Christine's Wander and the Colossus fanfixtion [PART 1 OF 2]

Wed, 12/07/2005 — Bloiffy

The Wanderer awoke, alone, alone again, once more. The wind whistled through pillars, bathed in bleak light. The light of an almost-lost hope.

He pulled himself up, painfully, slowly, inorexorably to his feet, and surveyed himself. Clothes, tattered, torn, worn to shreds, skin blackened and hair shorn, no longer the colour of corn. He staggered out into the misty morn.

"Blorn," he said, mouth full of muck and vomit. His face, once soft and pure like an angel's, was now covered in scars. The mud was only washed away by tears, two rivulets marked cleanly down the sides of his face.

"LO," said the voice of God, high above, high and mighty and soaring above, like the wings of loving love he felt for Mono. Mono, who lay dead, died for him, his sins. His lust. Needs must. He'd do a deal with this God of Hellfire, and bring fire to the Colossi. The voice continued, echoing down upon him: "THOU HAST TO PRITHEE MILADY TO THINE SIXTEENTH COLOSSUS BETWIXT HITHER AND THITHER AND THINE SHALL FIND DEATH IN THE BRINE, CALVIN KLEIN."

The Wanderer understood, and resigned himself to another fateful encounter. He had thought that fifteen had fallen, and then all would be well, but it seemed that even this was not enough. Another must die. Another must fall. Fate must again be tempted, like a young virgin with luscious breasts might tempt a young boy, like the Wanderer, into rubbing his huge beguiling member between them, until he ejaculated onto her face. Yes, The Fates must again be tempted, just like that. The Wanderer took a deep breath, and leapt onto Aggro, his trusty horse and only ally in this unending torrent of battle.

"Keeeyaaaah!" Wanderer-chan cried, moving his hips violently to spur Aggro on. "Faster! Quick, my steed. Hurry me in the direction of my mighty sword's holy light."

And Aggro did. Through countryside so beautiful, the likes of which have rarely been seen. The frame rate dropped, but it was more than made up for by the lush vegetation and epic open ranges that the Wanderer urged Aggro across, ever closer to his climax: The orgasm of a violent, bitter battle against a huge, terrifying beast.

The Wanderer had travelled for so long now that he thought his legs would break from spurring Aggro ever onward. He pounded against Aggro's sides with his strong, youthful, but oh so tired limbs, and with the flat of his sword, he spanked Aggro's thick, equine buttocks.

At long last, he arrived, his horse following a narrow path into a dale filled with greenery of such beauty that it would surely push even a PS2 to its limit to render such an awe-inspiring scene in real-time. In fact, The Wanderer doubted that even the power of such a magickal contraption could render it with an acceptable frame-rate.

He dismounted Aggro, for there was a patch of green-coloured rock that only he could climb ahead, rock that stretched around the side of a large ditch. And he did climb it. Hand over hand at first, but he soon realised that jumping diagonally was the least tiring way to reach the other side. There, he headed down into the dale, which was filled with beautiful flowers. The sun burned overhead, a huge firey discus planted in the sky by a byzantine God, perhaps even the God that commanded him now. The Wanderer's progress was barely slowed by the exhaustion that filled him, because an even great force prevailed: Desire.

He held that most holy of relics, his stolen sword, aloft to the skies, and it sang. The glow cut a swath through the grasses around him and there at the end of it...

Her iridescent sapphire eyes were glowing azure, and they hinted at a gentle sadness. She looked up in shock as the beam of light from his sword speared toward her, and he returned with his own look of shock, taken almost by force, sexually, a gentle rape, by her delicate beauty. He dropped the sword without a word.

The scene was so artistic: She was a beautiful maiden. Her hair like a silver sun that led Wanderer to her. Her eyes like the Mediterranean Sea, a sea of another world unknown to him. She sat, yet stood tall as a paragon of female perfection. Pure and simple. She almost seemed to glow. And yet he stood in sharp relief to her. Blackened, charred. His clothes barely holding fast around his tight musculature. He walked toward her, eyes wide and unblinking and sat down beside her, his face close to hers, eyes never leaving hers.

"Hello," said the Lady, her voice like a song. Her hair shimmered in the breeze as she shifted position. "Why do you stare at me so?"

"Because you are... so beautiful," said the Wanderer, lost in her eyes.

She laughed, like the tinkling of Heaven's bells. "What is your name, weary wanderer?"

"My name," he breathed, his voice like gravel in a driveway of death. "I... have no name. Other than David."

She laughed again. "Then perhaps I shall call you Wanderer. My name is Kristinos Angelika, and I am the Sixteenth Colossus, sent to test you. But come! Let us laugh, and enjoy each other's company a while."

"But you are my enemy! Thee who hast stood in minest way to save my beloved, as God has spake in these very words, I must striketh thee down!"

"Your words... are so nostalgic." Kristinos's sad eyes seemed to peer into another world. "I have seen religions who follow the voice of a God as if it were the One Truth, and all it led to was hatred, and suffering. Xtians just don't understand the deeper mysteries of the universe." Kristinos sighed, sadly, and looked at Wanderer, who could not possibly understand such high truths. "Anyway. Shall we engage in something such as social intercourse? Sit close to me, for warmth."

"I... I am unsure," Wanderer stammered.

"You do not look unsure to me," Kristinos indicated with her delighted eyes that alighted upon the Wanderer's crotch. A tear in his trousers had unlocked his most secret treasure trove. Wanderer's cheeks flushed with blood as he was filled with embarrassment, just as his cock was flushed rigid with blood due to his undeniable arousal. It stood, his True holy sword, jutting forth, pointing skyward. His gaze fell upon it, and he saw that indeed a glowing light shone forth from his vas deferens, indicating this new challenge's glowing weak spot. Her wet cunt.

With one hand she lifted her delicate dress, revealing the weak spot.

"Go on, my Wandering Prince! I have waited so long for someone as beautiful as you to ease away the pain of my virginity, to end my agony. Go on, my love. Penetrate my 'vital point'!"

And with that, The Wanderer was filled with lust and rage. He grabbed her shining tresses and held onto them. She swung her head around in a thousand ecstasies and he found it difficult to hold on. But he held fast in the end, strength coursing through his veins. Especially the veins of his twenty-six inch penis, which was thicker than a baby's wrist and pulsing with raw emotion.

"Do it, Wanderer. I'm life's bad bitch, and nobody can understand me. Finish me now!"

Wanderer clambered into position, above the glowing Vital Point. When he was confident he was in the right place, he arched backwards, clenching his buttocks until they felt like two peaches about to burst, until every ounce of strength was ready to stab that Holy Member into the soft yielding flesh.

And he thrust.

"Oh, Valhalla!"

It went in all the way first time. Blasts of liquid gushed forth like angry spikes, except that these were not black and filled with tainted blood as the other Colossi had within them, but purest white. White like her silver hair. White like her rosy skin. White like the semen that had swept forth from his huge cock. White like the dress that she wore, before he had torn it open to expose, yes, her white breasts. Everything about her was so white and pure.

Wanderer screamed as she died.

A hundred thousand leagues away, Mono stirred.


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