Neri

A Bandit’s Death

Ferdinando's boots thudded against the stone floor as he paced the dimly lit chamber of the castle, his shadow casting monstrous shapes along the walls. A flickering torch in his calloused hand barely held the darkness at bay. The air was thick with the stench of sweat and old blood, remnants of countless battles fought within these walls. The dread foreboding of imminent doom hung heavy upon the room.

"Damnation," Ferdinando grumbled under his breath, his gray beard bristling with each coarse word that left his lips. "The Turks are coming."

Nando, sprawled on a crude wooden bench, watched his uncle with wary eyes. He knew that tone, the edge of desperation veiled by fury. They had faced death before, danced with it nightly, but this was different. This was an endgame neither could cheat.

"Then we make a stand," Nando said, with a rebellious lift of his chin, ready to face whatever hell was approaching.

Ferdinando's laughter was harsh, laced with bitterness. "A stand? You want to die impaled, boy? Not me. You must leave at dawn."

Nando pushed off the bench, the muscles in his arms coiling like serpents. "And what about you, Uncle? Will you run too?"

"Run?" Ferdinando spat the word out like venom. "There's nowhere left for me to run. Jerusalem would see me quartered; I'm a dead man walking either way."

His eyes, reflecting years of ruthless savagery, met Nando's. In them, there was no fear of the gruesome fate that awaited him, only the relentless fire of a man who loved violence, who embraced the very essence of death and chaos.

"Leave," Ferdinando commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Survive, and let the world tremble at the mention of your name."

Nando felt the weight of his uncle's gaze, the expectation of legacy and the silent acceptance of a fate from which there was no escape. Ferdinando, the Herculean bandit, had carved his history in blood and scars, and now, at the dusk of his life, he faced the final enemy with the same brutal defiance that had defined him.

As the shadows deepened, so did the certainty that the dawn would bring a parting soaked in sorrow and the grim specter of death looming over what remained of their brotherhood forged in battle and brutality.

The torchlight flickered across the stone walls of the castle chamber, casting long shadows that danced with the tension hanging in the air. Ferdinando stood before Nando, his gray beard a testament to the many battles etched into his weathered skin. The silence between them was as heavy as the news of the impending siege.

"Uncle," Nando's voice finally broke the silence, "you can't stay here to die. What will you do?"

Ferdinando's eyes sparkled with a dark mirth that belied his grim situation. "We'll have one last bout," he said, a cold smile curling his lips. "As we do every night. But tonight, it ends differently."

Nando's heart pounded against his chest, sensing the ominous tone in his uncle's voice.

"The victor takes his spoils," Ferdinando continued, his tone almost casual, "fucks the loser... and then strangles him. Like you did with that brothel keeper."

The room spun slightly around Nando as he grappled with the grotesque proposal. He had indeed ended the life of the brothel owner in such a manner, an act of violence that had been thrilling in the moment but now twisted his gut with dread.

"Kill you?" Nando's voice was a hoarse whisper, disbelief etching into his face.

"Would rather die impaled by the Turks?" Ferdinando taunted, stepping forward. "Or will you let me live and risk me dying on a stake like a common criminal?"

A snarl escaped Nando’s lips, torn between the instinctive drive to survive and the appalling idea of murdering his own blood. “I refuse,” he spat out, rejecting the notion entirely.

"Refuse?" Ferdinando barked a laugh, his brutal language laced with challenge. "Remember, boy, if you win, you'd be the one strangling me." His gaze sharpened, provoking. "Pissing on my defeated head, claiming your victory fully."

It was a savage reminder, one meant to ignite the fire of dominance and survival that burned in Nando's veins. A test of his willingness to embrace the primal code they lived by, where power and dominion were won by sheer force.

"Yet we both know you'll win," Ferdinando added, a twisted sense of pride evident even now.

Nando's jaw clenched, fighting an internal battle as potent as any physical skirmish he had ever faced. The temptation of asserting his supremacy warred with the loyalty and affection for the man who had raised him in the ways of violence and conquest.

But as the silence stretched, it became clear there was no escape from this grim covenant. Finally, with a nod that felt like sealing a pact with the devil himself, Nando accepted the fatal challenge.

"Tonight, then," he murmured, his fate entwined with the man who had taught him all he knew of brutality and strength.

Ferdinando's grim smile broadened, satisfaction mingling with the unspoken acknowledgment of their shared destiny—to conquer or die by the sword they lived by.

The evening descended upon the castle with a hush that seemed to blanket the tension bristling in the air. Moonlight filtered through the narrow windows, casting long shadows across the stark stone walls of the chamber where Ferdinando and Nando stood, stripped of all armor and garb, their skin glistening with a patina of anticipation.

Their eyes locked—a silent signal—and they lunged toward each other, bodies colliding with the force of their accumulated history. Muscle against muscle, they grappled, each seeking leverage over the other in a dance as old as their twisted bond. The air grew thick with the heat of their exertion; sweat streamed down their taut skin, making their grips precarious and unpredictable.

For a moment, it appeared that age and guile might triumph over youth and vigor. Ferdinando's experience shone through as he maneuvered Nando into a hold that seemed unbreakable, his powerful arms constricting around the younger man like iron bands. But the desperation of what was at stake fueled a feral cunning in Nando. His breath came in ragged gasps, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and excitement.

With a sudden surge of adrenaline, Nando twisted his body, contorting in a way that seemed to defy the pain and pressure. He brought his knee up sharply, a calculated move born of countless similar encounters, and connected with the Ferdinando's vulnerable nuts.

A guttural grunt escaped Ferdinando's lips as he doubled over, the brief falter giving Nando the chance to slip from his uncle's weakening grasp. Wasting no time, he capitalized on the opening, seizing Ferdinando from behind and locking his arms around him in an unyielding embrace.

"Yield, Uncle," Nando growled close to Ferdinando's ear, his voice a low rasp as he held the older man immobile.

"Never," Ferdinando spat back defiantly, despite the disadvantage. Even now, there was a glint of pride in his eyes, pride for the beast he had fostered in Nando.

The standoff lasted only moments more before Ferdinando's strength waned, his resistance crumbling under the relentless pressure. And as he felt the finality of his nephew's victory pressing in around him, there was a flash of something like satisfaction in his gaze—a warrior acknowledging his conqueror.

Ferdinando lay defeated upon the cold stone floor, his body sprawled beneath the weight of his victorious nephew. Nando's breaths were heavy and erratic, mingling with the scent of sweat and exertion that filled the chamber. Clouded by the primal urge to dominate, Nando positioned himself over his uncle's broad back, seized by a fervor that bordered on madness.

"Show me the beast you've become, fuck my ass and my life" Ferdinando growled from below, his voice laced with both provocation and twisted encouragement. The words acted as kindling to the fire already raging within Nando's veins.

Without hesitation, he entered Ferdinando’s ass with a violent thrust and he began to fuck, each movement fueled by the desperation of their grim reality. The act was raw, devoid of tenderness—a testament to their savage existence. Ferdinando met each of Nando's aggressive invasions with vulgar cheers and taunts, pushing him further into the abyss of their shared darkness.

"Is this what you want, Uncle? To be taken by the creature you've created?" Nando grunted through clenched teeth, every muscle in his body straining with the intensity of the moment.

“Yes, it is! Fuck me and send me to my fucking maker!”

“I will. I will fuck your life like I fuck your ass, asshole!”

"Finish it... strangle me..." Ferdinando commanded, his voice gravelly but unwavering, even as he was being consumed by his nephew's relentless desire.

Nando hesitated, the gravity of Ferdinando's demand hanging between them like a guillotine's blade poised to fall. But the older man's continued provocations, vile and unrelenting, wore down Nando's resistance until it shattered.

"Do it! Damn you, boy!" Ferdinando taunted, a wild glint in his eyes as he felt the hesitation in Nando's mind. "Show me what you're made of! Show me you're no coward!" Each word was a hammer blow to Nando’s resolve, battering down the walls he had built to shield himself from this inevitable reckoning. "Do it, son of bitch. Do it, asshole!" Ferdinando goaded, his voice rising to meet the frenetic pace of Nando's thrusts. "Or do you want the Turks to finish me instead?" It was a ruthlessly cunning attack on his nephew's deepest fears, aimed with the precision of a seasoned predator.

Nando's mind swirled with confusion and anger, the grotesque demand echoing around his skull as his uncle's words clawed at the remnants of his conscience. It was a final test, more brutal than any physical challenge they had faced—a test of whether Nando would stand by his savage convictions or falter at the brink.

"You leave me for them? To die humiliated on the stake like a dog?" Ferdinando spat, his voice raw and relentless. The horrible suggestion cut through Nando like a blade, awakening the fierce survival instinct that had been nurtured in him from a young age.

"Are you man enough to kill me yourself? Or are you just a coward?" The taunt was full of ferocious intent, shredding through Nando's hesitation, igniting the primal fire of dominance and survival.

In the end, it was Ferdinando's brutal language, the call to fulfill their dark legacy, that shattered Nando’s defenses. His uncle's words, harsher than any weapon, stripped away the last vestiges of reluctance and left only the raw need to conquer.

"Damn you," Nando whispered, a tremor of conflicting emotions rippling through his voice as his hands found Ferdinando's throat.He began to squeeze, slowly at first, feeling the pulse of life beneath his fingers. Ferdinando's encouragements became guttural sounds, urging Nando on, mocking him with every choked breath.

"Harder, son of bitch! Harder, asshole!" Ferdinando rasped, defiance flickering in his eyes even as his face started to turn a mottled red.

The final barrier within Nando crumbled, and he tightened his grip with a force that matched the ferocity of his thrusts. Each strangled insult from Ferdinando only served to heighten Nando's arousal, driving him deeper into a frenzy until the room echoed with the symphony of their carnal struggle.

At last, Ferdinando's body went limp, his provocations silenced. Nando released his pent-up climax, filling his uncle with the evidence of his victory—and what he believed to be Ferdinando's defeat. Spent and shaking, Nando collapsed atop the still figure, his chest heaving against Ferdinando's back as he tried to comprehend the enormity of his actions.

For long moments, there was nothing but the sound of Nando's labored breathing and the soft drip of sweat onto the stone floor. He lay there, draped over his uncle's body, the victor in their final, fatal contest.

Ferdinando's chest heaved, a raspy cough tearing from his throat as he clawed back to consciousness. His spit was tinged with blood, and his voice came out as little more than a scorched whisper. "Why... why didn't you finish it?"

Nando, still draped over him in the aftermath of their brutal clash, blinked away the sweat stinging his eyes. "I thought I did," he muttered, his tone laced with confusion and a tinge of disappointment.

"Idiot!" Ferdinando's insult was weak but venomous. "My balls are throbbing, my ass feels like it's been split open, and my throat's on fucking fire! If you're going to kill me, don't be a coward about it!"

A surge of arousal pulsed through Nando, igniting once again within him at the prospect. He felt his cock hardening against Ferdinando's flesh. "Then I'll finish what I started." There was a newfound determination in his voice, one that brooked no argument or hesitation.

Ferdinando's pained grimace twisted into a perverse grin. "You liked it, didn't you? Strangling me while fucking my ass?"

"Damn right, I did," Nando admitted, his own breaths catching with anticipation. He felt the raw power of their twisted bond, the primal satisfaction of domination and submission intermingled with their impending doom.

They were creatures of violence, bound by blood and desire, and in this final confrontation, they would embrace the darkness that consumed them both.

Nando rose, his muscles glistening with the sheen of exertion and the remnants of their previous encounter. He glanced down at Ferdinando, sprawled on the cold stone floor, a rugged landscape of scars and graying hair. A crooked smirk played on Nando's lips as he reached for the nearby jug of wine, the liquid sloshing heavily within. He took a long, deep swig, the alcohol burning a fiery trail down his throat, reigniting the embers of his primal urges.

He set the jug aside with a thud that echoed through the cavernous chamber, the sound a stark reminder of the impending solitude as silence would soon reclaim these walls. His gaze returned to Ferdinando, that formidable man who had lived and breathed violence—a trait Nando knew all too well within himself.

"Still with us, old wolf?" Nando's voice was low, roughened by the earlier struggle.

"Come and finish it, pup," Ferdinando growled from the ground, his voice laced with pain and a perverse eagerness.

With deliberate slowness, Nando descended upon his uncle once more, aligning their bodies in a twisted mimicry of intimacy. The force of his entry elicited a grunt from Ferdinando—an affirmation of life amidst the dance with death they were performing. Nando began to move violently, each thrust a declaration of dominance and an act of finality.

Ferdinando's body responded under him, a testament to his enduring strength and shared savagery. And when Nando's hands found the coarse terrain of Ferdinando's neck, the pressure was gentle at first, almost tender, before it began to build—a slow, inexorable squeeze that transformed touch into a lethal embrace.

"Strangle me," Ferdinando taunted between strained breaths, provoking Nando further. "Like you want it... like I want it."

"Because you do," Nando hissed back, acknowledging their shared darkness, the truth spilling forth raw and undeniable.

Their eyes locked, two mirrors reflecting the same soul-searing lust for power, control, and the ultimate surrender. Nando felt the pulsating heat of Ferdinando's skin beneath his fingers, the laboring gasps of breath growing shallower, more desperate with each passing moment.

"Like this, Uncle?" Nando's voice was a whisper, a serpent's hiss that slithered through the thickening tension.

"Y-yes..." Ferdinando rasped, defiance flickering in his eyes even as his body betrayed his desire for this end—this consummation of their violent legacy.

The castle walls bore silent witness to the crescendo of their final battle, a symphony of grunts, insults, and the relentless rhythm of flesh against flesh—all underscored by the quiet, deadly tightening of Nando's iron grip.

The pressure around Ferdinando's throat intensified, the barbed wire of Nando's fingers digging deeper into his flesh. Each gasp was a battle, the air searing his throat like molten lead as he fought for breaths that no longer came. His vision blurred, edges darkening, the stone walls of their chamber fading into nothingness. Pain blossomed in his chest, a fierce inferno consuming him from within, scorching every nerve ending as he teetered on the brink of oblivion.

"Finish it, bloody fucker!" Ferdinando choked out, his voice barely a whisper as the blaze in his lungs turned to embers, his defiance now just a flicker in the shadow of death.

Nando's relentless force bore down without mercy, driven by a hunger that transcended flesh and bone. He felt the last beats of Ferdinando's heart thrumming beneath his grip, a rhythm faltering and weak. Their world reduced to this singular moment of truth, where the lines between life and death, pleasure and pain, were irrevocably blurred.

With a final, merciless squeeze, Nando felt the resistance give way, the once mighty pulse beneath his fingers stuttering to a halt. The release surged through him, a torrential wave of triumph and carnal satisfaction as he climaxed, spilling himself into the void that was once Ferdinando's vitality.

Exhausted and spent, Nando collapsed onto the still form beneath him, the silence deafening in the aftermath. Ferdinando's body lay motionless, an empty vessel discarded in the wake of their savage rite. Breathing heavily, Nando remained sprawled atop his uncle, the weight of what had transpired anchoring him to the cold, hard ground.

In the quiet aftermath, the realization of his own survival settled over him like a shroud, the only testament to their final encounter being the lifeless husk that now shared his shadow.

Rising with the slow deliberation of a conqueror surveying his vanquished land, Nando loomed over the stillness that was Ferdinando. His chest heaved, the sweat on his brow catching the dim light of the dying torches within the stone chamber.

He glanced down dispassionately at the lifeless form of his uncle. The carnal signs of their final struggle stained the ground in a grotesque tableau around what was left of Ferdinando. His body lay violated and lifeless, the ragged testament of their last violent chapter together. Beneath him, a trickle of white fluid escaped from his asshole, oozing out to mingle with the dirt and darkness. Each drop was a chilling reminder of the savage acts that had brought them here, a scene of twisted intimacy etched into the stone. The pungent, acrid smell of sex and the bitter scent of sweat rose to assault Nando's nostrils, a heady mixture that underscored the feral nature of their encounter. As his eyes raked over the large, dark puddle shimmering beside Ferdinando, Nando registered the piss pooling there—a final, involuntary release. It was a stark testament to the ultimate surrender, the body’s last abdication of control in the unforgiving embrace of death. Nando took in every sordid detail, each one a silent witness to the consummation of their violent legacy. It was a scene of raw finality, witness to the absolute victory he had claimed and the depths he had descended to claim it. The weight of the moment settled heavily upon him, blending with the awareness that he had emerged the living heir to their shared brutality. For a long moment, Nando stood in the silence of the aftermath, the magnitude of what had just transpired sinking in.

A coarse laugh erupted from Nando's throat, raw and void of joy. It echoed off the cold walls, a sound as brutal as the language they had both traded in their lives. Standing there, Nando felt a twisted sense of fulfillment, an unholy gratification that pulsed through his veins alongside the lingering adrenaline.

"Look at you, uncle," he sneered, addressing the corpse whose eyes stared blankly at the wall. "You got what you craved, didn’t you? The final release... the last word in our twisted game."

With a certain savage irreverence, Nando began to piss on his uncle’s head. The hot stream cascaded down, splashing against Ferdinando's gray beard, golden against the pallid skin. He watched as it soaked into the hair, dribbled down the face that had taught him violence and desire intertwined.

"Rest now in the filth you loved so much," Nando whispered, every syllable a verdict pronounced by judge, jury, and executioner in one.

As the last drops fell, Nando fastened his clothing and stepped back, viewing the defiled shell of a man who had once been indomitable, unstoppable—a force of nature itself. But nature had yielded to Nando’s hands, and now only silence remained where wrath and vigor had once reigned supreme.

Turning his back on Ferdinando, Nando left the chamber without a second glance, the sole heir to their legacy of blood and lust, carrying the weight of their history into an uncertain dawn.

Dawn cast its first light on the desolate castle, now a hollow echo of its former defiance. The Turks, in their relentless advance, breached the silent gates, expecting the clash of steel and the cries of bandits. Instead, an eerie stillness greeted them, punctured only by the scurrying of vermin in the shadows.

Their boots echoed through empty halls, stirring dust motes into lazy swirls. The conquerors moved with cautious efficiency, scanning for traps or hidden foes, but found none. It was as if the castle had exhaled its last breath long before their arrival.

In the great hall, the evidence of life—or rather, its recent extinguishment—came into view. Ferdinando's lifeless form lay abandoned, the final tableau of a macabre drama that had played out in the solitude of stone walls. His broad chest, once heaving with the fury of battle, was now still, marred by death’s rigid claim.

The Turks encircled the corpse, expressions masked in wary curiosity. One among them, an old warrior who had seen countless ends, approached and nudged Ferdinando with the tip of his boot. No movement came. The man barked an order, and rough hands seized the body, dragging it across the floor. The sound of flesh scraping against stone marked Ferdinando's final journey from the shadows into the unforgiving morning light.

Outside, they hoisted him up, impaling the once-feared bandit upon a stake in front of the castle. A grisly banner to caution any who might follow his path. Blood dripped down the wood, soaking into the parched earth as the sun ascended higher, indifferent in its arc.

Days passed, the cycle of sun and moon continuing unabated as the carrion birds took their fill. The vultures and crows stripped back his flesh with a brutal efficiency, leaving behind the vacant ruins of this once formidable man. The birds had come and gone, but the Turks—those who sought to eradicate him from the world—had unwittingly left him to a different kind of pillager. Before long, the insects came, drawn by the foul and irresistible scent of decay. Beetles burrowed beneath the skin, while maggots feasted within, thriving amidst the ruin of what had been a vessel of violence—a purveyor of fear.

The sun’s relentless heat seared from above, baking the lifeless body and hastening its transformation into dirt. Ferdinando, once a legend in flesh—a terror that breathed and blasphemed—became food for the lowliest of creatures. He was, in death as in life, overrun by relentless conquerors. This time, instead of the Turks or rival bandits, it was the scavenging insects that laid claim and devoured him whole.

Each wriggling pest that squirmed through him told the tale of his demise. They spoke in silence, carrying his story into the earth as he rotted beneath the rising sun. His defeat and degradation was now an endless cycle, immortalized not by memory or myth, but by the ravenous appetite of nature that took him as her own. The man who once defied sultans and the Almighty Himself was reduced to carrion, ignored by those who had sought to destroy him.

The process was inexorable, relentless, a reflection of the very brutality he had embodied. Blood, bone, and tissue disappeared into the churning mass of larval hunger, Ferdinando's flesh melting into the dust that claimed him. The castle stood watch, indifferent, as it had during his life of debauchery and sin.

Larvae squirmed through sinew and bone, each wriggling creature claiming a piece of the fallen crusader.

Ferdinando, who loved the kill and feared not his own demise, became sustenance for the smallest of life, united with the earth in a manner most vile yet intrinsic to the world he had once sought to conquer with sword and sinew.

The once-mighty bandit, reduced to a festering symbol, stood as a testament to the futility of resistance against the inexorable tide of empire and time. Nature, in its most raw and unceremonious form, reclaimed the last vestiges of a man who had lived—and ultimately died—by the sword's edge and the throes of violent passion.