Return to the Featherlands: Chapter 11 (Patreon)

A dour glimmer rested across Leon’s slivered pupils. The hair covering her body retained moisture from the damp catacombs of the Badland Castle, enough to prove itchy at times. He stood tall, bipedal and sturdy in how he moved. A stony expression sat across his face, unchanging by the day. A slender, muscular frame came by perfecting militant combat, though he boasted his mind as his greatest weapon. He spoke little to anyone, save for the Badland Queen and any whom he may be charged with interrogating. He carried out such duties tucked away in a deep, dreary cell.

Leon stood over a stone table on one side of a small, enclosed room. Encaged torches burned against blackened walls. More light glowed from various devices and containers throughout the room. They were newer contraptions, clashing drastically with the more primitive layout of the castle. Machines brought to the Featherlands from the overworld sat throughout the room, both idle and in use. They were modified by a clever touch of Featherland magic and ingenuity. Complex engines whirred alive, kept awake by a storage supply of magic siphoned from the purest of sources. More tables lined the rest of the walls. Some held loose papers and writing utensils while others kept a supply of tools for the dungeon’s primary purpose.

“AAAAAAAAHHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAAAA!!! PLEHEHEEHHAHHAHAHAHASSEE!! MAHAHAHAHAHAKE IT STAAHAHAHAP!!!” A lone fairy cried out in the center of the room. Her screams were just the most fresh of cries the dungeons most infamously echoed. Chyrsa, a wayward soul taken recently from the safest regions of the Featherlands, struggled against an upright rack. Metal cuffs locked around her wrists, waist, ankles, and shoulders. Her wings stuck out the back of the slap to which she was strapped, held apart by an attached steel frame harness.

Chrysa wore a mask over her mouth that served to muffle most residual sound while capturing the full volume of her laughter. The mask was connected by long mystic cables that fed into what Leon called riot chambers, a container of his own creation. They housed harnessed power from the Featherland’s natural manifestation of tickling energy. His studies brought him to devising means of using such magic to power other creations similar to the overworld’s utilization of electricity. One such creation sat below the girl on the rack, fueled by its own music cables outputting magic from the riot chamber.

“I CAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAN’T!!! PLEEAAAHAHAHHAASSEEEE!!!! AAAAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!!!” Chrysa continued to laugh. Attached to the slab, down at the girl’s feet, a machine hummed beneath her endless streams of laughter. Bands held her toes back, her soles taut, and both feet perfectly immobile. Just outside of both of her soles, a roller turned at a casual, consistent pace. The roller was covered with an array of feathers. They were stiff with delicate fibers that seemed to attack all of the most sensitive nerves many times over per swipe. Feathers native to the Featherlands, from many variations of avian culture, were well known for their tickling properties. The ones perpetually swishing against Chrysa’s soft, delicate soles secreted a defensive oil that left the skin more and more sensitive the longer she was subjected to their exposure.

“PLEAAAAAAHAHHAHAHAHHASSEEE!!! I’LL DO AAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHANYTHING!!! JUST MAHAHAHAHAHKE IT STAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!!” Chrysa howled through her laughter. Her feet gleamed with an oily sheen, blushing as pink as the first fairy-picked peony. They trembled uselessly in their binds. The feathery brush strokes were constant and slow enough for her to feel each and every one exploding tickles through her senses. The rest of her body flailed through the grueling duration of her torture. Her arms and legs pulled at the straps keeping them down. Her head shook side to side, the mask kept firmly around her mouth. It captured the laughter that powered the machine facilitating the ticklish nightmare while storing the unspent magic for later usage. Tears poured down her scorched cheeks. Her wings quivered in their specialized bindings, desperately fighting to flap.

Leon spoke little during the duration of Chrysa’s torture. He stood over the table littered with notes and open tomes. His spiked ears had fallen marginally deaf to the ticklish screams that howled through the Badland Castle dungeons. A purple bangle hung around one wrist. His tail shifted lifelessly behind him. His nose twitched, whiskers picking up odd vibrations as they came. Leon occasionally peered behind him to make sure that the machine was operating properly and that the riot chamber continued to hold the captured mystical energies of the fairy’s laughter. He read. He wrote down notes. He tinkered with loose machinery, separating what was useful and what was currently scrap.

As Chrysa’s cries of laughter filled the room. Leon’s ears flicked. He sniffed and sat up straight, turning before seeing a shadowy mass forming in the corner of the room. The shape began taking the form of Nysadia’s dress as she walked through. Long, shimmering white hair cascaded behind her. Her arms ended with pale hands and long nails. Her eyes shimmered a fiery green. A stoic expression rested across her face that left her a pristine combination of beautiful and ghoulish.

“So?” Nysadia asked. Leon swallowed and sighed.

“It’s been a few hours, my queen,” Leon said dryly. “I was just about to inquire again.”

“Then do it,” Nysadia said. Leon stood and walked up to the machine at the bottom of the fairy. He reached out with one hand. The bangle around his wrist began to glow. The whirring of the motor stopped, the roller slowing to a halt. Chrysa’s feet continued to tremble and blush, glimmering with the utmost sensitivity. She heaved deep, strained breaths. Sweat poured from her face. She whimpered and pressed her eyes closed, her chest aching as it rose and fell. Nysadia turned to Leon, who nodded back to her.

“Yes, my queen,” Leon said. The beastie walked up to face Chrysa. His tail circled around his body and brushed against her leg. It rose to meet her belly, forcing a sharp yelp from the frightened fairy.

“Eeeek!” Chrysa whimpered, her tired head falling to one side. “Pl… please… I… I ca-can’t…”

“You will for as long as we need you to,” Leon said sternly. “We know the rest of your kind is held up somewhere in the Featherland forests. Where exactly are they hiding?” Chrysa paused, her lips trembling as she struggled to catch her breath.

“I… I don’t know… I-I swear…” Chrysa said, looking off to one side. Leon crossed his arms and sent another swipe of his tail across her bare stomach. Chrysa shouted again into a fit of highly sensitized giggles.

“We can keep you here for as long as you continue to resist,” Leon said. “Your laughter produces magic that can be harnessed as storable energy. You’ve been here for a total of five hours. You can either stay here as a battery for another five or earn yourself a rest. All you have to do is talk.”

“I swear… I don’t know… I never got to see where they are…” Chrysa cried. Leon huffed.

“I know all about your kind,” Leon said. “I know about your weaknesses and endurance. Eventually, you will hit a limit. This stalling is only-”

“This cannot wait any longer!” Nysadia shouted. Leon turned to face the queen’s outburst. “We cannot afford this information to keep stalling. I expected you to get real answers from this one.” The Badland Queen huffed angrily. Her glowing green eyes stared back at Leon. Leon drew in a long breath before turning back to the fairy.

“Prove yourself valuable, or you will end up in a much worse situation,” Leon said. He reached back out with his hand. His bangle glowed once more. The engines below began to rumble as the roller started to turn again. Chrysa shook her head, her teary eyes widened.

“No no noaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAHAHAHHAHAHHHAHAHAHHAHAHHAAHAA!!!” Chrysa began to bellow, thrust back into a raging fit of ticklish laughter. The feather raked against her stretched, immobile soles at a steady pace. In an instant, maddening tickles tore up through the fairy from her feet, leaving her screaming with wild, ticklish laughter. Leon turned from the scene, back toward Nysadia watching the girl suffer.

“We cannot wait on this,” Nysadia said over the fairy’s crying laughter, muffled by the mask over her mouth.

“My apologies, my queen,” Leon said dryly. “If I may ask, why the sudden urgency? Surely everything was going to plan as you wanted it.” Leon turned from the queen over to another device atop the stone table. It was a circular disk with short, sturdy bristles protruding from one side. He connected it to its own mystic cable, activating the brush to rotate in place. Nysadia huffed and swallowed.

“This information does not leave this room,” Nysadia said.

“Understood,” Leon said.

“The news of the old queen’s return is concerning, Leon,” Nysadia said. “I cannot have her interfering with my plans.”

“With all due respect, my queen, a human girl hardly seems like a threat to your power,” Leon said. He walked the brush up to Chrysa on the rack. The fairy twitched in place. She pulled at her binds, thrashing her head side to side while tears streamed down her cheeks. Every stroke of the feathers against her soles left them more slick and sensitive to the touch, resonating more and more hysteria with each pass. Her head throbbed. Her chest pounded. The tickles flooded her senses, chipping away at her mental faculties.

“Not just any girl,” Nysadia said. She walked up to one of the tables. Across it, books laid open and pages sat loose and worn from consistent use. Accounts on fairy biology and anatomy sat around with notes on most sensitive areas, general endurance, and reactions to a variety of environments and atmospheres. “This one in particular can pose detrimental issues.”

“How so, if you don’t mind me asking,” Leon said. He lifted the brush up to Chrysa’s belly. She could hardly see anything beyond the teary veil over her eyes. Once the brush connected with her skin, it latched onto the area, powered by an instant surge of ticklish energy feeding from her nerves. The brush stayed in place, ravishing the girl’s stomach with a steady rotation that kept up with her pulsing movements. Chrysa howled. She screamed into a new crushing display of ticklish overload.

“NYYYAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHHAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAAH!!! STAHAHAHAHAHP!!! PLEEEEAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!!!” Chrysa screamed into the mask. More energy poured into the riot chambers. The motors running the machines tormenting her body continued to turn, unfeeling to how much she had suffered. Leon sighed and stepped away, allowing the brush to do what it was designed to do.

“Her very presence is a threat to my containment of the other,” Nysadia said, flipping through the fairy atlas. “I have already begun experiencing disturbances. I cannot have her roaming freely. I must know where she is at all times, even if I have to take more drastic measures.”

“Isn’t our line of questioning about the whereabouts of the remaining variables?” Leon asked.

“It is enough of a certainty that Queen Silvia had gone to their hideout first,” Nysadia said. She turned back to look at the fairy trapped in a storm of ticklish agony. “This one won’t know where she is, but they certainly will. I’ve been kind enough to pay them little mind thus far, but we are experiencing the early stages of a revolt. Control is of the utmost importance if the Absorption is to continue without fail.”

“Do you not trust the five tribes that you challenged to deliver her?” Leon asked. Nysadia paused.

“Trust?” Nysadia asked. “I trusted once. Worst mistake I ever made.”

“I see,” Leon said.

“I did, however, employ you to provide me with the tools that my regime needs to survive,” Nysadia said loudly. “That includes information extracted from pests.”

“I will, my queen,” Leon said. “I assure you. All the while, this one is providing us a sufficient source of magic. More than many of the others that we have run dry.”

“My patience has hung on that notion for long enough,” Nysadia said. “I need to know where the queen is and how this Paul managed to circumvent our means of keeping her out.”

“They won’t again, once we find them,” Leon said. “I assure you. But, and forgive me, my queen, but there are surely more pressing matters to attend to.” Leon braced for Nysadia’s wrath, but the queen only sighed.

“It’s not just that, Leon,” Nysadia said, looking back to the texts across the table. “The human girl was not the only one we were keeping out.” A pause fell over the pair. Leon swallowed and nodded.

“I see,” he said. “Very well.” Leon turned his attention back to the fairy on the rack. While the rollers down at her feet continued to turn, swiping specialized feathers across her soles endlessly, Leon approached the brush rotating away against the girl’s bare stomach. Its bristles remained in constant contact with the delicate area, held up by the cable feeding it power from the magical reserve. The steady brushing sent waves of tickles pulsing throughout the fairy’s already exhausted body. Tickles gnawed at her composure, leaving her screaming with laughter and providing the riot chamber hearty bursts of magic to store. The brush remained just over Chrysa’s navel, several of the bristles swiping within the shallow dip.

“NAAAAAAAAAAHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!! MAHAHAHAHAHAHAAKE IT STAAAAAAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAPP!!!” Chrysa squealed. Leon huffed through his nose.

“Only when you remember what you know,” he said. His bangle glimmered for a moment. Directly over Chrysa’s belly button, a separate, smaller brush extended from the rotating disk. It contained its own bulb of bristles that rotated along with the rest of the device, only more thoroughly reaching the sensitive areas within her navel. Chrysa squealed once more. A new surge of tickles exploded from the spot.

“GHAAAAAAAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAAAAAA!!!! NAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA!!!” Tears poured down Chyrsa’s cheeks. Her stomach contracted and twisted with the fury of her laughter. The brush remained locked onto the spot, along with the rotating feathers that swiped perpetually across her feet. Her arms and legs tugged. Her head thrashed side to side. Her wings trembled as they attempted to budge from their own strict binds. Each second that passed came with a grueling abundance of tickles, more than Chrysa had ever known or enjoyed before. Leon stood back and watched. Nysadia’s eyes narrowed, her frown quivering with impatience.

“You’re skilled at what you do, Leon, but I cannot allow another hour to pass without this information,” the Badland Queen said. She stood tall as she circled around the heaving fairy. Her hair drifted lightly behind her, her black dress leaving a trail of shadow. The heels of her boots clicked against the stone floor. Her face retained a youthful purity above the sinister powers that glowed bright green from her eyes.

“I understand, your majesty,” Leon said. Nysadia came up behind Chrysa. She leaned in close to the fairy’s ear, whispering softly, but loudly enough for her to hear.

“Prove yourself useful, or much worse torment awaits you,” Nysadia whispered. “Surely you’d like to see your friends and family again. You tell me where they are within the fairy groves and I can bring them here for you all to be together again. Serve me or you’ll never see them again.” Nysadia waved her hand. Several shadowy feathers appeared floating just outside of her fingertips. They glided up to the fairy’s trembling wings, leaving behind their own little shadowy trails. “Think about that while I have some fun.”

Nysadia waved her hand once more. The shadowy feathers began to slowly trace their plume edges against the fairy’s wings. Chrysa’s eyes shot open once more, still leaking with tears. Her mouth dropped as she released a scream fit for the eruption of tickles that the new assault of tickles forced through her.

“GHHHAAAAAAAAHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! NAAHAHAHAHAT THERE!!! PLEEEEHEHEHEHAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAA!!!” Chrysa screamed. Nysadia wore only the slightest smirk as she sent the feathers to delicate brush up and down against the surface of her wings. The dark plumes traced along the regions with the highest concentration of nerves, adding flurries of tickles to the girl’s storming hysteria. The constant stimulation from all sides left Chrysa wailing and screaming with laughter. Sweat trickled down her figure. Her cheeks glowed red while her chest pounded and heaved.

“I suppose my patience can be renewed, but not for long,” Nysadia said. She casually flicked her wrist, making the feathers dance across the fairy’s sensitive wings. Chrysa screamed. She laughed and cried and pleaded through incontinent babbling. Leon looked away.

“She shouldn’t be able to take much more before succumbing to faint,” Leon said. “Fairies don’t fare for long under torture.”

“She should hope that she doesn’t faint before she can speak,” Nysadia said. The shadowy feathers traded along the edges of Chrysa’s wings. They fluffed and scraped with the waving of her hand. The brush at her belly continued to spin against the supple spot, both inside and around her navel. The tickles raging in from all sides did little to distract Chrysa from the feathery stroking down at her feet. She still felt every little plume brushing against her still, quivering soles. They left traces of tickles exploding throughout, painting her soles a shimmering pink with unbearable sensitivity.

“NYYYYAAAAAAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! GHHGGHHHAHAGHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAHAHAA!!!” Chrysa screamed and groaned with laughter. Her head began to swim and tilt lazily. Her chest ached with each strained fit of laughter. The fairy was fading. Leon stood to address her situation.

“She needs to speak,” he said. “She does no good to us unconscious.” Nysadia paid the boy little mind. She reluctantly retracted her feathers. Leon raised his hand. His bangle glowed again, emanating the same light beaming from the riot chamber. Both of the devices spinning against Chrysa’s body slowed to a stop. Her laughing screams were quickly replaced with desperate wheezing. She swallowed massive gulps of air, more needily than her throat could gulp at one time. Her head laid back against the slab. Her skin glistened with sweat, her arms and legs falling limp from the endless intrinsic struggling.

“I…. nn…” Chrysa stuttered through her labored breathing. Nysadia leaned in close.

“Where are the others hiding in the fairy groves?” she asked sternly. Tears kept trickling down Chrysa’s cheeks, but she was left without the energy to sob.

“I… uh… Sp… Spr-ites… Ho… Hollow…” Chrysa muttered. “E… Ea-East of… Ca-Cackling Brook…” Nysadia pulled back. She huffed and turned away from the fairy.

“I must have scorched that entire land by now,” Nysadia said. “We’ve found nothing since. Must be underground. Deidra and her pestilent kind, burrowing like vermin.”

“We can’t be positive that this is where they are, your majesty,” Leon said. “Perhaps we might try the next witness we capture.”

“No!” Nysadia shouted, the room rumbling to the shadowy magic emanating from her form. “I have waited long enough. This is our best lead, so I will tear that entire forest to its roots if I have to chase them out. I will burn everything between here and there to stop the qu… the queen… queen…” Nysadia's speech began to stutter. Her hands balled into fists. The green light in her eyes began to fade. She turned away, leaning over one table and staring down into one of the Featherland fairy books.

“My queen?” Leon asked.

“S…. Sil… via…” Nysadia’s voice was quiet. It was trembling but calmer than her usual tone. Leon inched closer and reached out for her. Nysadia turned sharply. She raised one hand and summoned a fleet of shadowy feathers back onto Chrysa’s body. Several formed just outside of her wings while others reached her belly, her armpits, and her thighs. More manifested just outside of her still taut soles. All at once, the feathers began to swipe. They pressed against the spots at which they were summoned and brushed with feathery strokes. In an instant, Chrysa’s tortured body was thrust back into an onslaught of tickles pouring in from all sides.

“NaaaaaAAAAAAHHHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAA!!!!” Chrysa screamed. The dark magic feathers sent an immediate surge of tickles at their positioned stations. They swiped against the slick, trembling skin of the fairy. They brushed quickly against her pits and meticulously up and down her soles. They twirled against her navel while most returned to her wings. With each stroke, Chrysa was forced deeper into the maddening, ticklish hysteria from which she had only recently been released. She screamed with laughter, a massive influx of ticklish magic flowing through the cable attached to her mask into the riot chamber. The large container was nearly full of her supply alone. Tears and sweat shot from her face as she shook her head. The tickles only lasted for a few moments, but Chrysa’s exhausted state made any moment exposed to Nysadia’s sadistic power an absolute nightmare.

Nysadia breathed deeply to the sound of her cries. She closed her eyes and eased her mind, meditating through the ticklish misery as if rejuvenated by it. When her composure started to return, she waved the feathers away. Nysadia opened her eyes once more, the faint green light returning with her stern, unfeeling expression. She turned back swiftly to Leon, standing cautiously off to the side.

“This cannot wait any longer,” Nysadia said. “I will send whole armies of Shades to flush them out of Sprites Hollow. Between them and the tribes, I will have the Featherland Queen in my dungeon even if I have to burn down every shrub myself to get to her.” Leon swallowed and bowed his head.

“Y-yes, my queen,” he said. Nysadia turned to Chrysa, panting pitifully against the slab. Her head rolled to one side as if she had no energy left to hold it up. Sweat dripped from her hair, her hands hanging limp in their cuffs.

“I will return later to administer public punishment to this one for withholding information,” Nysadia said. “When we do find the others, they will need to know the cost of wasting my time.”

“I understand,” Leon said.

“For now, take her back to the cells,” Nysadia said. She opened up a shadowy portal against the wall from which she entered. The queen began to walk into it before stopping. She turned back to Leon and glared. “I commend your efforts to my cause, Leon, but do not for a moment think you are exempt from my rules. I like you. Keep it that way.” The shadows fuming from the wall engulfed Nysadia. They vanished along with her, leaving only a blank stone wall where she stood.

Leon stood among the relentless breathing of Chrysa fighting to catch her breath and his own, his stunted heart racing. His fists shook. His fur appeared more pale around the knuckles. Leon steadied himself through slow, meticulous breathing. He began storing the equipment he had been using for Chrysa’s torture and unlocked the cuffs holding her to the slab. He circled a strong arm beneath her knees and supported her back, carrying her gently. Chrysa, too exhausted to do much of anything, laid her head against his chest. Her eyes were closed and delicate lips parted just slightly as she rested.

More manic laughter echoed through the halls of the dungeon. Nysadia’s Badland servants worked tirelessly for her favor by tormenting those that had opposed her takeover. Leon had grown largely numb to the screams, but the lingering dread that clung to the walls was near impossible to ignore. He carried Chrysa through the blackened stone halls, illuminated by torches that left an unsavory orange glow over everything. They passed by frightened prisoners waiting for their next grueling tickle session, some begging for more food and water, and others pleading to see their loved ones again.

Toward the end of the hallway, where most cobwebs and rats appeared to congregate, a cell sat dingier than the rest. The bars were still well fortified, yet the area was marginally ignored by the state of natural rot. Above the door, a wooden plaque hung by a single nail, the letter ‘E’ etched into it. As Leon passed by with Chrysa in his arms, he stole a quick glance inside. It was not often that the husk was left unemployed in some ticklish nightmare of Nysadia’s own creation, but managed to catch a glimpse of her. She huddled in the far corner of the room, her face buried against the walls. Her back was hunched over. In the fire light, he could make out the skeletal composition of her figure and two distinct scars stretching parallel on both sides of her spine. She sobbed, muttering words Leon could not make out beneath her breath. She suffered, but Leon knew she deserved what she got for what she had done. He harbored no sympathy for the creature.

Leon carried Chrysa to her cell. She was barely awake by the time they made it. Leon managed to unlock and open the door before walking inside, still carrying the fatigued fairy. He laid her down on the spot on the floor, cushioned by straw and burlap. He was careful with her wings. He made sure to spread them out before laying her down gently. Leon knelt over her. Her eyes fluttered open. They were already watery. He saw the hope that it was all just a bad dream die in real time. He swallowed and bowed his head.

“I… I truly am sorry,” Leon muttered. “I know that may not mean anything, but I am. You do not deserve this.” Chrysa laid her hand over his. She gave it a little squeeze before closing her eyes again, her head nestling into the padding beneath it. Leon squeezed back. His hand trembled as he held hers. He saw the faces of his own loved ones in all of her expressions. The very ideas haunted day and night, but Leon pressed on in his sheltered position. His apologies were worthless, words like scraps of twisted metal. He swallowed a lengthier explanation and stood. Leon made his way out of the cell, closing and locking the door behind him. He made his way out of the dungeon. He kept his head low to hide the feelings gnawing at his mind, but reaching up to wipe the tears from his fur was all too telling.