‘Godrick the Golden’. That had been the name on the monuments you kept finding scattered in the rolling fields of the Lands Between. They hadn’t been particularly complimentary – ’humiliated’, ‘tasted defeat’, ‘now on his knees’ – but you were still intrigued. He was a demigod, after all. At least, that’s what you’d been led to believe. Surely there was still some majesty about him? His castle had not been easy to traverse, and you were hoping that the sight of him might serve as some reward.

As you pushed past the gate into the large courtyard where his throne room was supposedly located, you noted the immensity of the doorway. “Lord… Godrick?” you called, feeling foolish, unsure how best to address him. There was silence for no more than half a second before a giant shadow appeared in the archway. On first glance, you didn’t think it belonged to a human. Staring a little longer, you could pick out some legs – perhaps some arms..? You moved a little closer, eager to understand. As you did so, he stepped out into the light. You stifled a gasp.

Your legs carried you forward without thinking, eyes widened in a vain attempt to drink all of him in. He was truly a sight to behold. Cresting each shoulder and protruding behind the back of his head were many arms, rippling in asynchronous motions. Most of the hands sprouting there had an unnatural amount of fingers which splayed out as though in greeting. The bulk of his torso was stretched wide and seemed to contain multitudes of fleshy composite – though it was hard to picture what might actually be hidden under those robes. His form seemed to transcend any ideas you had ever held about anatomy and skeletal structure, and you found yourself quite oddly intrigued. At the bottom of his vast bulk were multiple legs, some with one foot at the ankle, some with more. They seemed almost comically small, but this was only due to the sheer size of everything piled atop them.

He hobbled towards you, a lopsided smile forming on his face. The number of additional limbs and tissue attached to his colossal frame seemed to have gone beyond what could be considered useful, and now seemed to be more of an impediment to his movement and function. This must have been what Roderika meant by grafting – but hearing her speak of it was wholly incomparable to the sight itself. The arrhythmic sound he made as he advanced towards you was…unsettling. The patter of so many feet, bare against the stone, sent a chill of unease down your spine.
Partly in fear, partly remembering his title and lineage, you bowed your head in respectful greeting.

“Ah –“ his face seemed to adjust upon seeing you more closely “Thou must be the Tarnished I sent for.” At this realisation, the smile on his face seemed to morph from a conceited look of general amusement to something far more predatory.

Sent for..? You wondered why such a man would ever have need of a Tarnished such as yourself. Generally, you had found yourself to be quite reviled in the Lands Between. This reaction surprised you. Feeling it best to play along for the moment, you nodded slowly.

“Then kneel.” He commanded. You obeyed, bringing your knees to rest upon the stony ground and bowing your head once more. He let you remain there for a few moments beyond what seemed reasonable, to the point where your knees had begun to ache a little and the muscles in your neck twitched in protest. Still, you made no complaint. After all, you were here to observe and to be respectful. If this was required, then you would follow his commands. You supposed any demigod would insist upon a certain level of reverence.

He spoke once more, still smiling, this time seemingly to himself. “Hm, good. I do so enjoy it when they are… willing.” Placing a hand upon your shoulder, clamping down hard, he brought you to a standing position. Your knees wobbled slightly. Without hesitation, he began scuttling back to the archway. You followed on unsteady legs, soon finding yourself in what could only be his throne room.

The throne in question was gigantic, carved in intricate detail from polished wood, and made the room itself seem small. Godrick stepped up to the throne and sat upon it, various arms settling themselves along its back, its sides, the armrests. Gazing up at him, so resplendent and imposing, you suddenly felt very unsure of your purpose here. You were painfully unaware of his customs. The look upon his face was swiftly turning to one of impatience, as though he expected you to be doing something. Feeling exceptionally small, you bowed your head again – if only to stop those exasperated eyes from boring into your own.

“What exactly art thou waiting for?” he sneered in a strident voice, the tone of which suggested he was unused to being kept waiting. “I demand that thou begin’st thy service!” Unwilling to be denied any longer, multiple arms flew across the space between you to begin grasping voraciously at any part of you he could reach. Startled, you froze in place. Any words you might have uttered died in your throat. He wanted to… touch you?

“Face me” he demanded, twisting you roughly. You did not resist. With three of his smaller arms – lined up next to each other along the side of where you imagined his ribcage might be – he gripped you around the waist and lifted you cleanly into the air. The way his various hands grasped at your body reminded you of the furling legs of a centipede, creating an unsettlingly firm grip when they all came together. Your skin crawled, but the display of physical power was exhilarating in a way you couldn’t quite explain. At least – not if you wanted to retain any semblance of dignity… You tried not to squirm as he held you, keenly aware of the number of fingernails digging into your ribs.

When you stretched your legs as though to brace yourself against the throne, he laughed unpleasantly. “A Tarnished atop my throne? I hardly think so.” Fingers, more than five, curled around your ankles and prevented them coming any closer to the seat. “Thou shalt not touch what is mine.” At those words he seemed to follow your gaze downwards, to where you hovered above him. “With regard to my body… Thy hands shalt lie only upon what I desire.”

Though admittedly crude and unbearably haughty, Godrick’s imperious words and authority lit a fire in your gut that urged you onward. Foolish curiosity demanded that you see this through, and the treacherous heat creeping up the sides of your neck seemed to be in agreement. He sat you, not on the seat of the throne, but directly in his lap. There he held you, facing him, as though you were a prized pet.

He shrugged his robes off his shoulders, thick swathes of fabric pooling between you, to reveal the upper segment of his chest. His boldness gave you courage and you lifted your head to meet his hungry eyes, flushing a little with anticipation. You felt your thighs tremble slightly, braced apart on the vast expanse of his lap. The visceral terror at his monstrous form, that first was boiling in your stomach, was now simmering into something more akin to arousal.

Touching his skin was… bizarre. It was woven in places like a tapestry – a veritable patchwork of lives cut short. Raised bumps remained where a thick needle, perhaps one spun by sorcery, had penetrated the flesh and stitched it closed, though any thread had fallen away long ago. Though it was not plain to see, you could vaguely make out the outline of his original torso. The hues of the various sheets of flesh were, though part of him now, not quite as perfect a match for the shade of his face as the thin strip that extended down the centre. You stared for a moment, transfixed. As you examined his body more closely, the urge to touch him grew louder, clawing at the forefront of your mind. Tentatively, you brought your lips close to the hollow groove at the base of his neck. Unsure if you could be so bold, you hesitated.

Sensing your deference, he spoke. “I grant thee permission, Tarnished. May thy worthless form gain value by its proximity to mine own.” His wide and callous smile was evident in his tone.

Though his words were cruel, you pushed them aside. You knew better than to expect coddling. Bowing your head, you pressed your lips gently to the dip in his throat, pausing for a moment to feel the way his veins and arteries pulsed beneath. You listened for a moment, intently, to see whether you could pick out the subtle circulation of separate systems. Did he have more than one heart? Did he have a heart at all? Pulling back, you began to trace the contours of his clavicles, moving slowly along the expanse of his chest.

When you trailed your fingers across to one of his many arms, the smallest of the group, you felt the heat of his flesh taper off into a strange coolness of temperature that suggested a lack of sufficient blood flow. Its skin, sallow and thin, was purpled in places. The nerves in this pale limb seemed to twitch a little, erratic and responsive to false stimuli. You must have halted your hand for a moment as you mused, and you felt the heavy weight of his gaze bearing down on you. Following your line of sight, a dark shadow of disapproval passed across his face.

Hoping to distract from your faltering exploration, you turned your attention higher up. Daring to reach towards his head, only bold enough to continue when he gave a short nod, you tangled your fingers in his hair. It was surprisingly soft, as though he had been bathed recently. You pondered this image for a moment, picturing one of his servants combing through greasy strands until the water ran clear, sat amidst a great mass of limbs that swayed gently in the comforting warmth. You were pulled from this reverie as Godrick shifted beneath you, the rippling of various sheets of fused muscle roiling under you like a turning tide.

Held so closely to his chest, you could pick up on his scent as he moved. A slight tang of sweat – as to be expected for someone with such a hulking form – but with strange undercurrents of an ambiguous sweetness. It wasn’t a fragrance that you would describe as pleasant, but not one so offensive that you balked either. You remembered, distantly, that someone had once informed you that the smell of rotting corpses often produced a certain sweetness... Trying futilely to push this thought to the back of your mind, you fumbled around for another explanation. Perhaps they oiled his skin when they bathed him? He was of royal lineage, after all. Closing your eyes, images of pallid flesh – cold, blue-purple, not his – rose again behind your lids.

“Now… Prove to me that thou art of some use.” Godrick sneered above you, refusing to bend at all to make your lips meet. Instead, he grasped you haphazardly with two of his arms and brought your face to him. He proceeded faster than would generally be considered wise, smacking your lip against his teeth. You bled, quietly. He giggled. “Oh!” he shrugged, causing the arms atop his shoulders to swing. “How amusingly fragile.” Without hesitation, care, or apology, he brought your mouth to his once more.

His tongue pushed into your mouth aggressively, asserting dominance within that tiny space as he did by design wherever his great form existed. At first you made some attempt to entwine your tongue with his, to perform that dance, but soon resigned yourself to simply trying to draw breath. He didn’t seem to notice whether you were an active participant or not, your tongue pushed flat to the floor of your mouth as he continued without grace or mercy.

As the kiss deepened, he pinched and prodded at your body with unpractised hands. Long-nailed fingers scrabbled at your outer layers, peeling away various armoured pieces with startling ease, fiddling at clasps and buckles until you were in nothing but your underclothes. He wasted nary a moment to stare before grasping the fabric in four fists, pulling until it tore.

The moment your flesh was fully exposed, his hands were everywhere. Eagerly, he palmed at your chest, causing you to jump and arch your back as he brushed the edge of one hand across a sensitive nipple. “H-hn!” you squeaked, voice catching in your throat as you curled your fists in the fabric of his robes. Seemingly entertained by your response, he pinched it deliberately between two fingers, giving it a sharp twist. Your pleasured little sound changed its cadence, morphing into a whimper of pain. He leered down at you, a nasty smile creeping across his face.

The way his eyes roamed over your bared form was akin to the scrutiny of a practiced butcher – noting each curve, muscle, and sinew – and for which blade each part was destined. Gazing down at your arm, hand gripping his chest for balance, you suddenly imagined it writhing on his shoulder, no longer a part of you but of him. Yours but not yours – now bound to him both in flesh, and in purpose. Would you still feel the twinging of those nerves weeks later, as though it was still attached to your own socket? A phantom limb that yet persists, neither living nor dead. You shivered, throat closing a little at the thought of it. Despite this, something about the concept seemed almost… appealing. Romantic, even. In truth, you already lived in a half-state between living and death. As part of him, a demigod, you would be truly eternal. In that moment, a small part of you understood.

Clearly bored by your seconds of quiet inaction, Godrick began manhandling you once more. Jerking you forwards with an impatient huff, he pulled you so that you were laying on your stomach across his lap. Swiftly, he began running various fingers along your legs, swirling up to your inner thighs. Keen to wring further noises from you, he pressed a couple of thick fingers against your exposed hole. Startled, you yelped and wriggled atop him as he began to press bluntly inwards without fanfare. As a couple of the fingertips moved against you, inadvertently stroking against places that made your toes curl, your body twitched in interest. A quiet moan escaped your lips and you allowed yourself to rock gently against his hand.

Like this, it was so easy to forget your circumstances, to forget who – or what – was perpetrating such delicious acts. Though he surely didn’t intend it, you enjoyed the slight stretch of his fingers, the way they scissored inside you. As he moved, his knuckles brushed against your sensitive flesh, causing pleasured little sounds to fall from your lips like grateful whispers.

“Gods, gods” you groaned, as more digits pushed their way ruthlessly inside.

“Just one” he rumbled, a short conceited laugh rippling across his chest.

His fingers continued to stretch you, testing, the sensation fast becoming more overwhelming than pleasurable. None of those fingertips deigned to deliberately find your sensitive spot within, or stroke teasingly along the outside of your core. You wondered whether he was unaware of how to pleasure another person, or whether he simply didn’t care to do so. Pinpricks of frustration began to needle you as he pistoned those digits pitilessly into your trembling entrance, stimulating but not nearly enough.

A small whimper escaped your throat, and he seemed to take it as a cue to speed up. You cried out, already beginning to feel numb from the constant overwhelming friction. Like a desperate plea, his name was on your tongue. “Godrick – Godrick” you gasped raggedly, knowing even in your thoughtless haze that to beg or plead for more specific motions would be a fool’s errand. Hearing his name seemed to spur him on, however, and you sensed that things were soon to escalate.

Deciding you’d had enough, he pulled his fingers from you harshly and began unfastening his vast robes with great haste. Lifting you for a moment, he pulled the immense pool of fabric from beneath you and let it slide to the floor.

Of course. You weren’t sure how, but you hadn’t anticipated the sight that now graced your eyes. Extending from the outer edge of his original thin torso was a wide abdomen formed of all manner of grafted segments, constructing a large fleshy expanse whereupon two erect cocks were straining upwards. One of them was the one he was born with, you supposed. It was difficult to make comparisons to length while surrounded by the entanglement of other limbs, but it would have seemed smaller than average if not for the fact that he had extended the mound of flesh beneath it. Peering closer, you made out the unmistakable bony hinge of an elbow buried just beneath the skin, with the remnants of a forearm grafted to the base of his shaft. Light hairs still adorned the borrowed flesh, and you almost visibly recoiled at the sight. The only thing that prevented it was the thought of the severity of Godrick’s ire should he catch sight of you.

Littering the flesh around the vast expanse of his abdomen were multiple stumps, gouges, and concave incisions – some clearly healed and others which still looked fresh. It hadn’t occurred to you until this moment that he might remove grafts once they had been attached. It seemed too gruesome to comprehend. You wondered what had changed his mind on these ones, or whether they had simply… rejected. Your stomach churned. Were they all..? Had they been..? You decided it didn’t bear thinking about. Tearing your gaze from the visceral patchwork surrounding his original grafted length, your eyes were drawn immediately to the second one.

The second one… You could hardly believe what you were seeing. It was ridged, proud, angry. More than that… there were two of them. They seemed interconnected, sprouting from the same root but curving into two distinct lengths. The scarlet tips were tapered, each ending in a point. Merely looking at them evoked lurid ideas of discomfort and pain. The anatomy of it was not comparable to anything you had ever laid eyes upon in person, but you had studied various creatures during your time in the Lands Between. Certain scrolls depicting the biology of dragons made you very aware of what it was that you were bearing witness to. It was clearly not taken from a fully-grown creature – thank the gods – but its size was nevertheless monstrous. You lifted your head, slowly, to meet his smug gaze.

“Mmm – impressed, art thou not?”

You were rendered speechless, your tongue not hastened by Godrick’s self-assured posturing.

“Well? Speak!”

“I-impressive, my Lord…” You hoped fervently that he wouldn’t insist upon anything more persuasive.

Hands upon you, so many that you couldn’t place the exact location of every bruising touch, you shuddered. Seemingly satisfied with your wavering praise, he tilted you so that your entrance rubbed against one of the pulsing scarlet lengths. The texture was unlike anything you had felt before, and it was hot rather than warm as it curved brazenly against you. Your breath hitched, catching loudly in your throat.

Without warning, save for the way he groaned as one of the tips entered you, Godrick began to push himself inside. The outer curve of the draconic shafts seemed to have inflated slightly – both now crested with small dull spines which curved inward as if to hold you in place. The grating movement of them against your inner walls made you groan in pain, sweat beading on your brow as he continued to breach you.

Curses fell soundlessly from your lips at the dry burn which only seared more fiercely with every inch. You wished again that he had spent more time – any time – preparing you properly, taking care to ensure that you were suitably aroused. While you were certainly curious, curiosity alone was not enough to assist with his entry. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you gritted your teeth. It couldn’t be even halfway in and you already felt its pointed head meeting some resistance.

“Oh, yes” he breathed, hips jutting greedily upwards to seek more depth, more friction, more territory.

Your gorge rose at the feeling of the other tapered tip prodding at your entrance. Gods, no – he surely couldn’t mean to –

White-hot stars exploded behind your eyes. Everything hurt. It was as though he was within every aspect of your being, filling you, stretching you to your breaking point. You could barely move, wriggling as he held you tightly and began to thrust brutally at a menacing pace. Godrick was excess personified – the vile intersection of greed and insatiable hunger. He would use and use and use until there was nothing left. In this moment, you weren’t sure which parts of you were left. Just as these thoughts began to spill over and overwhelm you, you felt fingers gripping the side of your head, your chin, three forcing their way inside your mouth to pull your jaw open.

“Come now, thou hast scarcely – nngh – begun thy service!” He grunted and shuddered as you clenched around him, nails raking into your sides hard enough to leave raised welts. His breathing was heavy and laboured, sweat running down his chest with the effort of moving, as he continued to thrust into you with greedy abandon.

Effortlessly, he lifted you so that your mouth was parallel with the grafted cock that someone – in a time long-past – might once have described as human. You, eyes unfocused with pain as you twitched around his hideous pulsating lengths, could almost pretend that it was. Multiple palms pushed at the back of your head impatiently, until you had no choice but to press your lips to its head. It was, thankfully, warm – the tip flushed an angry red. Gingerly, you let your tongue unfurl, giving it a cautious lick. This, you were at least vaguely familiar with. Perhaps it could – you flinched as you felt the hemipenes slide deeper – serve as a focal point, a distraction…

The moment he felt your tongue move against his heated flesh, your head was being forced downwards without mercy. As he began spearing into your mouth with no regard for your comfort, you flinched as you recalled the sheer length of the thing. Trying to bring your chin up so as not to immediately choke, he grunted in irritation and increased the pressure at the back of your skull. Fuck, you thought ineloquently as you gargled in panic.

Tangling his fingers roughly in your hair for leverage, he began to move your head up and down his throbbing cock like you were nothing more than an insignificant toy. It wasn’t possible to fit the entire length into your mouth, especially not with his awful addition, but this didn’t seem to slow his pace. He let out a low, rumbling groan as you gurgled around him helplessly. The angle and speed were profoundly uncomfortable, and with each impalement you choked and gagged, tears now running down your cheeks from the constant stimulation of your gag reflex. On occasion, one of the monstrous lengths would hit a spot inside you that made you moan around his cock, clenching tightly around them as you did.

“Ahhh” he breathed, “How blessed thou art, to serve thy rightful Lord so thoroughly…”

At one particularly violent thrust, you slipped a little in his lap. One of his arms – the smaller one – reached over to reposition you, but a small spasm wracked through it and pulled it slightly off-course. There was an exhale of breath that sounded more like a growl, and a sudden shift of weight beneath you.

Suddenly, there was the heavy grinding sound of metal upon stone, and out of the corner of your eye you saw sparks flash behind his throne as one of his larger arms dragged his axe from its resting position. Momentarily frozen, you gazed in horror as he lifted it into view. His eyes flashed and you stared, wide-eyed and fearful as he brought it high above his head. “Mmmf -!” you squeaked, rigid with dread, mouth still full. Though surely your life had ended many times before this moment, this would have to be the most terrifying – and humiliating – iteration of it yet. You pulled back, desperate, breathless, drool trailing from your lower lip to your chin as you spoke. “My Lord,” your voice was naught but a whisper, “p-please… don’t… no - don’t!”

If he heard you, he gave no indication that he did so, bringing the axe’s vicious edge in a swinging arc towards your immobile form. Squeezing your eyes shut tightly, you were thankful that the weight of the blade alone would obliterate you. It would, at least, be quick.

For a few short moments, nothing happened. Blood was howling in your ears. Distantly, you heard the sickening tearing of sinew, followed closely after by a dull thud. Something warm sprayed across your face, causing you to flinch. You were alive? The spray almost felt like warm summer rains, but you knew better than to hope for something so frivolous or beautiful. Trembling, you opened your eyes. There was blood everywhere.

Crimson gore splattered up the side of your neck, across your stomach, coating the intersection of your bodies in the evidence of his disgraceful practice. A small stump wriggled at his shoulder, as though it had its own unique sentience, causing a glut of blood to spurt forth into his lap.

“Ahhhh,” he sighed in approval, “much better.” Without further acknowledgement of the act at all, he began bucking into you once again, breaths quickening rapidly. Laying eyes upon the carnage before him – your bloodied skin, the way you stretched around his cocks – you felt him convulse inside you. With one hand, he tilted your head to look up at him. Seeing your wide-eyed expression, so stricken with genuine fear, seemed to finally push him over the edge.

He gargled and groaned as he came, seven-fingered hands twitching at your waist, your chest, bruising as they pinched and gripped your tender flesh. His dreadful butchered length jerked and convulsed, inches from your face, but no fluid spilled from its tip. There didn’t seem to be enough left of its original components to produce anything human.

After a slight delay, you felt the twin lengths begin to throb violently inside you. “A-aaah! you cried as searing fluid spurted deep within, appallingly thick, painting your quivering walls. The spiny exteriors flexed as he came, raking at you, marking even the twists and turns within you as his.

For a moment, he leaned heavily against the backrest of the throne, heaving deep breaths as you lay quivering atop him. Distantly, your mind murmured with frustration, with need that had gone unfulfilled. Though it was true that you were sore, were stretched beyond what you thought possible, were exhausted, a part of you still hungered. A part of you wanted him to assist you, to hold you with his many hands and stroke you until you came around any part of him he could spare. You closed your eyes, silent, and dared not ask.

Slowly, Godrick moved beneath you like the shifting of the earth itself. You felt him slide out of you, fluid trailing with it onto one of his legs. Grabbing your underclothes, he wiped himself clean.

“Now… I believe I require thine assistance once more.” He rose from the throne, dropping you to the ground where you hit the stone on your hands and knees. Craning your neck to look up at him, you slowly rose into a standing position, still weak-kneed and wanting. What could he possibly require of you now?

“As thou well know’st, ‘tis not in my nature to remain at a disadvantage for long…” His crest of limbs rippled and flourished as though to punctuate his statement, the bloody remnant of his butchered appendage beginning to ooze once more at his dramatic movements. He paused for a moment, allowing the silence to hang in the air, pulling his robe closed around him.

“I believe,” his voice dropped low, thunderous, “I require a new arm.” A chill ran through you at this, fear momentarily rooting you to the spot. Though your lust-addled brain had contemplated the concept earlier, you certainly hadn’t anticipated it ever becoming a reality. You began to slowly move, hoping he wouldn’t notice, to the doorway. Sunlight was streaming in, bathing everything it touched in gold.

Godrick so clearly enjoyed the performance, the sound of his own voice echoing around you both. He paused momentarily to glance about him as he spoke, as though his own egotistical echoes were the appraising voices of his forebears.

“I would not normally lower myself to making use of the parts of a lowborn Tarnished. However…” he canted forwards on three of his tiny legs, others skittering slightly on the stone. “I may have to make an exception. After all… thy form hast performed rather admirably.” The honey dripping from his tongue was spoiled – his words cloying but lacking in pleasant sweetness. You were past the doorway now, backing into the courtyard outside.

He advanced on you, voice booming and dangerous. His back was against the blazing sun and his vast shadow towered over you, casting a chill shade across your quivering form. Within his grasp, you noted with a jolt of dread, was his axe. The stain of his blood still sullied the lustrous surface.

“Perhaps thou art fit to graft… Perhaps thou’rt not. I surely intend to find out either way.” Though you couldn’t pick out his features against the dazzling backdrop, you knew he was smiling. Many thumbs ran their way contemplatively along the cruel edge of his blade. You began to feel slightly dizzy. Slowly, you took a step back. Then another. As you moved, a warm wetness slid sluggishly down your inner thigh, thick and inhuman. You let out a shuddering breath. He was advancing so quickly, there was no way you could, oh gods –

You stumbled, falling backwards. Everything seemed to move in slow motion for a moment as the world fell away beneath you. The next thing you knew you were flat on your back, staring up at the face of Godrick who was wearing what could only be described as an unhinged expression. His wicked face eclipsed the sun as he gazed gleefully down at you.

“Already prostrating thyself before me? Yes… that will do nicely.” He laughed – a cold, manic sound that reverberated through the empty courtyard.

You found you couldn’t speak to protest. Words seemed to catch in your throat and your lip trembled.

Golden sunlight glinted off the axe’s edge. It hurt your eyes. You let them fall closed.

Swallowing hard, you clenched your fists while they were still your own, as tightly as if you were clasping them in prayer.

Let it be quick.