Hercules enslaved - 10. The grand finale

The heavily restrained Hercules was led by Demetrius’ guards back into the throne room. Amidst the opulent drapes and marble columns stood lines of the gentry and armed guards. As the large crowd gasped at the full glory of Hercules’ magnificent and uncovered physique, the tyrant rose from his ornate throne and announced proudly to his subjects in waiting.

"Behold, Hercules," the tyrant proclaimed, his voice dripping with condescension as he gestured grandly to a huge contraption made entirely of metal placed at the center of the throne room, "this engineering marvel is the brainchild of my ingenuity, the ultimate test of your vaunted strength!”

Hercules' eyes narrowed as he listened to Demetrius' words, a sense of trepidation washing over him. He watched with amazement and dread the monstrous contraption. The central square frame was forged from the densest Hephaestian alloy, the bars thicker and more unyielding than any normal metal. Attached to the four corners of this sturdy frame were four chains, each as thick as a man’s arm and ending in heavy manacles meant for restraining a god. Through an elaborate system of gears and pulleys, the unearthly chains stretched towards two massive metal capstans, one on each side of the frame. Each capstan, a humongous wheel of iron, was manned by ten burly men. The tyrant's cruelty knew no bounds, and the demigod knew that this was no mere boast – Demetrius had the most sinister plan in mind.

"What are you playing at, Demetrius?" Hercules growled, his voice low and laced with warning.

The tyrant's lips curled into a malicious grin. He had heard tales of Hercules' strength, of his twelve labors, of his victories over monstrous beasts. But the cruel king believed that even the mightiest hero had his limits. He was determined to break Hercules, to prove that even a god could be brought low.

"Why, I'm giving you the chance to demonstrate your legendary prowess, Hercules," he purred, his tone dripping with false benevolence. “Legend has it that you possess the strength of twenty men. So all you have to do is to endure this test of strength against my twenty men for the time span of one hundred drumbeats. If you succeed, I will immediately set you free.” The tyrant continued with a sinister sneer, “But… if you fail, your limbs will be torn off and the legends have to be rewritten!"

Hercules' brow furrowed as he studied the contraption, his keen mind searching for a weakness, a means of escape. The chains and manacles were indeed unlike anything he had encountered, and the demigod knew that his typical displays of raw strength might not be enough. With a nod, the king signaled to his henchmen who quickly secured Hercules in the middle of the metal frame. Tentatively, Hercules tested the bindings, flexing his powerful muscles and straining against the unyielding steel. To his surprise, even without the twenty men turning the capstans, the chains creaked and groaned but the gears and pulleys did not give an inch. A low growl of frustration rumbled in his chest, his eyes narrowing with determination.

Demetrius chuckled, savoring the demigod's growing discomfort. "You see, Hercules, your fabled strength is no match for my ingenious design. This machine is simply…unbreakable."

As Hercules strained against the unyielding chains and manacles, he turned his gaze towards Demetrius, his expression grim. "This challenge is not a fair test of my strength, tyrant," the demigod rumbled, his voice low and measured. "The iron collar around my neck restricts my oxygen intake, limiting the full extent of my power."

Demetrius' brow arched, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. The demigod had a point - the collar was hampering his ability to demonstrate his legendary prowess.

"And what would you have me do, Hercules?" the tyrant sneered, his fingers drumming against his chin. "Remove the collar and risk you unleashing your full might upon my kingdom?"

Hercules met Demetrius' gaze unflinchingly. "If you truly wish to test the limits of my strength against your… unbreakable machine, then you must grant me the freedom to do so unencumbered."

The tyrant's lips curled into a sneer, his eyes narrowing as he considered Hercules' bold request. The demigod was challenging him, daring Demetrius to remove the very device that was meant to keep the hero in check. A tense silence settled over the chamber as Demetrius weighed his options. On one hand, removing the iron collar would allow Hercules to display his full power, a prospect that filled the tyrant with a growing sense of unease. But to deny the demigod's request could be seen as an admission of his own fear and lack of confidence in his elaborate contraption.

Ultimately, Demetrius' hubris won out over his caution. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he motioned to his guards. "Very well, Hercules. Remove the collar, and let us witness the extent of your vaunted strength."

The guards hastily unfastened the iron collar from around Hercules’ neck with the hex key, and the demigod drew in a deep, steadying breath, feeling the rush of reinvigorating oxygen coursing through his powerful frame. Demetrius watched, his expression a mixture of anticipation and trepidation, as Hercules flexed his magnificent muscles, previously restrained by the collar's constriction, now rippled with barely contained strength, radiating an aura of unrestrained power.

With a renewed sense of hope, Hercules turned his attention to the complex steel contraption, determined to overcome this challenge and seize the opportunity to turn the tables on his captor. Hercules rolled his shoulders, testing the long-lost freedom of movement, and a low, rumbling growl escaped his lips. The tyrant had underestimated the true extent of the demigod's abilities, and Hercules was determined to make him pay for his arrogance.

Demetrius watched the spectacle with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation, his fingers drumming against his chin. He had prepared for this confrontation meticulously, crafting a challenge that would push the demigod to his limits, and perhaps even beyond. King Demetrius said with a sneer, “Let the test begin!”

Tension filled the air, the spectators held in rapt silence as the drumbeat echoed through the throne room, a slow, steady rhythm that marked the passage of time. Each beat was a hammer blow to Hercules' resolve, a reminder of the pain that was to come. The men on the capstans, their faces contorted with effort, turned the wheels with a relentless force, the chains tightening, the pressure building. Hercules, his muscles straining, his bones creaking, felt the force of the chains pulling at his limbs. He could feel the blood rushing from his hands and feet, the pain a searing fire that consumed his body.

Ten drumbeats…

The chains, pulling taut, began to lift Hercules off the ground. He was suspended in mid-air, his legs spread wide while his feet dangled inches above the stone floor. There was no leverage, no way to brace himself against the relentless force. His muscular strength was his only defense, his only hope. He remembered the words of his father, Zeus, "Strength lies not only in muscles, but in the spirit." Hercules drew upon the inner strength of his spirit, channeling the rage of a thousand battles into his muscles. He gritted his teeth, his jaw clenched, his eyes burning with defiance.

Demetrius watched with palpable glee as Hercules' powerful limbs trembled at the exertion. "Amazing," Demetrius murmured, his eyes gleaming with a twisted fascination. "Your strength is truly unparalleled, Hercules. But let us see how long you can maintain that façade of defiance."

Twenty drumbeats…

The drumbeat continued, a relentless metronome of pain. But Hercules held firm, his body fortified by his indomitable will. Hercules gritted his teeth, his muscles burning with a searing agony as they were pushed to the brink of their capacity. One hundred beats seemed like a century of pain, a lifetime of torment, but Hercules vowed to endure. He would not let Demetrius break him. He would not let the king claim victory. He would not let his spirit be crushed.

But despite the demigod's resolve and the full extent of his superhuman strength now unleashed, the steel chains and mechanisms that bound him refused to yield. Round after round of strenuous exertion saw Hercules straining against the unyielding metal, but the contraption remained stubbornly intact. The twenty men and Hercules were at a stalemate, as both sides were not able to advance the machine any further.

Thirty drumbeats…

The king was a master of psychological torment, and he sensed the doubt overshadowing Hercules. With a cruel smile, Demetrius stepped forward to inches away from the straining hero, his fingers tracing the demigod's sweat-drenched brow. "You are a remarkable specimen, Hercules," the tyrant murmured, his voice low and menacing. "But even the mightiest of heroes must eventually succumb to the inevitability of their own mortality. It is only a matter of time before I break you, body and spirit.”

The king continued to chip away Hercules’ resolve, “Oh, did I forget to tell you, the intricate gear and pulley system amplifies the strength of the twenty men by tenfold? So you are effectively fighting a battalion of two hundred men.” The sinister king said while gently caressing Hercules’ proud manhood between his huge legs. “What a waste to watch an exquisite catch like you to be torn into pieces.”

Demetrius turned to the men at the capstans, the sadistic king's order cracked like a whip, his voice laced with a chilling threat. "Turn the capstans, you dogs!" he barked, his gaze sweeping over the twenty men. "With all your might! Fail, and you'll all be executed!” The air crackled with fear as the men, their faces pale with dread, obeyed, their muscles desperately straining against the heavy wheels.

The king’s words incited a renewed horror and rage in Hercules, as he now knew the test was rigged with the ingenuity of the contraption from the beginning. With a defiant roar, Hercules strained against his bonds, his powerful muscles bulging as he fought to resist. But even with his divine gift, the demigod’s strength was not limitless, and certainly cannot withstand the concerted onslaught of two hundred men’s strength. With each desperate attempt to turn the tide, the machine responded with ruthless efficiency, stretching Hercules' limbs and torso further, causing him immense pain. The demigod's muscles bulged and rippled beneath his glistening, sweat-soaked skin, a magnificent view for the king and the spectators. But no matter how hard he fought, the contraption seemed to adapt and slowly gain the upper hand.

Forty drumbeats…

Hercules' brow furrowed in frustration, his breathing ragged as he paused to catch his breath. Back in his throne, Demetrius watched with a cruel smile, his fingers drumming against the armrest of his throne. "You see, Hercules," the tyrant drawled, "my creation is the work of a true genius. It is not merely a means of restraint, but an impossible challenge even for a god. Your vaunted strength is no match for the ingenuity that has gone into these bonds."

Hercules could feel the strain on his body, the burning ache in his muscles, the constriction of the bindings cutting into his flesh. He had never known fatigue to be his adversary, but now, as he faced the relentless, unyielding design of Demetrius' creation, he began to doubt whether even his legendary prowess would be enough to overcome this formidable challenge. As the drums beat on, Hercules’ muscles were trembling, straining to the extreme, his joints threatening to dislocate.

The spectators held their collective breath, their eyes fixed upon the demigod, wondering if the unthinkable might happen – that Hercules, the mighty hero of legend, could actually be defeated.

Fifty drumbeats…

Only halfway through the ordeal, Hercules let out a frustrated roar, his muscles bulging and the veins popping as he redoubled his assault on the mechanisms. Sweat poured down his brow, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he poured every ounce of his strength into his trembling muscles. Yet, no matter how hard he strained, the contraption refused to yield, its intricate workings seemingly impervious to even Hercules' godlike abilities. The demigod's face contorted with a hint of fear and despair, as Hercules' relentless efforts against the intricate mechanisms of the contraption began to falter. He realized that even his god-given strength was not enough to break free from Demetrius' malicious creation, which was on the brink of violently tearing off his limbs. The tyrant had crafted a challenge that truly tested the limits of Hercules' power, as the pressure on his joints built up to the utmost and the pain became maddening. He felt the magnificent muscles in his thick arms and legs starting to tear with searing pain and it’s only a matter of time before the inevitable happened.

In a moment of desperation, Hercules closed his eyes, his brow furrowing in deep concentration. Demetrius, observing the hero's apparent exhaustion, leaned back in his throne, a cruel smile spreading across his features. "It seems even the mighty Hercules has met his match," the tyrant sneered. "Your strength, for all its fabled power, is no match for the genius of my design. Prepare to meet your maker, Hercules!"

***