By FoxFaceStories

An Anonymous Story Tier Prompt

In an ancient age, Aetak the Iron Conqueror has captured the matriarchal city-state of Zanaris. Ready to absorb this city of women into his male-led empire, Aetak does not realise that a female Zanaran he appointed to aid him is preparing him for a great change. The city of women must adapt to this violence, and so an ambitious new Matriarch is needed . . . 

First Part

Chapter 2: Ruling After the Ashes

The night of terror would not be one the city ever forgot. The Atarkian conquerors seized any free woman they desired and claimed her as their wife, and some soldiers even fought for the ‘privilege’ to claim an unwed beauty, no matter her say in the manner. Pairs of female lovers were separated, and told that their marriages no longer applied. Records of such inscribed upon papyrus in the hall of records were swiftly burned. Treasure was seized, the greatest amount of it by the fat and greedy Hetis, and while Tanag had been told to restrain himself, all knew that that Blood Hound had been let off the chain, and great violence followed, particularly for any woman who refused to serve him or his friends. 

Come morning, the city still stood, however. Several parts of it smoked. A number of the civilians, male and female, were slain or brutalised, and others still had taken their own lives rather than serve the Atarkian filth. As for Aetak the Conqueror himself, however, he looked out from the promenade of the Great Palace of Zanaris with a sense of triumph as the sun rose, staring across the seat of his power. Already his empire was vast, but now it would know no boundary, not with a great city like this at its centre. He smelled the smoke and ashes, briefly annoyed at the damage that had been done, but largely satisfied that it had been done in his name. The tall bearded man turned and took in the sight of former Matriarch Yazira of Zanaris, shackles still around her wrists even though the chains had been removed from the cuffs. She was still weeping.

“Worry not,” Aetak said gruffly. “The real work begins, advisor. It is time for me to begin my rule.”

“That is most correct, my Lord,” she said, surprisingly submissive.

He picked the grapes from his bowl and downed more of the delicious Zanarin wine. Each taste had been sampled first by Yazira, of course, and by a random citizen just in case she viewed poisoning herself as an acceptable casualty. They truly did have the sweetest things here, including their natural produce.

“The men will come to heel today. We will unmake Zanarin law, and will ensure that it falls in line with the Empire of Atarkia.”

“You can try, my Lord,” the dark-skinned beauty Yazira said. “But you may find that Zanaris will still triumph. I know my history, General. He who conquers is often just as likely assimilated into his new people than the other way around. More so, in fact.”

Aetak sneered at this. The muscular giant of a man took another purple fruit and ripped off the skin forcefully. “We shall see, former matriarch. We shall see. What is this fruit again?”

“The Wyot Rootbulb, General,” Yazira answered with some venom in her tongue. “It is native only to this region, and so greatly treasured. It bulges like the womb, and opens up to reveal the delicious bulb within. It is a very feminine fruit.”

Aetak rolled his eyes. He went to discard the bulb just out of annoyance at her words, then hesitated, and instead took another great bite. The delicious purple juice ran down his chin before he wiped it away. “And like all things womanly, a man has conquered it,” he said with a smile.

“And like all things man conquers, it is but a temporary experience.”

Aetak looked the woman up and down. She was quite curvaceous, deeply beautiful. Yes, she would make a fine concubine. Perhaps even a wife when she was broken in properly.

***

Over the next week, Aetaks’ laws came into effect. They were proclaimed to the populace from the promenade, and that populace had been herded into the main city forum by his army. Already, reconstruction of the city was taking place since the Night of Brutality, as the Zanarins were calling it, with the best apartments and buildings occupied by the officers and clan leaders of Atarkia. But now that order had been established, women claimed, and statues of feminine power toppled, it was time for the new order. Aetak was a fearless commander and master of the iron axe and blade, but he also possessed an intelligent mind, and so he had continually learned of Zanaris and its people through their humbled Matriarch, and demanded she read some of their laws and histories to him, a necessity, since Atarkia was not a literate empire. And so the new laws were proclaimed with the intent to undo the weak and womanly ways of the city and make it a powerful patriarchal state.

“From this moment onwards, the laws of Zanaris shall be changed forever! Your systems of taxation and agriculture will remain largely the same, as shall your record keeping. In fact, for many of you, your way of life will change very little, and in fact improve under my benevolent rule! But those of you who have benefitted from your weak and feminised way of life shall find yourself undone as man once again take his right and natural place. Henceforth, no business shall be owned by a woman. Instead, her husband or father shall take possession. Henceforth, no woman will serve to defend your nation; her role is at home, rearing the children and delivering them! Spinning the loom and pleasing her husband! Your goddesses may remain worshipped, but the greater male gods of my empire shall be introduced, and they shall be recognised - ahem - they shall be recognised - AHEM! Recognised - SILENCE! ONE MOMENT!”

The crowd of civilians were starting to titter, and even his men looked rather uncertain, and not for any small reason. To Aetak’s great fury and humiliation, his voice was cracking. It was squeaking in fact, cracking as if he were once more a boy transitioning into manhood, his manhood yet to have a single curly hall upon its balls. He clenched his fist, went to speak again, only for his nipples to suddenly burn. He scratched one, realised what he was doing, and stopped.

“Hetis,” he declared, keeping his voice as low as he could. “Finish my speech and furnish it as you wish. My throat grows weary after barking so many orders. And keep Tanag in line.”

He marched back into the Palace in a foul mood. He glared at Yazira, her hands tied in a public act of humiliation, and she wisely lowered her gaze as he passed.

“Laugh not,” he cautioned her. “Your people were amused because my voice just cracked like a woman’s. Even they know the truth; yours is the weaker sex.”

“Yes, General. If that is what you believe, I shall humour it.”

“No, you shall convince your people to never mock my speech again. Else they shall know my wrath. The Night of Brutality could be just a taste. Now where is one of those Wyot Rootbulb fruits? My throat requires soothing . . .”

***

Aetak observed the mirror in his palatial room and frowned. It had only been two weeks since he first conquered the city, but already the heavy burdens of rule seemed to be weighing harshly upon him. His beard was thinning, and his shoulders seemed to sag a little further, reduced in muscle and size. Perhaps this was the natural consequence of victory without a great battle to earn it? Even his scars seemed fainter somehow, as if the lack of a good melee had reduced the worthiness of his old battlescars. The only part of him that seemed to be thriving was the hair atop his head, which continued to grow out at a great pace. He grimaced as he shaved it away, rendering his head bald once more, but he cursed how fast it was growing lately, just like he cursed his damn nipples, which seemed to have contracted some rash or condition. Aetak had braved fierce snow storms, horrific infections, and wounds that would have killed lesser men, but skin rashes were always something that vexed him. Not impressive, not something to be overcome, just an endless nuisance and distraction, and this particular rash was deeply distracting. His nipples were swollen upon his bronze chest, and they caused him to wince as they rubbed against his tunic. Only the softest material gave him some relief, and he demanded that Yazira supply some, which the woman did with the slightest smirk upon her features after he was finished examining his reflection.

“Curse the weakness of your culture,” he told Yazira as she entered and gazed over his form, passing the silken cloth to him without a word and yet with all the judgement in the world. “I feel as if the rashes and diseases of this city attempt to weaken my manhood. I shall overcome them in time, no doubt.”

“If you say so, General,” the woman replied. “You will find that we make the softest of silks here, Aetak. Or at least, we did, before our best workers were slain or married off. Another fine thing destroyed by your glorious conquest.”

“Silence, woman. Just give me the tunic, then send in Hetis. I would hear his report.”

Yazira smiled in that way that annoyed him. She was still dressing in the Zanarin way, her purple gown showing off her sumptuous curves. Aetak licked his lips. Yes, he would conquer her soon, too.

Hetis entered, the fat man in the newest fine style. He was eating some of the wyot rootbulb fruit, his lips stained purple as he gulped down yet another. Aetak couldn’t help but notice that the man looked more effeminate, even as he was surrounded by his wives. The man so enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh, and appeared to have taken a number of new concubines, some of whom were chained to him.

“Be rid of your wives and concubines, Hetis,” Aetak commanded. “And give me your report.”

Hetis smiled rather sheepishly, then kissed each of his lovers and giggled. His voice squeaked slightly, much as Aetak’s had the other day. When they were alone, Aetak narrowed his eyes. “Something is wrong. Hetis, is it Tanag?”

“Believe it or not, it is not him, at least this time. The Blood Hound has his cruelties, just as I have my delicious vices, but . . . there are issues with administration, great Emperor.”

“Such as?”

“Sabotage. A number of foodstocks have been burned, and the westward silo has been emptied. We hanged several that we caught, but the citizens give us no names when it comes to saboteurs.”

“And?”

“And several men have been killed in the night, my General. Cut across the throat, two of them, and five more poisoned.”

Aetak crushed the bronze goblet in his hand, so great was his fury. He tossed it aside, knocking over an ancient vase and smashing it upon the floor. “Seven dead!? In one night!?”

“Tanag wishes to flay the perpetrators, great Aetak. A waste of good flesh, if you ask me. I would suggest removing what little rights we have granted our new subjects. Perhaps allowing a little vengeance from the troops.”

Aetak grimaced. “That’s exactly what they want. A mighty response to swell the ranks of a rebellion. No doubt their men are trying to prove to their fallen women that they are not such weak pups at all. We shall make an example of them, but dress it up as justice, Hetis.”

The man still lingered, and Aetak sighed.

“What else is there?”

“The new cultural laws are not being entertained, Emperor.”

“Which ones?”

“Most of them. All of them. Women still openly wear dresses in the Zanarin fashion, some of them even displaying one breast bare, while others are rather showy. I am, of course, unbothered by this. Quite an arousing sight, I must say. But as you have said, this is not your vision for Atarkia.”

“It is whorish. It is crude. A man should hold power over a woman’s beauty. She should still show some beauty, of course, but to tease a man openly diminishes him.”

“It is not just that, my Lord. Female couplings have resumed. Women have begun cohabitation once more. Women . . . together.” The man smirked and licked his lips, clearly rather aroused at the notion, while Aetak found it revolting. “And what’s more, men are technically in charge of businesses, but my troops report that women are giving the secret orders, men obeying their wives. And there is worse news.”

The conqueror huffed, only to scratch his sore nipples, trying to ignore how swollen and sensitive they were, just as he tried to ignore how smooth his skin was starting to appear. “What worse news? What could possibly be worse?”

“Some of the men, even Tanag’s men . . . seem to be rather taken with their wives.”

“What do you mean? Spit it out, Hetis!”

“Well, some of the troops have . . . begun listening to them. Taking advice from them when it comes to their manner of dress, even what they eat.”

The conqueror took a seat and ran his fingers through his beard. He pulled out several stray hairs. Gods, it truly was thinning lately.

“There will be a response to this,” he declared. “To all of it. Make it clear to all Atarkians that Zanaris will be made like us, not the reverse. Make mock trials and hang those who we think are responsible, or would be good scapegoats. Do not infuriate the crowd. Ensure they are well-fed and those who work with our regime are well-rewarded. We will bend these people, and if not, they shall be bro - AHEM! - they shall be broken.”

He scratched at his nipples again, annoyed at the high squeak that had entered his voice. Hetis hid a smirk, but he too was scratching his left nipple.

“Annoying rash running through the city, isn’t there?” the fat man noted. “Perhaps I ought to take a day off after this, and enjoy the pleasure baths.”

Aetak dismissed his right-hand man. He couldn’t help but notice that even for Hetis, the man’s robes were downright garish. Soft.

Effeminate.

***

Yazira heard all of this from the secret gap in the walls that only a few Zanarins knew about. The gorgeous ebony queen - for she was still Matriarch of her people in spirit - descended down the hidden stone staircase and into the Underchamber of Zanaris. This was a secret room, one where the true rulers of the city met and discussed plans to resist the Atarkian conquest. The council was nearly all female, and all were well-chosen for the roles they would play in the secret undertaking to come. 

Neris, a gorgeous woman with dark skin like Yazira but a slimmer figure, her hair in long braids that she kept over one shoulder. She wore a white dress with a gold trim, and her makeup was exquisite. She was the one who ran the Pleasure Baths, and so knew the arts of cleanliness as well as sexual prowess. She was also secretly a great spymaster; nothing passed through the popular baths that she did not hear.

“Your informants were excellent, Neris,” Yazira declared. “We were able to strike successfully last night. Aetak is already unnerved.”

“I only passed forth information that could help, my Queen,” Neris declared.

Yazira turned to Keelin, a fiery-haired woman with a thick figure and a wild mane of red hair. She was in her mid-forties, and had born nine children. Two of the eldest had died already in the occupation. She herself had a nasty, still-healing scar down her left eye. She was in charge of the city’s defence, and greatly wished to recover from the shame of their surrender. She herself had slit three throats the previous night.

“Keelin, your fiery nature will be unleashed in full, this I promise you. For now, I praise your success also.”

“I just wish we could battle them directly, these manly brutes,” Keelin said. “They defile our city and our ways!”

There was a murmur of approval at her words, but silence as Yazira raised her hand.

“And yet nevertheless, the plan must proceed. And so, I turn to you, Bahava and Hanar, for I can now confirm that your specially grown rootbulb fruit have begun the process we all hoped for: Aetak and his grotesque commander Hetis are responding to your alchemical brilliance.”

Bahava was a mousey woman with olive skin and short black hair. She wore spectacles, an invention of Zanaris, and her loving husband Hanar was equally slim and nervous-looking as he stood beside her. It was often joked that the pair looked more like siblings, given his short black hair and similar spectacles, but her swollen belly said otherwise about their relationship.

“Truly, it is working, Matriarch?” he asked. 

“Yes, please tell us the r-results! My Queen, I mean,” Bahava added hastily. “Please tell us the results, my queen.”

Yazira told them all, the curvaceous black beauty sparing no detail as she informed them of how Aetak’s ultra-masculine form was feminising thanks to the fruit; his skin smoother, his scars fading, his beard thinning while his hair began to grow ever more abundant as he tried to shave it back. How the man was even receptive to wearing soft silken cloth, and his broken nose was starting to straighten. And, of course, his nipples had swollen, which had the room very excited.

“I knew those rumours were correct,” Neris the spymaster said. “That vile Hetis keeps visiting my bath, but part of me wondered if they were not swollen due to some disease he picked up due to his vices.”

Keelin harrumphed. “We could slay the pair of them instead of simply giving them fruit. Why bless them with the power of the great Goddess?”

“Because it is the only course,” Yazira said. “Our city can no longer hide. The world knows of us now, and we will be invaded, and by even worse than Aetak. Our only chance is to transform him, and make him Zanarin. Only then can she lead us into a new era; one where a powerful military leader can not just defend us, but spread our superior way of life.”

Several other voices shouted in affirmation of this, even the men. Yazira knew why; the men of the city had lived peaceful and happy lives thanks to the power of emotional fulfilment and a close connection to their children. They were successful, and while they could not hold the highest positions of leadership, they were not without power. Now, however, Aetak’s forces were drilling them for combat, to fight and die and find no true pleasure in art, in love, in the fine arts of life. They too were suffering, if not the same as the women, but suffering all the same.

“It is time for our next step,” Yazira announced. “Neris, we must get Aetak to the Pleasure Baths. The first stage of treatment is a success, but the alchemy provided by sweet Bahava and Hanar here will have greater power there. And Keelin, your work will continue also. We must drive a wedge between Aetak and his trusted advisors. Slowly, we will encircle him with women, and he will come to trust us, and our way of life. And in doing so, he will trust the womanly form and mind we shall sculpt for him. And that, my subjects, will be the day of our great liberation.”

The members present agreed. The way ahead was certain, though Keelin wasn’t entirely happy with it. Each was set to work upon their part of the silent, slow coup. Aetak had no idea, but his true transformation was yet to come.

Him, and as many of his great conquering army as they could manage.

To Be Continued . . .