Chapter 606: 606
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With a casual drop of Tycondrius' hand, Atusa's right wrist thunked onto the floor.
Torture tended to be useless for most things. Positive reinforcement was nigh always a more efficient and effective teaching strategy.
It did, however, instill fear. Establishing a reason to fear him would afford him basic respect... at least in the short-term.
"T... ycon..." Atusa managed to groan... "What... the hells..."
She had yet to fully grasp her situation.
Out of the goodness of his heart, Tycon elected to remind her.
He flicked his wrist, "⌈Rip and Tear.⌋"
Atusa's entire body tensed up, her eyes widened as she felt an unfamiliar pain in her hand.
Tycon squeezed two of his fingers together, just as the woman experienced the crescendo of pain. She moaned in agony, the noise largely muted. As best as she could, she curled her body around her immobilized arm... weeping silently, applying pressure to the hand suffering the invisible pain.
Through Atusa's Slave Brand, Tycon could instill basic emotions-- something useful for dealing with slaves despite a language barrier.
With his knowledge in magical formations, he could also instill a very realistic sense of pain.
He did not know why, exactly, he was familiar with that particular feeling. However, he decided it as an appropriate way to punish a sheltered princess without injuring her physically.
Atusa had painted her nails with intricate designs only recently... and Tycon was a benevolent master.
Finally, Tycon found a flat storage container underneath his bed. From within, he recovered a set of clothing: undergarments, clean trousers, and a simple, long-sleeved linen shirt.
He tossed them onto the ground in front of Atusa.
She stared at the pile in disbelief, biting at her lip...
"You... you're serious... you really expect me... to dress you?"
Tycon took in a deep breath. The pain had made her stupid.
"⌈Yes.⌋"
A thought and a word of power caused Atusa's body to freeze. She groaned-- almost erotically, as she struggled against the magic... but in the end, her opposite hand slammed onto the floor at his feet.
Tycon shut his eyes... recalling an intimate pain locked in his memories. He envisioned the cold, metal tool, crafted purposefully to tightly secure onto a humanoid's fingernail. He remembered the inevitable pressure... wrenching upward... steady... unhurried.
"No! Stop! Prince! I beg of you!!" Atusa pleaded, her face pale.
Tycon opened one eye and pursed his lips, "Your Prince does not like to repeat himself, Atusa."
As the spell finished, he pressed his two fingers together, once more. No one outside of his room would hear her scream.
The pulling. The tugging. The tearing of flesh.
One of the difficulties of a professional torturer was to ensure their clients did not grow accustomed to the pain. A novice might rely on uncertainty... ensuring the torture recipient a period of time between sessions and keeping the appointment times sporadic and unpredictable.
Tycon preferred being creative.
Within seconds, Atusa felt a resurgence of pain... the feeling of natural acid poured onto her illusory wound.
She rolled and writhed around in pain as she sobbed, her hair disheveled, her body drenched in sweat, her jaw clenched shut by magic.
Would only that be enough to make her obedient?
Tycon gestured again at the clothes on the floor, then at his naked body.
Still a quivering, crying mess, Atusa got to her feet and began to dress him.
He tilted her chin up to meet his eyes. Thin lines of dark eyeliner streamed down her face.
"I understand you don't have to be pleased with your situation, Princess Atusa... but I expect a certain level of professionalism."
"...I hear you."
Tycon frowned, " 'I hear you, Prince.' "
He kept his tone even. He did not raise his voice. He merely stated his expectations, "Say it."
"I... I hear you... Prince..."
...
Tycon spent the next two bells conditioning his slave before inquiring about the situation in Charm.
From the interrogation, he grew confident in his earlier theory. He and Atusa were not in the past... but a mirror of the present.
It had been years since Tycon had departed from his mother's territory.
The crusade against the lycanthropic plague had been largely successful. Warprince Dragan had been warring with the Ogre Faction for the past several moons. His sister, War Princess Cass, had recently returned victorious from a long campaign, gaining control of two different warbands, one controlled by a rogue demonic gargoyle, and another by a human wizard.
Tycon was hundreds of malms away from his actual location, trapped in a Reality Marble against his wishes... However, he was pleased to at least gain something of value.
« System, inquiry: Status of the brute-force protocol. »
⟬ System response: 79.4 quadrillion sequences checked... ⟭
Tycon furrowed his brows. That... was a very large number. It was troublesome that his System did not give him an estimated time of completion... but that could not be helped.
"Atusa."
The woman perked up, her eyes practically glowing with anticipation, "Anything you ask of me, Prince."
Tycon twisted his lips. He was experienced in working with slaves and Slave Brands... but he hadn't used one in years. It was to be expected that his utilization of Atusa's would be... imperfect.
During her conditioning, the pain would only subside when she acted with respect and dignity.
Further... he supplemented those actions with positive reinforcement... magically transferred emotions.
Comfort. Certainty. The pride of having loyal companions.
The warmth of a sentient being that gives freely without expectation.
She was unable to resist. She didn't even try.
While it was certain that the Slave Brand catalyzed Atusa's drastic shift in personality, it took mere bells for what should have taken moons of brainwashing to achieve.
Atusa's domineering arrogance had all but left her, going as far as removing her expensive earrings, necklace, and bangles of her own 'free' will. She offered to disrobe, as well, but Tycon heartily refused.
In a way... she had become broken. The way she begged while on her knees, offering her body to be used like a toy, was all too similar to a drug-addicted wastrel.
It was disheartening that a woman so close to him had such low tolerance to simple, positive emotions, so often taken for granted.
When he completed his quest for Queen Rylania and returned to Charm in the real world, he would advocate for Atusa's amicable release.
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With a casual drop of Tycondrius' hand, Atusa's right wrist thunked onto the floor.
Torture tended to be useless for most things. Positive reinforcement was nigh always a more efficient and effective teaching strategy.
It did, however, instill fear. Establishing a reason to fear him would afford him basic respect... at least in the short-term.
"T... ycon..." Atusa managed to groan... "What... the hells..."
She had yet to fully grasp her situation.
Out of the goodness of his heart, Tycon elected to remind her.
He flicked his wrist, "⌈Rip and Tear.⌋"
Atusa's entire body tensed up, her eyes widened as she felt an unfamiliar pain in her hand.
Tycon squeezed two of his fingers together, just as the woman experienced the crescendo of pain. She moaned in agony, the noise largely muted. As best as she could, she curled her body around her immobilized arm... weeping silently, applying pressure to the hand suffering the invisible pain.
Through Atusa's Slave Brand, Tycon could instill basic emotions-- something useful for dealing with slaves despite a language barrier.
With his knowledge in magical formations, he could also instill a very realistic sense of pain.
He did not know why, exactly, he was familiar with that particular feeling. However, he decided it as an appropriate way to punish a sheltered princess without injuring her physically.
Atusa had painted her nails with intricate designs only recently... and Tycon was a benevolent master.
Finally, Tycon found a flat storage container underneath his bed. From within, he recovered a set of clothing: undergarments, clean trousers, and a simple, long-sleeved linen shirt.
He tossed them onto the ground in front of Atusa.
She stared at the pile in disbelief, biting at her lip...
"You... you're serious... you really expect me... to dress you?"
Tycon took in a deep breath. The pain had made her stupid.
"⌈Yes.⌋"
A thought and a word of power caused Atusa's body to freeze. She groaned-- almost erotically, as she struggled against the magic... but in the end, her opposite hand slammed onto the floor at his feet.
Tycon shut his eyes... recalling an intimate pain locked in his memories. He envisioned the cold, metal tool, crafted purposefully to tightly secure onto a humanoid's fingernail. He remembered the inevitable pressure... wrenching upward... steady... unhurried.
"No! Stop! Prince! I beg of you!!" Atusa pleaded, her face pale.
Tycon opened one eye and pursed his lips, "Your Prince does not like to repeat himself, Atusa."
As the spell finished, he pressed his two fingers together, once more. No one outside of his room would hear her scream.
The pulling. The tugging. The tearing of flesh.
One of the difficulties of a professional torturer was to ensure their clients did not grow accustomed to the pain. A novice might rely on uncertainty... ensuring the torture recipient a period of time between sessions and keeping the appointment times sporadic and unpredictable.
Tycon preferred being creative.
Within seconds, Atusa felt a resurgence of pain... the feeling of natural acid poured onto her illusory wound.
She rolled and writhed around in pain as she sobbed, her hair disheveled, her body drenched in sweat, her jaw clenched shut by magic.
Would only that be enough to make her obedient?
Tycon gestured again at the clothes on the floor, then at his naked body.
Still a quivering, crying mess, Atusa got to her feet and began to dress him.
He tilted her chin up to meet his eyes. Thin lines of dark eyeliner streamed down her face.
"I understand you don't have to be pleased with your situation, Princess Atusa... but I expect a certain level of professionalism."
"...I hear you."
Tycon frowned, " 'I hear you, Prince.' "
He kept his tone even. He did not raise his voice. He merely stated his expectations, "Say it."
"I... I hear you... Prince..."
...
Tycon spent the next two bells conditioning his slave before inquiring about the situation in Charm.
From the interrogation, he grew confident in his earlier theory. He and Atusa were not in the past... but a mirror of the present.
It had been years since Tycon had departed from his mother's territory.
The crusade against the lycanthropic plague had been largely successful. Warprince Dragan had been warring with the Ogre Faction for the past several moons. His sister, War Princess Cass, had recently returned victorious from a long campaign, gaining control of two different warbands, one controlled by a rogue demonic gargoyle, and another by a human wizard.
Tycon was hundreds of malms away from his actual location, trapped in a Reality Marble against his wishes... However, he was pleased to at least gain something of value.
« System, inquiry: Status of the brute-force protocol. »
⟬ System response: 79.4 quadrillion sequences checked... ⟭
Tycon furrowed his brows. That... was a very large number. It was troublesome that his System did not give him an estimated time of completion... but that could not be helped.
"Atusa."
The woman perked up, her eyes practically glowing with anticipation, "Anything you ask of me, Prince."
Tycon twisted his lips. He was experienced in working with slaves and Slave Brands... but he hadn't used one in years. It was to be expected that his utilization of Atusa's would be... imperfect.
During her conditioning, the pain would only subside when she acted with respect and dignity.
Further... he supplemented those actions with positive reinforcement... magically transferred emotions.
Comfort. Certainty. The pride of having loyal companions.
The warmth of a sentient being that gives freely without expectation.
She was unable to resist. She didn't even try.
While it was certain that the Slave Brand catalyzed Atusa's drastic shift in personality, it took mere bells for what should have taken moons of brainwashing to achieve.
Atusa's domineering arrogance had all but left her, going as far as removing her expensive earrings, necklace, and bangles of her own 'free' will. She offered to disrobe, as well, but Tycon heartily refused.
In a way... she had become broken. The way she begged while on her knees, offering her body to be used like a toy, was all too similar to a drug-addicted wastrel.
It was disheartening that a woman so close to him had such low tolerance to simple, positive emotions, so often taken for granted.
When he completed his quest for Queen Rylania and returned to Charm in the real world, he would advocate for Atusa's amicable release.
With a casual drop of Tycondrius' hand, Atusa's right wrist thunked onto the floor.Torture tended to be useless for most things. Positive reinforcement was nigh always a more efficient and effective teaching strategy.It did, however, instill fear. Establishing a reason to fear him would afford him basic respect... at least in the short-term."T... ycon..." Atusa managed to groan... "What... the hells..."She had yet to fully grasp her situation.Out of the goodness of his heart, Tycon elected to remind her.He flicked his wrist, "Rip and Tear."Atusa's entire body tensed up, her eyes widened as she felt an unfamiliar pain in her hand.Tycon squeezed two of his fingers together, just as the woman experienced the crescendo of pain. She moaned in agony, the noise largely muted. As best as she could, she curled her body around her immobilized arm... weeping silently, applying pressure to the hand suffering the invisible pain.Through Atusa's Slave Brand, Tycon could instill basic emotions-- something useful for dealing with slaves despite a language barrier.With his knowledge in magical formations, he could also instill a very realistic sense of pain.He did not know why, exactly, he was familiar with that particular feeling. However, he decided it as an appropriate way to punish a sheltered princess without injuring her physically.Atusa had painted her nails with intricate designs only recently... and Tycon was a benevolent master.Finally, Tycon found a flat storage container underneath his bed. From within, he recovered a set of clothing: undergarments, clean trousers, and a simple, long-sleeved linen shirt.He tossed them onto the ground in front of Atusa.She stared at the pile in disbelief, biting at her lip..."You... you're serious... you really expect me... to dress you?"Tycon took in a deep breath. The pain had made her stupid."Yes."A thought and a word of power caused Atusa's body to freeze. She groaned-- almost erotically, as she struggled against the magic... but in the end, her opposite hand slammed onto the floor at his feet.Tycon shut his eyes... recalling an intimate pain locked in his memories. He envisioned the cold, metal tool, crafted purposefully to tightly secure onto a humanoid's fingernail. He remembered the inevitable pressure... wrenching upward... steady... unhurried."No! Stop! Prince! I beg of you!!" Atusa pleaded, her face pale.Tycon opened one eye and pursed his lips, "Your Prince does not like to repeat himself, Atusa."As the spell finished, he pressed his two fingers together, once more. No one outside of his room would hear her scream.The pulling. The tugging. The tearing of flesh.One of the difficulties of a professional torturer was to ensure their clients did not grow accustomed to the pain. A novice might rely on uncertainty... ensuring the torture recipient a period of time between sessions and keeping the appointment times sporadic and unpredictable.Tycon preferred being creative.Within seconds, Atusa felt a resurgence of pain... the feeling of natural acid poured onto her illusory wound.She rolled and writhed around in pain as she sobbed, her hair disheveled, her body drenched in sweat, her jaw clenched shut by magic.Would only that be enough to make her obedient?Tycon gestured again at the clothes on the floor, then at his naked body.Still a quivering, crying mess, Atusa got to her feet and began to dress him.He tilted her chin up to meet his eyes. Thin lines of dark eyeliner streamed down her face."I understand you don't have to be pleased with your situation, Princess Atusa... but I expect a certain level of professionalism.""...I hear you."Tycon frowned, " 'I hear you, Prince.' "He kept his tone even. He did not raise his voice. He merely stated his expectations, "Say it.""I... I hear you... Prince..."...Tycon spent the next two bells conditioning his slave before inquiring about the situation in Charm.From the interrogation, he grew confident in his earlier theory. He and Atusa were not in the past... but a mirror of the present.It had been years since Tycon had departed from his mother's territory.The crusade against the lycanthropic plague had been largely successful. Warprince Dragan had been warring with the Ogre Faction for the past several moons. His sister, War Princess Cass, had recently returned victorious from a long campaign, gaining control of two different warbands, one controlled by a rogue demonic gargoyle, and another by a human wizard.Tycon was hundreds of malms away from his actual location, trapped in a Reality Marble against his wishes... However, he was pleased to at least gain something of value. System, inquiry: Status of the brute-force protocol. System response: 79.4 quadrillion sequences checked... Tycon furrowed his brows. That... was a very large number. It was troublesome that his System did not give him an estimated time of completion... but that could not be helped."Atusa."The woman perked up, her eyes practically glowing with anticipation, "Anything you ask of me, Prince."Tycon twisted his lips. He was experienced in working with slaves and Slave Brands... but he hadn't used one in years. It was to be expected that his utilization of Atusa's would be... imperfect.During her conditioning, the pain would only subside when she acted with respect and dignity.Further... he supplemented those actions with positive reinforcement... magically transferred emotions.Comfort. Certainty. The pride of having loyal companions.The warmth of a sentient being that gives freely without expectation.She was unable to resist. She didn't even try.While it was certain that the Slave Brand catalyzed Atusa's drastic shift in personality, it took mere bells for what should have taken moons of brainwashing to achieve.Atusa's domineering arrogance had all but left her, going as far as removing her expensive earrings, necklace, and bangles of her own 'free' will. She offered to disrobe, as well, but Tycon heartily refused.In a way... she had become broken. The way she begged while on her knees, offering her body to be used like a toy, was all too similar to a drug-addicted wastrel.It was disheartening that a woman so close to him had such low tolerance to simple, positive emotions, so often taken for granted.When he completed his quest for Queen Rylania and returned to Charm in the real world, he would advocate for Atusa's amicable release.
