Kim Possible Porn Story: A Long Life Chapter 11

AN: Blah Blah Blah. I own nothing but Thomas, Elizabeth, and the villian.

Thanks to my regular reviewers for their kind words. I’ve also decided to be nice and present one more reference somewhere in this chapter.

Thomas comes back in after about ten minutes. His face is haggard, eyes red-rimmed. Sitting down in his chair with a groan, he leans back and says, eyes staring at the ceiling, “God, I get so tired of it sometimes. I go on and everything around me dies.”

He sighs and takes a sip of his whiskey, “Anyways, Pithana, my little prince.”

“Stay in sight Pithana” Muwatti calls to her son, her husband of 10 years by her side as they walk alongside the river.

The last ten years had been amazing to say the least. Pithana had been born 9 years ago, and although there had been some trouble with his birth, all had turned out well. Now, he was a strong boy, with his mother’s eyes and his father’s strong jaw and nose. His coloration went back to his grandmother, paler than the people around him, but it didn’t seem to stop the rambunctious lad. Unlike his father at his age, Pithana had no trouble making friends. It was even rumoured that if things keep going as they seemed to, when Pithana reached the age of decision, he might be considered for a leadership position.

Right now though, Pithana had no thoughts of the future. Spying a ripple at the edge of the river, he runs to the bank and dashes his hand into the water, laughing as a large frog just barely manages to escape him by going into the deeper parts of the river. Pithana contemplates following the frog, but knowing his mother and father would get mad at him, he forgoes chasing the frog, Instead, he picks up a branch and pretends to be a great sword fighter.

“Let him play my love” Zipani says, pulling his wife closer. Although it hasn’t become apparent yet, Zipani had, to all intents and purposes, stopped aging around 5 years ago. For now though, he simply looked in his early 20’s, despite being 27.

Watching his son playing, he smiles, thinking on the changes in his life since he married Muwatti. Although it had been slow, soon after his marriage, he had slowly gained acceptance once more in the village. People that had once walked to the other side of the main road to avoid him now came up to greet him. The old pirest’s decision to retire last year, naming Zipani as his replacement had helped as well. No-one wanted to anger the gods by shunning their servant after all.

“He shouldn’t be so close to the river though” Muwati says, looking at the rain gorged river with trepidation. Just last month, Sarumma, the son of the village blacksmith, had fallen into the river and was swept away. His body had been found a week later, bloated and partially eaten by desert predators.

“Don’t worry” Zipani says, smiling, “Nothing will happen. We both have talked to Pithani about the river’s seasons. He knows that this is a bad time to go swimming. We raised a smart son.”

“What do you mean we?” Muwatti asks, smirking at her husband, “If I weren’t here, you’d be just as bad as he is”

Zipani laughs and says, “Alright. Alright. You raised a smart son. I raised a tiny terror”

Muwatti nods emphatically, saying, “And don’t you forget it”, although her smile shows she’s just teasing. “Have you given thought to what you’ll talk about this week?” she asks

“I was thinking I’d talk about Telepinu and how the Gods search for him, but fail to find him.” he says, “There are two lessons that can be drawn from that. The first deals with Telepinu, and about how we shouldn’t let our anger drive us. The second is about the bee that found and stung Telepinu. Thinking that can be about how we should not discount someone despite how small or weak they appear to be. Or it could be a cautionary tale about not attacking a superior force”

“Are you sure that’s a good lesson?” she asks, frowning, “Reports have been coming in of the Assyrian raiding parties destroying villages. Should we be telling our people not to stand up to them?”

“Good point” he says, thinking on it, “Perhaps I should go the route of not discounting a smaller force then. Give our people courage and let them know the Gods are behind them”

“Have I told you that I love you?” Muwatti asks, smiling.

“Yes, but I didn’t quite hear it” Zipani says, chuckling, “Perhaps you should say it again. Just to be safe”

“Fine” Muwatti says, giving a sigh of mock exasperation. Grabbing her husband, she pulls him close and is about to kiss him when Pithana comes running back, “Mama, Papa, there are men ahead. Men with swords”

Muwatti looks at Zipani in concern as Zipani’s face hardens, “Muwatti, take Pithani home and warn the men”

“But..” she begins to say when Zipani cuts her off, “Just go”

“Al-alright” she says, her voice trembling. Pulling Zipani close, she kisses him and whispers against his lips, “Be safe husband”

“I will be fine” Zipani murmurs, “It’s probably nothing. Scouts perhaps. I’ll just see what they want” Releasing his wife, he watches as she and their son run back towards the village. When he can no longer see them, his face hardens and he turns, moving to investigate the group.

Getting close, he watches the group approach and does a quick count, then curses. 50 soldiers. 30 swordsmen and 20 archers by the looks of things, all of them on horseback. Too well armed to be scouts. The designs on the armor tell him that the soldiers are Assyrian. Muttering curses, he moves off, keeping low and hoping he hadn’t been seen.

The gods must have been in a sick humor that day because before he can go ten paces, a sharp pain in his back, and he falls over, several arrows sticking out of him like he was an oversized porcupine. None of the arrows have hit anything vital, so, bleeding, and in pain, Zipani struggles to his fet and he stumbles away, trying to keep ahead of the rapidly approaching soldiers on horseback. He doesn’t get far befopre he’s kicked into the dirt. Spitting dirt, he struggles to rise, and is knocked back down as laugbhing soldiers leap off their horses and kick, punch, and beat him with clubs. After a few blows to the head, Zipani sinks into oblivion as one soldier takes his sword and plunges it through Zipani’s stomach.

I don’t know how much time passed between when I was first knocked out and when I awoke. All I know is that I awoke in agony. What I felt when I fell out of that tree when I was ten was a gentle spring shower compared to after those soldiers left me for dead. My flesh and blood felt as if they were on fire. I felt every bone that had been broken, scraping raw nerves as they reset themselves and healed. I always feel it when I heal from any injury. I heal faster than others. A month’s worth of healing in less than an hour. And I feel every moment.

Once the pain had sunk to a more bearable level, I made my way to my feet and stumbled to the village. What greeted me upon my return haunts my darkest nightmares. My village burned.

I made my way through the smoke, tripping over the dead and the dying, calling for my wife and son. An eternity of searching and I found a sight that chilled my blood.

In the center of the village, several spikes set into the ground. Adorning each spike was the head of a village leader, with the center spike… The center spike had the head of the previous priest, his eyes gouged out, and his tongue cut off.

But it was what was laying on the ground before the spikes that drove me to my knees, howling into the skies. My son. My little Prince. The bastards had tied him to horses and tore him apart. Thinking back, I can imagine what happened.

My son and wife made it back to the village and went around, warning the leaders. When the soldiers arrived, the leaders went out and tried to reason with the Assyrians. Whatever they said, the Assyrians cut them down. My son, my hotheaded little prince. He must have taken up a sword and tried to fight back. A child against grown men. If they had time to tear him apart with their horses, they must have overpowered him and kept him alive long enough to kill the adult men that came against them. Soldiers against farmers and children. My village didn’t stand a chance. The males and elderly females were slaughtered, the females, including my wife, taken as slaves. And in the dirt, partially buried, I found the necklace I gave Muwatti for our wedding. That, more than anything, seemed to signify an end to the life I had once known. No longer was I innocent.

“I wanted to chase after them. By the gods, I wanted to save my wife,” Thomas says, his voice hitching as he fights to control his emotions, “But I had to bury the dead. I was the village priest. It was my duty to see the spirits of the dead off to the next life. It took me a week to bury them all and do the proper rites to ensure their souls would reach Heaven. A week for the anger and hate in my heart to fester and burn. I swore vengeance that day. I swore before the gods that the Assyrians would pay. I spilled my blood upon their altar as I made my vow.”

Taking a deep shaky breath, he continues, “That final day in the village, I tore off the beads that marked me as a man of the gods, and for the first time in my life, I picked up a sword. And for the next 1600 years I let my anger drive me. I wandered the Assyrian Empire, at first, searching for my wife. I searched for her for a century, and then I was forced to realize that I would never find her alive. After that, I let my desire for vengeance guide me. Wandering the borders and joining any army that sought to drive Assyria to it’s knees. In that time, I had no friends. No allies. Everyone fell into two camps. Those that could help me get vengeance, and those in my way. Even when I slept with women it was angry. No tender words, no gentle touches. Just a way to slake my needs upon any willing female. And even some that weren’t willing.
But in time, anger cools, and the sweetness of vengeance turns to ashes in the mouth. In time, I was merely making the motions. I felt nothing any more. I wandered away from Assyria and made my way East and North, eventually finding myself in China.”

“Don’t get me wrong” Shego says, “I do find this fascinating, and when all this is over, you and I will go over this in detail. However, what does this have to do with the weapon?”

Thomas nods and says, “Well, for that, we have to go back a bit in my history. Before China, before I left Anatolia. Even before my desire for vengeance faded”

Rising, he goes to refill his whiskey, “Would you believe me if I told you that it was never intended to be a weapon?” Turning to face her, he says, “The man who created it intended it to be a tool for healing. It was supposed to bathe the target in a gentle beam of mystical energy, revitalizing them.”

“You’re kidding” Shego says, stunned, “The thing that took out two cities, killed 15 million people, was meant to heal people?”

“It was developed because Kalun was suffering from a plague. Kalun was a small village about two days journey from Kinalua, the main city of Unqi, one of the states that arose when the Hittite Empire had fallen,” Thomas says, “I was there, helping the military fight back an Assyrian incursion. During lulls in the fighting, I explored the village and befriended one of the priests there. A fellow named Zidanta. He had some interesting ideas concerning mystics.”

“Zipani!” Zidanta exclaims, looking up from his dusty scrolls, “I think I found it!”

“Found what?” Zipani asks from where he’s sitting, enjoying a glass of beer. As he sips the beer, he tells himself to remember that if he ever found himself in Egypt, that he needed to thank them for inventing the drink.

“A way to use Martuk’s mystic power to heal the villagers” Zidanta says, rushing over to Zipani to show him the scroll.

“I thought Martuk could already heal people?” Zipani says, “Isn’t that why he’s here?”

“Yes he can” Zidanta says, “But Martuk can only heal one person at a time. These scrolls tell of a way to heal everyone at once”

“Really?” Zipani says, curious as he grabs the scroll to read it. Ten minutes later, he puts the scroll down and looks at Zidanta, “It’s worth a shot I suppose. How can I help?”

“I need some materials that aren’t available in the nearby mines. You have an ear with the King. See if he can get a hold of them”

“Sure, what items?”

“I need stones. Precious stones. Lazvard(1), and rubies” Zidanta says. Grabbing a piece of parchment, he writes a quick list, then hands it to Zipani, “This is what I need.”

Zipani looks over the list, his eyebrow quirking at the last item,”A ruby the size of a grown man’s fist? I know of one, but I’m not sure if I can get it. It’s part of the King’s collection.”

“You saved his daughter’s life a few months ago didn’t you?” Zidanta asks, referring to an incident when the horses pulling a passing chariot panicked. The chariot had fallen over and trapped the young girl under it. Zipani had lifted the chariot off of her. In gratitude, the King had sworn a life debt to Zipani.

“Yes” Zipani says, “I did, but he doesn’t owe me anything”

“He thinks he does” Zidanti says with a smirk

“True” Zipani says, then sighs, “Fine. I’ll see what I can do. I’ll try to be back in two weeks”

Zidanta nods, “No real hurry. It’s going to take me time to gather the gold and silver and the other materials.”

So I left. And although the king was reluctant to part with his prized ruby, when I explained what it was for, he gladly gave it over. He did declare us even though, which was fine by me. When I got back, Zidanta got to work immediately. While I was gone, he had acquired the materials he needed, and had even had them shaped. All that was left was setting the stones, which took him about a week. Once he was ready, Zidanta, Martuk, and I moved out to the desert to test it. We picked out three people suffering from the plague that was wiping out the village, and broght them with us.

The reason we took it out to the desert was so the villagers wouldn’t see the test. Zidanta didn’t want to get their hopes up. I was thankful later that we did it that way. I don’t want to think about what I would have done had we decided to test it on the town, considering what happened.

Once three days had passed since we lost sight of the town, Zidanta stopped. Opening the chest he had used to carry the artifacts, he had Martuk put them on. While Martuk got dressed, I arranged the three villagers, getting them as comfortable as one could get when laying down on sand.

Once everyone was ready, Zidanta stood between the mystic and the villagers, while I stood a good ways off. I saw him take the scroll and read it one last time before he tapped the ground, then pointed it at the villagers. Despite being too far away to hear Zidanta, I heard the Martuk cry out in agony, and saw his body arch back, every muscle of his tightening, forcing him rigid as his mystic energy was ripped from him and drawn to the staff. I ran towards him, hoping to break the connection, but a flash of light stopped me in my tracks. As if sent by the gods I worshipped back then, a bold of the bluest light shot down from the sky, hiding the villagers from view.

In that moment, I was aware of everything. While the light shot down to the ground, I saw Martuk fall to the ground, as limp as a cloth doll. I also saw Zidanta drop his staff, staring in horror at where the villagers had been. I was rooted to the spot, fear, concern, even anger warring in my heart, each demanding action. And when the light faded, I fell forward, vomiting into the sand because of the sight before me. All that remained of the villagers was blackened fragments of bone, the sand beneath them turned to glass. As I kneeled on the sand, tears running down my face, retching into the desert, a new sound filled the air. Martuk was screaming, gibberish flowing from his lips as he rushed Zidanta.

I quickly rose to my feet and ran towards my friend, who stayed rooted in place, but I was too late. By the time I reached them, Martuk had wrapped his large hands around Zidanta’s throat and snapped his neck. When he released Zidanta, I stopped running, watching as my friend dropped to the sand, lifeless. I then watched as Martuk slowly approached me, mad laughter bubbling from betwen his lips, his eyes wild as tears ran down his face.

Although it shames me to this day, I did the only thing I could at the time. When Martuk reached out for me, I ducked under his arms and struck him in the head as hard as I could. As his skull cracked under my fist, I whispered to him, “I’m sorry”. Grabbing him, I gently eased him down, holding him as he died, gibbering madness until his eyes clouded over.

I don’t know how long I sat there, holding Martuk’s lifeless body. All I know is that it was afternoon when Zidanti had tapped the ground, and by the time I finally stood, night had already fallen. Moving slowly, I buried the remains of the villagers, then Zidanti. When I got to Martuk, I stripped him of Zidanti’s foul creation, then buried him as well, saying a prayer over the 5 graves. Placing the items in the chest, I left that region, never to return.

As I travelled over the next year, I would bury each piece in a separate location, save for the amulet, which I attached to the necklace of my wife, then hid in a tomb at what had been the edge of the former Hittite Empire.

Thomas had been silent for ten minutes before Shego finally managed to speak, “If you hid the pieces, then how were they found?”

Thomas givces a weak chuckle, “Despite my many abilities, memory isn’t one of my strong suits. I wrote down the locations where I hid the items, that way I would remember, and would know where to go to check on them, make sure no-one had found them. In time though, I no longer needed the scroll. I suppose I left it behind somewhere, and someone else found it and kept it. Why they would, I don’t know. All the scroll had on it was the names of cities that had existed in my early life, but existed no longer.”

Giving a groan, Thomas rises, stretching as he says through a yawn, “Get some sleep Shego. We have a big day tomorrow. Elizabeth will show you to your room” That said, he scratches the back of his head, yawning as he heads to his bedroom.

Elizabeth leads Shego to a large bedroom, and although Shego does lay down, it’s several hours before she can sleep, Thomas’ tale going through her head. And when she does sleep, her dreams are filled with blue light, blackened bones and melted glass.

1: Lazvard was the Egyptian name for Lapiz Lazuli. I would have preferred to use the ancient names of the gold silver and rubies, but I couldn’t find anything on it.

Wow. My longest chapter yet.

AN: Don’t worry, Donteatacowman, I will post something on Ron in the next chapter. In fact, I think he might actually take up a whole chapter. I don’t know though. We’ll see after I get up. It’s bed time for me. Please, read and review everyone. I really appreciate them.