skirt swayed as she stepped forward, the fabric brushing against the tops of her high leather boots. “But we’re doing this, so get ready.”
He hesitated, his jaw tightening. “You’ll enjoy this more than I will.”
Her laugh was cold, humorless. “Kneel.”
For a moment, she thought he might refuse. But then he dropped to one knee, his broad shoulders rising and falling with a low growl of frustration. She stepped closer, placing one hand on his shoulder for balance as she swung a long, muscular leg over his head. Her thighs gripped the sides of his neck, bare skin pressing against his thick shoulders as she settled into position. The fabric of her skirt rode up slightly, exposing more of her pale thighs, but she paid it no mind.
Brin adjusted her weight, her hands coming to rest lightly on top of his bald head. The warmth of his skin beneath her palms felt strange, intimate in a way she hadn’t expected. She pressed her thighs tighter around his neck, feeling the corded muscles beneath her flex in response. He stiffened, clearly unused to the sensation of being controlled in this way.
“Move forward,” she commanded.
His hesitation was brief, but it was there. She leaned slightly to the left, squeezing with her right thigh to direct him, and he stumbled forward, his feet crunching against the gravel. The motion was unsteady, awkward, as though he were relearning how to walk.
“Focus,” she said sharply, her thighs tightening briefly to emphasize the command. His shoulders tensed under her, and she felt his frustration simmering.
“Don’t treat me like a beast,” he growled.
“Then don’t act like one,” she shot back, her voice cold. She pressed her thighs again, steering him in a slow circle. “You’re not just carrying me. You’re carrying the fate of the kingdom. Start acting like it.”
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BRIN’S PRESENCE ON HIS SHOULDERS
Riding on his shoulders, Brin was an imposing figure. Her crimson skirt flared slightly with each movement, her thighs pressing firmly against his neck to control his direction. The contrast between her pale skin and his dark, muscular frame was striking, her long legs a visual reminder of her dominance in this dynamic. Her hands rested lightly on his bald head, her fingers sometimes tightening to steady herself as he adjusted his gait. Her hips moved subtly with his motions, a rhythm she was still learning to master but would soon wield with precision.
As the General carried her, each step was a battle for balance—both physical and emotional. She felt his resentment in the tension of his shoulders, but she also sensed his effort to obey, to adapt to this new reality. And beneath her controlled exterior, Brin wrestled with her own discomfort, her own doubts about what this journey would demand of them both.
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