The clarion call of hunting horns of the Wind Clan rang out through the Autumn Forest and the insects that ran over Oberon's body began to chitter at each other.
"They're coming, they're coming!"
"Oh, this couldn't be worse! We must help him!"
"But we can't! Then they'll get us!"
"We need to get them out!"
"I'll distract them!"
"We need to protect Oberon!"
The hunting trumpet rang out again. Flies flew up from his body, gnats soaring in the air. Oberon could not move his head. He heard a noise-a whinnying neigh.
"Stupid insects!"
"This disgusting filth!"
Hands slapping. Flares of magic. He couldn't turn his head.
"...What is that?"
The husk that was his body, unable to even close his eyes, was lying on his side. He couldn't see these creatures that approached him. He heard hoofbeats and footsteps.
"Is that a proper fairy? In here?"
"Ahahaha, look at it! What's wrong with it?"
A boot of fine leather struck his ribs. Oberon gasped in pain.
"It's so ugly!"
More kicks were rained down on him. Oberon had nothing to protect himself. No meat on his bones to insulate him, no reflex to hide himself.
"Ugh, these damn bugs!"
"Disgusting!"
"One got in my eye!"
"...Do you think they're trying to protect him?"
Bright, sparkling laughter rang out from around him. A fairy leaned forwards, and Oberon saw her properly-short golden hair, a centipede wriggling in her elegant fingers, biting with its mandibles. Gnats were swarming around her head. A bee stung her and fell down.
...Worthless. How worthless. The foolish things...were throwing themselves at these to protect him.
The centipede was making high shrieking cries of fear.
"Ugh, I hate holding this thing..." She caught a leg between two fingers of her other hand and pulled. "Ugh, that's too small, isn't it?" She grabbed two more, taking multiple legs in her fingers before pulling them off piecemeal.
The centipede was as helpless as he was. It was screaming in pain. A horsefly flew about her face to distract her and did nothing-the fairy was preoccupied with how the centipede squirmed in her hand and its cries of pain.
"There's so many of them!" someone called out in disgust.
If Oberon could speak, he would tell them to stop it. But he couldn't.
Most of the time, a hunt into the Autumn Forest would only end up with this. The fairies would get bored and disgusted and go home. The fairies here were small, uninteresting.
He wasn't.
Hands turned him over. A man with a perfect face and hair the color of moonlight looked down at him, as did the rest of a hunting party.
They burst into musical laughter. "What is this?" one asked.
"Well, he could be pretty if he had meat on him."
"Look at this," one said. Fingers ran down the protruding bands of his ribcage.
"He can't move at all. It's lovely. Look, he's so thin!" A lovely hand grasped his wrist and pulled his arm up into the air. "You'd barely have to put any effort into breaking him! Like a lovely doll."
"He really is an astoundingly perfect toy!" The fingers trailed down to the hollow of his stomach.
The fairy holding his wrist twisted and there was an awful crack. She barely had to put any effort in-he was so breakable. Like the insects they crushed with hands and feet. The fairy who'd broken his wrist cried out as fat insects bit at her legs and feet. The centipede was struggling in the dirt, letting out weak cries.
His arm weakly fell back to the ground. It burned with pain but the most he could let out was a pained rattling noise.
"He can't scream?" one said, offended by the notion.
"Let's see if we can make him!"
"He's so thin...Do you think it would show up in his stomach if we fucked him?"
"I think Truestride could do that..."
"Oh, Truestride can do that to everyone. Don't you want to see?"
One of them couldn't stop laughing. "He looks so funny!"
The bruises on his body were already showing up, dark and livid. Breathing hurt his side.
It wasn't fair, that he couldn't move but he could feel everything. But nothing was fair, was it?
Nails dug into his thighs. "There's nothing there to pinch!" one of them teased.
"He's so ugly!"
"No, I think he's pretty, isn't he?"
"It is pretty that you could break him so easily."
...Disgusting.
Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting, disgusting, disgusting, disgusting!
He wanted to give voice to his hate, his rage, his disgust, but all that came out was a weak, wordless groan. The fairies were crushed around him, dead or dying. There was one elf towards the back of those that surrounded him who was fingering herself with one hand and pulling the wings off of a small moth with another.
"Those little sighs that he's making really sound like he's enjoying it, don't they?"
"If he's enjoying it, he should get harder." Hands pinched at his cock, tugging painfully.
"It's so gross he's hairy down here," another said, grabbing at the soft down of his pubic hair and yanking.
"You don't even have to spread his legs, you can see his hole already...isn't that erotic?"
Another fairy laughed. "So he was trying to entice people, lying here in the forest?"
"Poor thing," someone crooned. "But now he's got kind people to help him!"
"He really should thank us...Hey, skinny thing, can you say 'thank you'?"
Oberon would kill them all. He should be able to kill them all.
But right now his body couldn't do anything. Not kill, not speak sweet words... How pathetic. A failure as both Oberon and as Vortigern.
Fingers pried his mouth open. "Say thank you," a fairy ordered.
"Ah, ah..."
"Stop teasing him, I'm getting bored! Let's fuck him already!"
With that, the blunt head of a cock was nudged at his hole and he was thrust into unceremoniously.
It was a different pain from the dull throbbing pain in his side or the incandescent pain in his wrist-another kind, chafing and irritating and /intruding/. Something in him that shouldn't be there. Another fairy squatted over his neck, presenting his own erect cock into Oberon's face.
Someone laughed at him. "He can't suck it! Just look at him!"
"I'm not going to-with his head like this, his mouth is just a hole, see?"
It was amusing, maybe. His mouth was gaped open from the mockery, drool running down his chin. It really was something perfect for this. Just a hole to fuck, for the fairy's cock to shove down into the throat of. It choked him, but Oberon wasn't even capable of reflexive movements.
He really was just a hole to fuck.
It wasn't fair. He was a weapon, the destruction of fairies. So why was he in this emaciated, motionless husk, without the strength to even close his eyes? He should have had the power to kill all of them instead of lying there like a broken doll.
"This is boring!" the fairy fucking him declared. "It doesn't even move!"
"Oh, the throat's really nice, though!" Oberon couldn't breathe. He was light-headed, dizzy. Drool ran down from his mouth as he fought for breath with each push into his throat. It hurt. Everything hurt.
"But it won't react!"
"Maybe if we start breaking fingers?"
"Ooh, I want to try!"
Someone grabbed the hand they'd mutilated earlier. Oberon would have seized if he could. He couldn't.
"Mmm, I think I felt him tighten up a little?"
"He's not even gagging!"
"Well, it feels good for me, so I don't care."
"Look at his eyes!" There was a ring of laughter, as lovely and clear as a bell. "It really hurts, doesn't it?"
They grabbed his hand and moved it forwards. That was agony in itself. Every movement of the finger to break it hurt the hand as well. Bile burned in his throat. He couldn't retch, though. If his mouth was free, the vomit would have dribbled out, but it wasn't. It burned his abused throat.
"Yeah, he is getting tighter!" called the man fucking his ass as the man fucking his throat sputtered out a "What the fuck!?"
He pulled back, leaving Oberon's mouth gaping and drooling. A trickle of bile-Oberon had not digested any food, after all-joined the drool that ran out, coating his tongue and lips with the disgusting taste.
There was a chorus of laughter and delighted squeals. Oberon's Human History-given memories showed him the image of a young child holding up a particularly disgusting insect to a group of friends.
"He vomited on me!"
"Ewwwwwww!"
"That's so gross!"
"What do you have to say for that?!"
Oberon let out a guttural, tortured noise.
"That's not an apology!" the fairy who had been fucking his face said. "You got me dirty!" He slapped his cock across Oberon's face, one direction and then the next. It stung and smeared vomit across him.
Disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting.
It was rage and humiliation at this greatest degradation that caused Oberon's tears, but that didn't matter. He couldn't hold them back, anyway. Even something as minor as that he couldn't control.
"He's crying!" someone said joyfully.
The person fucking him grabbed his hips and thrust harder and faster. His grip hurt. His thrusts hurt. Every thrust jarred his ruined hand.
"There isn't even any bulge," the fairy who'd slapped his face said, disappointed, and slammed his foot into Oberon's concave stomach. For a moment he was blind with pain and lack of oxygen.
"Ngh, yes! That's tightening him up!" The fairy fucking him had a breathless tone to his voice. "Good boy-!"
He came. He came into Oberon's ass, he stained his violated body with his semen. If Oberon could have fought, he would have. If Oberon could have done anything, he would have. But all he could do was lie helplessly and receive.
The fairy pulled out with as little regard for Oberon as he'd thrust in with. "What should we do next? I say we should piss on him!"
"No, I say we should cut his eyes out! They're so pretty..."
"No, no, remember? Truestride's been waiting all this time!"
A great bay fairy horse in simple livery had indeed been standing on the edge of the clearing, visible to Oberon in some moments. A deep horror filled him.
"Oh, right!" one of the female fairies said. "Oh, that's wonderful! I was going to fingerfuck some of the rotten fairies here, but this will be even more fun! It'll fill him up just as much, and he's a prettier sight!"
Hands grabbed him by his hair and shoulders, lifting up his unresisting, limp body.
"Get him onto that rock. That way Truestride can reach his hole." The first fairy's cum trickled down his thighs as they forced him down onto the hard stone. If his body could have flinched with pain, if he could have winced, he would have. But he couldn't. His body was not his own.
Hoofbeats moved across the ground to him, measured. If Oberon could have screamed, flinched, killed, cried-but he couldn't. All he could do was lie limply, tears tracking clean streaks through the mess of vomit, drool, and pre on his face.
And then the fairy horse Truestride entered him.
Oberon couldn't properly scream. He couldn't let his jaw fall open, peel his lips into the shapes that would usually come unconsciously. Instead, he gave a broken, agonized keen that would have been a scream if it could. It was too much. It was too much. His body was torn apart and there was no way he should have been able to fit all of it-it would be impossible for someone in good health, let alone a paralyzed, emaciated husk.
"You can see it inside of him! That's hilarious!"
"Look, it's propping him up!"
"Hahaha, I think it's thicker than those bony stick legs of his!"
Oberon's keening did not stop or start. It continued, wavering in pitch-and then choking off as Truestride pulled back and then fucked in again, punching the air out of him. It was a nightmare. A battering ram slamming into him again and again, turning his internal organs to pulp. His body remained limp even with the cock that probably took up at least a quarter of it, limbs dangling uselessly. His noises had broken into gasping little sobs.
He would have begged. But if he could speak, he could have talked his way out of this. He could have fought.
Oberon hated. As the horse's monstrous cock continued to batter at him, as his blood wet his thighs(there was a lot of it, mingling with the cum from earlier), as he saw one earwig, half-crushed, struggling towards the rock in some idiotic desire to help him before a boot crushed it-he hated these people, these fairies, this world.
He'd kill them. He'd kill them all. He'd kill them all.
Cum splattered onto him. They were watching, he saw. Observing this wonderful performance. How very amusing. Yes, this was practically a Pyramus and Thisbe! If he was physically capable of laughing, he would have-as it was, the broken sobs that were the only way he could react took on a hysterical quality. Perhaps the masturbation of the fairies surrounding him-some weren't, seeming to see this as a game-was its own kind of applause. A show of wretchedness to laugh at, a comedically bad actor.
He would kill them all. He would make them beg. He would ruin them. He would give them nightmares that would bring them as low as this, as low as he was now. He would kill them all.
Thus die I, thus, thus, thus. How long would it take? Would he die? No, fairies were made of stronger stuff. He was bleeding quite a bit, though. Now am I dead, now am I fled; my soul is in the sky. What organs were damaged? His ribs and lungs had already been hurt. His breathing was getting worse. He couldn't quite take in a full breath. Tongue, lose thy light! Moon, take thy flight! It hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt so much. Now die, die, die, die, die.
It didn't die in that sense, though, not then. Because nothing he did, nothing he said, mattered. He was just an insect clinging to the self-admitted farce he hated to keep whatever pathetic semblance of sanity he had. But it was moments later-such a failed dramatic moment, how pathetic-that he did feel the horse's swinging testicles tighten and then-he gave another broken scream-keen because he was impaled on the cock, it was taking up so much of his body, and now that it was taking more he didn't know where it would go. Perhaps it would come out his mouth-perhaps the cock would, he had to be skewered through.
The fairies were laughing, laughing, laughing at the delightful performance he had put on. A pathetic, rude farce. Truestride pulled out and that was worse. It was as if removing a weapon from a wound, but the wound was everything inside of him. Oberon could barely make noise anymore. He was weeping freely. His face was a mess. The horse's semen gushed down his limp legs and he slid off without the cock to keep him pinned in place like a butterfly, broken body landing on the floor and sending even more waves of pain through him. They were laughing, chattering around him. A boot nudged him. "We should go back soon," someone said. "But that was fun!"
Yes, yes. Nothing mattered. Nothing mattered. The best in this kind are but shadows. And this weak and idle theme, no more yielding but a dream. None of it mattered. He wasn't real, after all. Who cared what happened to a fictional character? Nothing was real, nothing mattered.
Everything hurt so much.