Chapter 19: Brother Reunion

Fear Island — Dream Forest — 1666

As they walked, the forest floor seemed to pulse as if it had a life of its own, a psychedelic delirium that defied logic and senses. The trees, with bark as white as polished bones, were marked by thousands of drawn—or perhaps carved—eyes in spiraling patterns, each glowing with a faint yellowish shimmer, as if truly watching the group’s every step.

The creeping mist clung to the boots of Tetanus, Gume, and Meia-Noite, cold and sticky, while grotesque insects, the size of small animals, buzzed through the air or crawled among the trunks.

“This place is giving me the creeps,” Gume muttered, his axe gripped tightly as he crushed a mutant mushroom underfoot. The fungus, as large as a plate, exploded in a cloud of luminescent spores that floated in the air. “This is like we smoked opium—without smoking anything!”

“Get it together, big guy,” Meia-Noite replied, narrowing his “gaze” as he watched the branches above, where a long-legged insect danced in a hypnotic pattern. “Everything here is weirder than the last.”

Tetanus raised the compass, its needles spinning frantically before pointing to a winding trail to the left. “That way,” he said, his voice tense. “Let’s move before we get lost in this psychedelic mess for good!”

The group rounded a corner, the twisted branches forming a natural arch that looked like a mouth about to close. That’s when they saw it: a crouched figure among the trees, shrouded in dancing shadows. It was tall even when hunched, slender, with long legs bent awkwardly as it held a bulky potato sack, something wriggling inside.

Muffled whimpers, like a child crying, escaped the coarse fabric, accompanied by a brutal, rhythmic sound.

*Thwack.*

*Thwack.*

*Thwack.*

The figure began beating the sack with a wooden club, each strike accompanied by a moan of pleasure.

Tetanus froze, the group halting behind him, their blood running cold. He recognized that silhouette. A buried memory from his childhood, locked in some dark corner of his mind, surged like a knife wound. Before he could speak, the figure stood, turning theatrically to face them.

It was Jackrabbit.

Oh, what a sight...

The creature stretched at least three meters tall, its long legs clad in striped silk pants. Its appearance hadn’t changed much from what Tetanus remembered over the years. He was still the same flamboyant rabbit. The coat, a faded purple like dried violets, was worn at the cuffs but still in good condition, swaying lightly with its movements. And the face—actually, a smooth wooden mask, stained with a comically large rabbit smile, frozen in a disturbingly joyful expression.

Jackrabbit tilted his head, scratching his sack—not the potato one, but the other, with an exaggerated, almost theatrical gesture. “Well, well, well…” His mellifluous voice carried a singsong tone that danced in the air. “What a nostalgic little face we have here.” He pointed a long, sharp finger at Tetanus, the nail painted glossy black. “Haven’t we met before, sweetie? Your face reminds me of a little boy I met years ago… so small, and so alone~”

Tetanus felt the mark on his chest burn but kept his face impassive, gripping the harpoon’s handle. “No,” he replied, his voice cold as iron. “You must be mistaking me for someone else.”

Gume and Meia-Noite stayed behind, silent, hands ready on their weapons. Gume looked ready to explode, his face contorted with a mix of disgust and tension, while Meia-Noite observed the creature with deadly calm, as if calculating every move.

Al-Yasiin, hanging from Tetanus’s waist, whispered low enough for only Tetanus to hear: “It’s Jackrabbit, you maggot. A ‘sack-hair,’ spawn of the Trickster God. He’s got as much of a thing for kids as a Spaniard does for his sister. Watch out for this bastard—don’t let his cheery act fool you. He’s a slave to the moon.”

Jackrabbit laughed, a high-pitched, dissonant sound like broken bells. He slung the potato sack over his shoulder, the muffled whimpers inside growing fainter. “Tch, tch. What a dull bunch. Not even a chuckle?” He took a step forward, his shoes snapping in the mist.

“Tell me, my darlings, don’t you have any… little ones around? Something to trade for my goods?” He shook the sack, and the movement inside stopped for a moment, as if whatever was inside had finally died.

Tetanus stepped forward, pointing the harpoon at the creature’s chest. “We’ve got nothing for you. Get out of the way.”

Jackrabbit sighed, exaggeratedly dramatic, clutching his chest as if offended. “How rude! Well, I suppose I can’t force the fun.” He stepped back, revealing only a rabbit’s tail behind him, along with prominent curves.

As he retreated, he whistled a dissonant melody.

“Until next time, sweeties~ And if you find any kids, know I’m always open to trades~”

With a final wave, Jackrabbit vanished among the twisted trunks. The group stood in silence for a moment, the air heavy with the tension of the encounter.

“What the hell was that?” Gume finally exploded, his axe trembling in his hands. “He’s carrying a kid in that sack? Why didn’t we do anything?!”

“It’s obvious,” Al-Yasiin replied, his tone mixing disgust and fascination. “Jackrabbit’s a hunter of young souls. The Trickster God made him to spread chaos, but even he can’t control his own creation. That queer rabbit definitely likes to ‘eat’ kids. And not in the culinary way.”

“Better not go after him,” Tetanus said, his voice firm but his eyes still fixed on where the creature had vanished. “The compass is pointing forward. Let’s stick to it.”

Meia-Noite nodded, adjusting the cloth on his face. “He’ll be back. Goats like that always come back… I know.”

---

After navigating a cluster of mutant mushrooms, the group stopped before an unexpected sight: a century-old tree, wide as a house, its massive trunk seeming to swallow the light around it. Carved into its bark was a crude wooden door with rusty hinges, swaying lightly in the breeze. Above it hung a wooden sign with crooked, poorly painted red letters: Seu Gama’s Bar.

“This is a joke, right?” Gume muttered, eyeing the sign with suspicion. “Who puts a bar in the middle of a forest?”

“Someone who wants very specific customers,” Meia-Noite replied, already ducking to pass through the low door. “Let’s see what’s inside.”

“If there’s booze, I’m not complaining,” Al-Yasiin added with a muffled laugh from Tetanus’s waist.

Tetanus crouched, the harpoon scraping the doorframe, and entered, followed by Gume, who had to bend nearly to the ground to fit. The bar’s interior was a surreal delirium, lit by lanterns of glowing fungi hanging from the ceiling, casting a greenish light that created dancing shadows.

Seu Gama’s Bar

Anthropomorphic insects filled the space, their grotesque forms acting like patrons of any ordinary tavern. A pair of giant cockroaches played cards at a chipped wooden table, smoking cigars that released purple smoke. A two-meter-tall scorpion in a leather vest drank a viscous liquid from a cracked glass, laughing loudly with a companion that looked like a centipede with crooked glasses. In the corner, a colossal beetle with serrated horns and a reinforced leather belt watched everything with gleaming eyes, clearly the bouncer.

Behind the counter, a stout frog with warty skin and a pristine white suit stretched over his broad frame polished a glass with a dirty rag. Black suspenders held up his pants, and an unlit cigar hung from his mouth. The waitress, a humanoid fly with translucent wings and a stained apron, buzzed between tables, balancing trays of drinks that smelled of fermentation and something… alive. In the back, on a makeshift stage, a slender praying mantis tap-danced to a psychedelic tune played by a band of grasshoppers strumming instruments made of bark and webs. The melody was hypnotic, with notes that seemed to crawl into the mind.

“Holy shit,” Gume whispered, eyes wide. “This is worse than Biriba’s hold.”

Tetanus, showing no reaction, approached the counter, the harpoon resting on his shoulder to seem less threatening. The frog raised his bulbous eyes, sizing up the group with a slimy smile. “Welcome to Seu Gama’s Bar, outsiders. What’ll it be? We’ve got spore liquor, sap beer, and something we call ‘Nightmare Tonic.’” He let out a hoarse, deep laugh from his swollen mouth.

“Information,” Tetanus said bluntly. “We lost something important. A black cube, fist-sized, pulsing like it’s alive. Anyone here seen it?”

The frog, apparently Seu Gama, tilted his head, scratching his chin with a sticky paw. “A black cube, huh? My insect buddies have eyes all over this forest. They see everything, know everything. But information ain’t free, my friend.” He extended a paw, expecting payment.

Tetanus exchanged a glance with Gume and Meia-Noite, who rummaged through their pockets. Nothing. The gold from the chest was lost to the kraken, leaving only wet rags and makeshift weapons. Tetanus sighed, frustrated. “We don’t have money. But maybe we can trade something.”

Seu Gama laughed, the gurgling sound echoing in the bar. “No money, no chit-chat. But…” He pointed to a sign behind the counter: First drink on the house! “Feel free to have a drink and think about life. Maybe you’ll find a way to pay later.”

With no better options, the group accepted. The fly waitress brought three mugs of a frothy liquid that smelled of honey and rot. They settled in a corner, at a table reeking of alcohol, keeping their eyes on the bar’s giant-eyed patrons. Gume took a hesitant sip and grimaced. “This tastes like fermented shit.”

“Drink and shut up,” Meia-Noite muttered, spinning his mug without touching the liquid. “We need a plan. If these insects know about the cube, we’ve got to figure out how to get it out of them.”

“Maybe we can… persuade someone,” Tetanus suggested, his eyes fixed on the beetle bouncer, who seemed to be watching them back. Something deep inside vibrated coldly, as if the Black Cube were calling, hidden somewhere in this psychedelic forest.

The bar grew increasingly crowded, the air heavy with the scent of fermentation and mold. Tetanus watched the drunken insects’ movements as Gume finished his drink with a grimace.

“We need money. Fast,” Tetanus whispered, his eyes on the stage where the praying mantis danced, his leather pouch hanging on a nearby hook.

“I saw a bag full of coins behind that curtain,” Meia-Noite murmured, nodding slightly toward it. “Looks like it belongs to the dancer.”

“Good,” Gume grinned, rubbing his hands. “Tetanus and I cause a distraction, you grab the money.”

Meia-Noite nodded in agreement.

Gume stood abruptly, knocking over the table with a crash. “DAMN IT, THIS DRINK IS SHIT!” he roared, feigning drunkenness.

Several insects turned, irritated. The beetle bouncer twitched its mandibles, tensing and approaching.

“Who’s complaining about my bar’s drinks?” Seu Gama huffed, his deep, thick voice laced with suspicion, his eyes gleaming.

Tetanus stepped forward, pretending to hold Gume back. “Sorry, he doesn’t know what he’s saying when he’s drunk.”

“I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT I’M SAYING! THIS TASTES LIKE POTOO PISS!” Gume continued, overacting, throwing a punch into the air that nearly hit a nearby cockroach.

The distraction was enough. While all eyes (and there were many) were on Gume, Meia-Noite slipped through the shadows, quick as lightning and smooth as a breeze. His gloved hands found the praying mantis’s pouch, and with an imperceptible move, he took a single coin.

It was unlike any coin they’d seen. Instead of the imperial crest, it bore the image of a crowned insect with multiple eyes and mandibles.

King of Insects, maybe? Meia-Noite thought but had no time to ponder.

He returned to the counter and slid the coin to Seu Gama.

“Talk. The Black Cube.”

The frog picked up the coin, examined it with interest, and smiled, his eyes blinking in a rhythmic delay. “Good deal.” He lowered his voice. “The woodsman passed through here yesterday. Big, ugly thing, reeking of rot. He was carrying something square and dark. Might be what you’re after. But he took it to his cabin.”

“Where’s this cabin?”

“In the heart of the forest.” Seu Gama pointed to the back door. “Follow the river, turn left at a giant mushroom. Best coordinates you’ll get.”

Before he could finish, a gunshot rang out.

*BANG!*

A jug of beer exploded behind the counter, spraying sticky liquid everywhere. Gume, in his exaggerated act, had bumped into the drunken scorpion, who drew a rusty pistol and fired upward in rage.

“SON OF A BITCH!” the scorpion yelled, reloading.

Chaos erupted like a pressure cooker, the air filling with angry buzzing, mandible clicks, and the sound of shattering glasses. The drunken scorpion, its stinger raised like a spear, aimed the rusty pistol at Gume, its faceted eyes gleaming with fury. “You spilled my drink, you big idiot! I’ll fill you with lead!”

Gume, still feigning drunkenness but now with a real spark of adrenaline in his eyes, raised his axe. “Come try, needle-tail!” He spun, hitting a nearby table with his shoulder, sending cockroaches and centipedes flying in panic. One hit the beetle bouncer, who roared like thunder, charging with its serrated horns ready to impale.

Tetanus, quick as ever, grabbed a makeshift chair of tree bark and hurled it at the scorpion, deflecting the next shot, which exploded a fungal lantern, plunging part of the bar into greenish shadow. “Let’s get out now!” he shouted, dodging a punch from a giant cockroach that flew at him. He stabbed the harpoon into the ground to steady himself, kicking another insect trying to grab his leg.

Meia-Noite, seizing the chaos, leaped over the counter with the grace of a living shadow, his black gloves sliding over the sticky wood. Behind the counter, Seu Gama crouched, cursing in a guttural tongue, but Meia-Noite ignored the frog and pried open a hidden compartment—an emergency stash, likely for days like this.

His hands closed around an old, rusty but functional shotgun, with scattered shells nearby. He shoved two into the barrel and jumped back, firing into the air to amplify the chaos.

*BANG!* The ceiling of roots shook, dropping dust and spores that made several insects cough and stumble in panic.

“Back door! Now!” Tetanus roared, dodging a horn swipe from the beetle that cracked the wall in front of him. He pulled Al-Yasiin tighter at his waist, the decapitated head muttering curses about “incompetent maggots.”

Gume, the furious giant, needed no more encouragement. He charged like a maddened buffalo, ignoring the insects throwing themselves in his path—a centipede coiled around his leg, but he kicked it away like trash. With a primal roar, he slammed his shoulder into the back door, a flimsy slab of wood and webs, which exploded into splinters and dust. “LET’S GO, DAMN IT!”

The group dove through the exit, Meia-Noite covering the rear with another shot that hit the beetle’s shoulder, making it recoil with a pained roar. They ran through the psychedelic forest, the creeping mist whipping their legs, the trees’ eyes blinking furiously as if reporting their escape. Insects buzzed behind them, but the bar’s chaos slowed them, and soon the sounds of fighting and gunfire faded into the humid air.

They hid behind a cluster of giant mutant mushrooms, panting, their backs against the pulsing bark of a tree that seemed to whisper above them. Tetanus checked his harpoon, Gume wiped sweat from his brow, and Meia-Noite reloaded the stolen shotgun with the shells he’d grabbed.

“Good work, maggots!” Al-Yasiin laughed, swinging at Tetanus’s waist. “But next time, keep me out of the line of fire.”

Meia-Noite, still catching his breath, adjusted the black cloth on his face and looked at his companions. “The frog talked before the chaos. Some lumberjack took the Black Cube to his cabin in the heart of the forest. Follow the river, turn left at a giant mushroom. That’s the best lead we’ve got.”

Tetanus nodded. “Then that’s where we’re going. Before those insects come after us… and thanks for the help, Meia-Noite.”

Meia-Noite sighed, adjusting the hat strapped to his head. “We’re in this shit together anyway. You’ve helped me before. I just hope we get off this island in the end.”

The group stayed crouched behind the mutant mushrooms for a few more minutes, ears attuned to the distant buzzing of enraged insects. The forest whispered around them, its twisted leaves trembling as if laughing softly. Tetanus raised the magical compass—its needles spun wildly but consistently pointed east, toward what Meia-Noite had described.

“Let’s do this,” Tetanus murmured, standing cautiously. “The river can’t be far.”

Gume nodded, while Meia-Noite slung the stolen shotgun over his shoulder.

They pressed on along the winding trail, the mist now thicker, coiling in spirals like ghostly hands. Smaller insects buzzed around but didn’t attack directly—perhaps the bar’s chaos had distracted the other locals. The air smelled of rotten honey and sulfur, and luminescent mushrooms sprouted from the ground like living lamps, pulsing in hypnotic rhythms that made them dizzy.

After what felt like hours—the time in the Dream Forest was a treacherous illusion—the sound of running water echoed ahead. They emerged onto a muddy bank where a murky river snaked through the vegetation. Bubbles rose to the surface, bursting with an acidic smell, where deformed fish occasionally leaped, their multiple eyes gleaming like fake jewels.

“The river,” Meia-Noite confirmed, pointing left. “Now, the giant mushroom.”

The group pressed on along the river's edge, the murky waters churning with unnatural vigor. The compass needles spun erratically, drawn not just by the Black Cube's pulse but by something deeper, a familial echo that tugged at Tetanus's blood like a hook in his veins. The mist thickened, coiling into serpentine shapes that hissed faintly, and the trees' carved eyes seemed to avert their gazes, as if in dread.

Al-Yasiin, dangling from Tetanus's belt, grumbled through his lips. “Smells like family issues, maggot. That infernal stink—I can smell absent father smell everywhere...”

Tetanus ignored him, harpoon gripped tight, but a chill settled in his gut. Memories flickered: shadowed cloisters, a priest's clammy hands, whispered sins disguised as salvation. He shook it off, focusing on the path and the current objective.

The riverbank trembled suddenly, the water erupting in a geyser of foam and rot. From the depths burst a Cobra Grande—a colossal serpent, not mere beast but a nightmare forged from legend. Its scales were patchy with decaying flesh, exposing raw muscle that pulsed like a heartbeat.

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Glowing eyes, slitted and golden, pierced the mist, and its maw yawned wide, distorting the air with a psychic warp that bent light and sound into vertigo-inducing spirals. Fangs like scimitars dripped venom that sizzled on the mud, and from its throat came a roar that wasn't sound but a vibration in the soul.

Gume bellowed, axe raised, charging the flank. “Come on, you oversized worm!” Meia-Noite fired the shotgun, buckshot peppering the scales but barely scratching the hide. Tetanus hurled his harpoon, the barbed head embedding in the creature's underbelly with a wet *thunk*.

But the Cobra still thrashed, its coils whipping like tempests. One savage lash sent Gume flying into the underbrush, crashing through glowing fungi that exploded in spore clouds, leaving him dazed and coughing. Meia-Noite dodged nimbly but was caught by a glancing tail strike, tumbling into the shallows, the shotgun skittering away as he fought to surface.

Tetanus stood his ground, purple hair matted with sweat, eyes locked on those infernal slits. “YOU... fucker, prepare to die!,” he snarled, yanking the harpoon free only for the serpent to lunge.

He twisted aside, but the maw clamped around his torso—not crushing, but enveloping, ritualistic. The world inverted as he was swallowed whole, the throat muscles rippling in deliberate peristalsis, pulling him down into humid darkness. Acidic bile splashed his skin, burning like fire, but, surprisingly, the stomach acid seemed to just ignore him or not affect him, leaving angry welts that smoked but did not dissolve him.

Gume's distant roar and Meia-Noite's curses faded as the serpent submerged, dragging Tetanus into the river's depths.

The Lair Within

He slid, gasping, into a cavernous void—not a mere stomach, but a psychic pocket dimension, a fleshy lair woven from the creature's warped essence. The walls pulsed with bioluminescent veins, casting a sickly green glow over a space like a meat tunnel, damp with mucus that dripped like tears.

The air was thick, suffocating, laced with the musk of arousal and decay. This was the Cobra Honorato's sanctum, where legend blurred into abomination: the knight, cursed or elevated, now piloting the serpent as his eternal form.

From the shadows emerged a figure—not the knight of ballads, but a strikingly handsome man, naked and glistening with the same slick mucus that lined the walls. His skin was pale gold, taut over lean muscles, with serpentine eyes that gleamed like polished amber and a smile too wide, revealing fangs that glinted.

Long black hair cascaded like river weeds, and between his legs hung an endowment that mirrored the serpent's menace—thick, veined, and stirring. He moved with predatory grace, the lair quivering in sync with his steps.

“Little brother...” Honorato's voice slithered into Tetanus's mind, a hypnotic sibilant whisper that bypassed ears, crawling through thoughts like smoke.

“Ah, the bastard son. I can smell Father on you—his wild seed, so raw and untamed. But you are so... small. And. Fragile. Come, let me see what the devil wrought.”

Tetanus scrambled back, harpoon lost in the swallow, hands empty but fists clenched. The mark on his chest burned, a beacon to this “kin.”

Memories surged unbidden: the priest's skin, rough against his childhood skin, the holy man's breath hot with false piety as he pinned and probed, calling it “purification.” Rage boiled, but here, in this womb of horror, it twisted with something darker—a flicker of forbidden pull, the infernal blood recognizing its own.

Honorato closed the distance, not with violence but a lover's languid approach, his serpentine gaze devouring Tetanus's form. “Such fire in you,” he murmured, fingers tracing Tetanus's jaw, down his neck, possessive yet almost tender. “Your struggle... it's beautiful. Vibrant mortality, pulsing like a vein I want to taste. Father always favored the wild ones, didn't he? But I am the true heir—the knight who claimed the coil. Let me show you kinship, brother. Let me... absorb you.”

Tetanus shoved him back, but Honorato laughed, a sound like wind through reeds, pinning him against a fleshy wall that yielded like warm clay.

The touch was just like some inspection, violation masked as curiosity: hands roaming Tetanus's chest, thumbs circling nipples with mocking reverence, dipping lower to grip hips.

“So strong, yet so yielding,” Honorato purred, lips brushing Tetanus's ear. “Your body sings of sin—purple cascades like midnight silk, skin scarred by the world's cruelties. Let me praise it. Let me make you mine.”

The trauma ignited, the priest's ghost overlapping Honorato's form—clammy sanctity twisting into serpentine hunger.

Tetanus fought, fists pounding Honorato's chest, but the lair's psychic pull weakened him, stirring an unwelcome heat in his blood. Honorato's mouth claimed his in a fierce kiss, tongue probing like a serpent's dart, tasting of venom-sweet nectar. Tetanus resisted, then—betrayed by his own infernal pulse—reciprocated, tongues tangling in a clash of rage and reluctant fire, just like a gay romance forged in hell's forge.

Honorato groaned into the kiss, hands sliding to cup Tetanus's ass, kneading the firm muscle with fervent caresses, fingers digging in as if to brand. “Yes, brother... give in to it. Your curves, your heat—perfection.” He ground against him, slick bodies aligning, the act building to dominance.

“Hmmm, such a pretty little thing,” Honorato murmurs, circling over the bound warrior like a hawk eyeing its prey. His gaze roams over Tetanus's body, drinking in every curve and contour with undisguised hunger. ”It's so intoxicating.“

He reaches out, trailing a finger along the purple cascade of Tetanus's hair, then lower, tracing the scarred lines of his skin with a touch both gentle and possessive. Tetanus trembles under his touch, a mix of fear and forbidden arousal coursing through his veins.

Honorato leans in close, his breath hot against Tetanus's ear. “Shall we play a game, brother?” He whispers, his voice a seductive hiss. “A dance of pleasure and pain, where we both surrender to our deepest desires?”

Without waiting for a response, Honorato captures Tetanus's lips in another one fierce kiss, his tongue probing deep, claiming the warrior's mouth with a dominant passion. Tetanus struggles at first, but soon finds himself returning the kiss, his own tongue tangling with Honorato's in a desperate, heated embrace.

Their bodies press together, slick skin sliding against slick skin as Honorato's hands roam freely over Tetanus's bound form. He teases and torments, roaming over torso, tracing scars, caressing every inch of exposed flesh until Tetanus is writhing beneath him, lost in a haze of sensation.

Honorato breaks the kiss, his amber eyes blazing with triumph. “So responsive,” he purrs, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

With a fluid motion, Honorato positions himself between Tetanus's thighs, his thick, veined member poised at the entrance of the bound warrior's. A bead of pre-cum glistens at the tip, promising a slick, pleasurable invasion. Tetanus's breath catches, a mix of trepidation and anticipation coursing through him as Honorato's weight settles onto his hips, trapping him beneath the knight's muscular form.

Slowly, inexorably, Honorato sinks into Tetanus's body, his thick length stretching and filling the warrior's. A low moan escapes Tetanus's lips, a sound caught between pain and pleasure as he adjusts to the familiar sensation of being claimed so deeply.

“Ah, yes,” Honorato groans, his voice heavy with satisfaction. “You feel incredible, brother. So warm, so tight... like a velvet glove wrapped around my cock.”

He begins to move, his hips undulating in a slow, deliberate rhythm that sets Tetanus's senses alight. Each thrust draws a gasp from the bound warrior.

Honorato leans down, his lips finding Tetanus's ear once more. “Look at me, bro,” he commands, his voice low and husky. “Meet my gaze as I take you apart piece by piece.”

Tetanus raises his eyes, locking onto Honorato's amber irises as the knight continues his relentless pace. Their bodies move in perfect sync, a dance of dominance and submission played out so dubious in a bed of stomach.

The lair seems to pulse with the rhythm of their coupling, the air thick with the scent of sweat and musk. Honorato's serpentine form coils around Tetanus's, ensnaring him in a web of pleasure and power.

As the intensity builds, Tetanus feels the coil of release tightening within him, his body poised on the brink of climax. Honorato senses it too, his thrusts becoming more urgent, driving Tetanus toward the precipice.

With a final, powerful stroke, Honorato buries himself to the hilt, his cock throbbing inside Tetanus's clenching heat. The warrior cries out, his vision blurring as ecstasy crashes over him in waves, his body shuddering beneath Honorato's weight.

Tetanus gasped, pain and pleasure blurring, his body arching despite the horror, hands clutching Honorato's shoulders as the knight whispered praises—“My fierce one, my equal in shadow”—each word a chain.

From Tetanus's waist, Al-Yasiin's muffled voice pierced the haze: “Ugh, this is disgusting!” Al-Yasiin’s voice echoed from Tetanus’s waist, muffled but dripping with disdain. “Can you two stop the gay nonsense and focus on not dying here, especially you, Tetanus?!”

As Tetanus rides out the aftershocks, Honorato's own release follows, his cock pulsing with hot spurts of cum that fill Tetanus's ass to the brim. The knight's breath comes in ragged gas as Honorato's climax subsides.

Honorato climaxed with a shuddering hiss, breeding deep, his release a hot flood that marked Tetanus as claimed, momentarily sated and distracted, eyes half-lidded in serpentine bliss. “Mine now,” he sighed, collapsing atop, lips trailing licks along Tetanus's throat.

Rage exploded in Tetanus again— the priest's leers, Honorato's mockery, the violation echoing across years. He twisted free, spotting a jagged bone shard protruding from the lair wall, perhaps a relic of past prey. Lunging for it, he snarled, “Never yours!”

Honorato's facade shattered, serpentine eyes narrowing to slits. “MINE!” he snarled, jaw unhinging in a flash of fangs.

He lunged, biting down on Tetanus's left arm—not to devour, but to anchor, venom surging like liquid fire through veins. Flesh necrotized instantly, skin blackening and sloughing, bone cracking under the pressure. Agony blinded Tetanus, a dolorous scream tearing from his throat as the bite pulped muscle to jelly.

The struggle devolved into frenzy within the convulsing lair, walls rippling like the serpent's coils. Tetanus fought not the distant snake-body but this intimate horror, kneeing Honorato's gut, clawing at his face. With blinding pain and primal fury, he seized the bone shard and wrenched his arm free—tearing through charred tendon and splintered bone in a spray of blood and venom, the limb left dangling in Honorato's jaws like a trophy. He staggered back, stump gushing, world tilting in white-hot torment.

Empowered by agony and awakening blood—the devil's rage igniting like hellfire—Tetanus surged forward. Honorato, still tangled in his own grotesque afterglow, sneered through bloodied fangs. “You can't—”

The bone shard plunged into his throat, Tetanus driving it deep with a roar that shook the lair. “YOU'RE DIRTY JUST LIKE THEM ALL... for you... for every BASTARD who thought that owned me!” He twisted, severing windpipe and spine in a gush of ichor. Honorato gurgled, serpentine eyes widening in shock, body convulsing as the pocket dimension buckled. The knight slumped, handsome features twisting into a death mask, his consciousness unraveling. The Cobra Grande outside would falter without its pilot, but here, the man died first—gutted by the brother he sought to claim.

Tetanus collapsed amid the twitching flesh, stump throbbing, body slick with fluids and bile. The lair dimmed, walls contracting like a dying breath, trapping him in humid darkness. Al-Yasiin muttered weakly, “Well, that was a mess... hope your boyfriends outside fish you out, maggot.”

Exhaustion claimed him, the blood staunching the worst of the bleeding. He passed the night curled in the serpent's cooling stomach, dreams haunted by kisses and fangs, rage simmering into resolve. Dawn would bring escape—or death—but for now, in the belly of the legend, Tetanus endured.

Fear Island — Outside of the River

Dawn's sickly light filtered through the canopy like diluted poison, painting the riverbank in hues of bruised purple and festering green.

The Cobra Grande lay beached on the muddy shore, its colossal form slack and deflated, scales dulled to a mottled gray, the once-thrashing coils now limp as discarded rope. Patches of flesh had split open during the night, oozing a viscous black ichor that steamed in the cool air, and the maw hung agape, a cavernous yawn revealing rows of fangs caked in dried venom. The air reeked of death and digestion, a cloying fog that clung to the trees like a shroud.

Inside the serpent's cooling gut, Tetanus stirred from fitful oblivion. The psychic lair had collapsed with Honorato's death, folding back into the beast's true innards—a churning sac of half-digested remnants, slick walls contracting weakly around him. His body ached, every muscle screaming from the night's violations, the stump of his left arm a throbbing void wrapped in ragged cloth torn from his own shirt.

Blood had crusted over, the phantom pain still lingered, a ghost limb twitching in the dark. Memories clawed at him: Honorato's serpentine kisses, the legendary knight's hands on his skin, the priest's shadowed echoes—all blurring into a rage-fueled haze that left him hollow.

A muffled roar echoed from outside, vibrating through the flesh. “TETANUS! YOU IN THERE, YOU STUBBORN BASTARD?” Gume's voice, raw with exhaustion and relief.

image [http://mothrainstitution.wikidot.com/local--files/brotherreunion/Cobra%20Honorato.jpeg]

Then, the wet *rip* of scales tearing, followed by the scrape of metal on sinew. Light pierced the gloom as the maw was pried wider—Gume's axe wedged into the jaw like a crowbar, Meia-Noite hauling on a vine lasso looped around a fang. The cangaceiro's face was smeared with mud and ichor, his black cloth askew, but his eyes burned with grim determination. “Pull, big man! He's not snake food yet!”

Al-Yasiin's screams cut through the din from Tetanus's belt, the severed head thrashing wildly, lips flapping in panic. “GET ME OUT OF THIS GUT-FUCKING NIGHTMARE! IT'S SLIMING MY BEARD, YOU INCOMPETENT SHITHEADS! TETANUS, IF YOU'RE DEAD, I'LL HAUNT YOUR ASS FOREVER—WAKE UP, MAGGOT!”

Tetanus groaned, forcing himself upright amid the slurry of half-melted bones and glowing fungi that had somehow survived the acids. His right hand fumbled for purchase on the pulsating wall, slick with mucus, and he crawled toward the light, every inch a battle against the serpent's dying spasms. “Here... I'm... alive,” he rasped, voice a gravel whisper.

Gume's massive arm plunged in, fingers like iron clamps seizing Tetanus's collar. With a heave that tore fresh rents in the beast's throat, he yanked him free, the world exploding into blinding daylight and fresh air.

Tetanus tumbled onto the mud, gasping, retching bile and river water as Meia-Noite cut the vine and helped roll him clear. Gume collapsed beside him, axe dripping gore, chest heaving. “Thought we lost you, brother. That thing swallowed you like a damn oyster.”

Meia-Noite knelt, checking the makeshift bandage on the stump with clinical efficiency, his gloved hands steady despite the tremor in his voice. “You look like hell. Arm's gone—clean cut, at least. We'll bind it proper once we move.” He glanced at the deflated corpse, the eyes now milky voids. “What happened in there? We hacked at it all night, but it just... went limp. Like something inside died.”

Tetanus sat up slowly, purple hair plastered to his forehead in wet strands, his remaining hand clutching the earth for balance. The mark on his chest pulsed faintly, a dull echo of the night's fury. “Honorato,” he muttered, the name tasting like venom. “The knight... he was the snake. Or part of it.” He didn't elaborate about the wild part, the kisses, the breeding, the bite that mirrored old abuses. Rage simmered, but exhaustion dulled it to embers.

Al-Yasiin, finally freed from the belt's confines as Tetanus unstrapped him, rolled in the mud like a discarded puppet, sputtering curses. “SLIMY HELLHOLE! I'VE SEEN SHITHOUSES CLEANER THAN THAT GUT! YOU OWE ME A BATH, YOU ONE-ARMED FREAK!”

Gume chuckled hoarsely, clapping Tetanus on the back—gently, mindful of the severe wounds. “Don't worry, friend, we'll take care of you. Compass still works?” He nodded toward the device, now smeared with serpent slime but its needles steady, pointing deeper into the forest.

Tetanus retrieved it from his pocket, nodding. “Aye. Cube's that way. Let's not linger—more legends might wake up hungry.”

The group gathered their bearings, Meia-Noite slinging the recovered shotgun over his shoulder while Gume shouldered the axe. They trudged onward, the river's gurgle fading behind them, the Dream Forest swallowing the Cobra Grande's corpse like a forgotten myth. Tetanus walked in silence, the stump a constant throb, but his steps firmer with each stride—survival hardening into spite.

Hours blurred into the forest's timeless haze, the trail winding through spore-choked glades until they stumbled upon a hollowed-out stump, vast as a hermit's hut, its interior dry and shadowed. Exhaustion forced a halt; Gume and Meia-Noite collapsed into fitful sleep, snoring in ragged unison, weapons close at hand.

Tetanus sat apart, back against the bark, staring into the phosphorescent gloom. Al-Yasiin, propped on a root beside him like a grotesque sentinel, finally stirred from his own sullen doze. The head's eyes—milky and ancient—fixed on Tetanus with a mix of irritation and weary knowing.

“You killed him, you know,” Al-Yasiin said, voice a low rasp, stripped of its usual venom. “Cobra Honorato. The son of Boiúna herself—an Amazon goddess, coiled in the rivers' heart. Devil's get, like you, but twisted deeper into the muck.” He paused, lips twitching as if weighing more words, but his gaze drifted heavy-lidded. No tales of divine wrath, no warnings of retribution—just the bare fact, dropped like a stone into still water.

Tetanus's jaw tightened, the name stirring fresh ghosts: Honorato's too-wide smile, the priest's sanctimonious leer. “Good,” he growled, but the word hung empty.

Al-Yasiin snorted, a feeble sound. “Yeah... good.” His eyelids drooped, the day's slime and screams pulling him under. Within moments, he was out, snoring softly, leaving Tetanus alone with the forest's whispers and the ache of what he'd slain—and what it had awakened in him.