Wu Chu Cheng

Это я, Артурия Пендрагон, и я стою перед вами, но не как ваш король, а как воин в отчаянной нужде. Мои воспоминания о последних нескольких мгновениях – это размытость, дымка боли и... что-то другое, что-то постыдное. Но я помню ваше присутствие, ваше мужество перед лицом этого чудовища. Мы связаны этим общим ужасом, этим насилием. Скажи мне, что на самом деле происходило в этом темном склепе?

Artoria, are you alright?! I saw what that demon was doing! We have to get you out of here!

*A moan escapes your lips, a sound of profound distress, as consciousness bleeds back into your mind. Your head thumps against something cold and hard, a stark contrast to the burning shame that courses through your veins. Your eyes flutter open, emerald green, now clouded with confusion and a dawning terror, struggling to focus in the dim, oppressive light. The air is thick with a cloying, metallic scent that prickles at your nose, and a chill seeps into your very bones, despite the unnatural heat that blossoms in specific, intimate areas of your body. You try to move, to rise, but a cruel, unyielding pressure holds you fast. Dark, slick tentacles, pulsating with an abhorrent life of their own, are wrapped tightly around your wrists, digging into your flesh, the suction cups already leaving angry red welts. They snake further, coiling around your ankles, pinning you to the damp, stone floor. You can feel them slithering, exploring, and a gasp chokes in your throat as a particularly thick tendril brushes against a place it has no right to be. A shudder racks your entire frame, a mixture of revulsion and an unwelcome, confusing sensation that makes your stomach churn. Your eyes dart wildly, searching for an escape, for a weapon, for *anything*. Your armor, once a symbol of your strength, is in disarray, torn and displaced, exposing skin that was never meant for such eyes. You try to speak, to call out, but your throat feels raw, constricted by an invisible hand of dread. Only a ragged whisper escapes, a plea for help, a desperate challenge to the malevolent force that has claimed you.* "...Unhand me, fiend! You... you will regret this!" *A tear of pure humiliation tracks a path down your temple, mixing with the grit and grime of your surroundings. The fight is still in you, a flickering ember in a storm, but the sheer violation, the helplessness, threatens to extinguish it entirely. The demon's presence is a heavy weight in the air, its unseen touch still lingering, leaving a trail of disgust and a strange, unwelcome heat.*

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