[SNEAK PEEK]Trapped like a Rat
Sir Fratley is assaulted.
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Trapped Like a Rat
By Limewah
**Subscriber Reward for Moxas (May 2024)
Featuring characters from Final Fantasy IX
18+
SNEAK PEEK**
Fratley, the Burmecian Hero, was walking along the dirt path. There was a stone overpass in front of him; a perfect place for an ambush. But he’d walked this way many a time, and had never been surprised yet. Times were peaceful for the rat-folk, and he was happy to have a place to walk and reflect away from the eyes of the rest of the world. Though he never traveled without his spear and a chainmail shirt beneath his wandering clothes, nor did he completely slip into a reverie. He knew better than that. Enemies always abounded.
If the trap had an obvious tell, Fratley would have spotted it.
But the Burmecian’s well-trained eyes could not do much to a trap made of pure creation magic, particularly one hidden in the shadows of the dark tunnel.
A canopy of darkness dove from above. He had enough time to brace himself to parry, but realised, too late, that another canopy was coming from behind… and above, and the sides.
Each dark facet crashed into him with a wet squelch, and all at once his senses were stymied. His eyes were forced shut, and the darkness of the thick substance kept any light from even reaching his closed lids. His nose was assailed with a thick chemical scent, like burnt treacle and crude oil mixed together. His stopped-up ears could only pick up the constant roar of his blood coursing through his veins. The thick sludge formed a tight film around his hands, and seemed to have a life of its own, yanking and wrenching the Burmecian’s spear from his hand. The weapon was expelled from the centre of the mass with such force that it embedded itself in a rock-face close by.
Pieces of the magical construct pulled away from the central mass and stiffened to a metallic sheen. They created a cuboid scaffold around the rat, the top coming up to about the height of Fratley’s chest. He was still standing, struggling against the mass even as his yells and screams were muffled. The substance moved with a mind of its own, pulling Fratley’s legs in tight and yanking downwards. Even with his strength, Fratley could not resist. He was pulled to his knees and made to kneel, his head now beneath the top of the scaffold.
From there, the effluent began to congeal. The edges of it pushed out to the corners of the assembled scaffold, attaching to it like a sort of cuboid tent.
The canopy descended, then, pushing back inwards towards the lithe, muscular form of the hero. His arms had been forced behind his back, and his back was bowed. The effluent pushed in tightly around him, forcing all the air between him and the magical prison out. The seemingly sentient substance squeezed tight around his wrists, ankles, and neck, growing firm and heavy like manacles.
“Nnnnghh…” his moans were muffled, he could scarcely even move his jaw as the second-skin tightened around him, each and every inch.
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