Chapter 3: The Blind Devotion of the Masses
⚠️Warning: this content features NSFW & male pregnancy & Gay🫃
All characters and events in this story are entirely fictional.
⚠️ Content & Trigger Warnings
Dark Romance / Erotic Thriller
Non-Consensual / Dubious Consensual
"If you feel uncomfortable, please leave immediately."
Chapter 3: The Blind Devotion of the Masses
Bank staggered home in a daze, collapsing onto his bed like a man drained of all vitality. When he awoke, a gnawing hunger gnawed at his gut, but the moment he stepped off the bed, a violent wave of nausea surged through him, forcing him to retch until nothing but bile remained. He tried to convince himself it was just a lingering hangover, forcing himself back into his hedonistic rhythm, but days passed, and his belly began to protrude in an unnatural, sickening curve. Every morning, he woke up gagging, his throat tasting of bitter bile.
Amidst Bank's deepening confusion, rumors swept through the village like wildfire—a mysterious 'shaman' had arrived from afar, bearing unknown intent. One evening, as Bank sat nursing a drink to drown out the growing dread in his chest, a man dressed in exotic, ominous robes approached his table and sat down uninvited.
"You... have already met 'him', haven't you?"
Bank stiffened, glaring at the stranger with irritation. "Who the fuck are you? How do you know me?"
"My name is 'Indra,' a shaman from a distant land," the stranger replied, his voice chillingly level. "Bank... your body is being held captive by the Naga God’s curse."
"What kind of horseshit curse are you babbling about? And who the hell are you to know my name?"
"I have been tracking you for a long time," Indra said, his eyes piercing through Bank’s very soul. "Break the curse now before it’s too late. If you don't, the foolishness of this village will lead to its total annihilation."
"You’re out of your goddamn mind! Get the hell out of here, go back to wherever you crawled out of!" Bank lashed out with a dismissive wave, but before he could storm off, Indra dropped the words that froze Bank in his tracks:
"That swelling belly of yours... haven't you wondered what it truly is? A 'Serpent’s Womb' is growing inside you."
"I'm a man! Men can't get pregnant! Don't you dare lie to me!" Bank roared in a mix of confusion and pure terror, fleeing back home.
The next morning, Bank woke up to find his abdomen swollen tight and round, like a woman nine months gone. A blinding, sickly emerald light began to leak from the taut, stretched skin of his belly, casting eerie shadows against his bedroom walls. He clutched his stomach, his breath hitching as he felt a violent, rhythmic thrashing from within—something sharp and serpentine was clawing at his insides, twisting against his ribs as if it were desperate to rip its way out. Panic tore through him; he shrieked in absolute madness and sprinted out the door, desperate to find a hospital—only to find Indra waiting on his doorstep, his expression unreadable, as if he had seen this nightmare coming all along.
"Do you believe me now?" Indra led Bank to his temporary shack and revealed the horrifying truth: the deity the villagers worshipped was, in reality, a demonic Naga—a parasite that hungered for the fragments of young men's souls. Every fifty years, it lured a victim into its grasp to violate them and implant the 'Serpent’s Womb.' After five days, the victim'll get pregnant and the offspring would be born, and the demon would consume the father’s very soul to sustain its own existence.
"Wait, what? Why the hell does it want my soul?" Bank asked, his voice trembling.
"To break the seal cast by the Garuda God. Its power is enough to burn this world and reshape it into its own hellish kingdom... and you are the final victim needed to complete its resurrection," Indra explained, his expression grim.
"Indra’s gaze darkened as he explained the grim fate of the victims. 'The young men who endure the birth of the serpents lose nearly every shred of their souls. What remains are mere hollow shells—men driven to absolute madness, drifting through life without a spark of consciousness. Just look at the old beggar in the village; he was the victim claimed by the demon fifty years ago.'"
Bank trembled with fear, but his inherent selfishness flickered on. "Fuck that shit! You can get this snake out of me, right? Then get on with it!"
Indra began to prepare for the ritual. Yet, neither of them realized that the Naga demon was watching their every move through the eyes of the villagers at the shrine.
At the sacred shrine, a villager mid-dance suddenly jerked, his body locking stiffly. His eyes bled into a cold, piercing emerald—the Naga demon had seized control of his vessel. It roared out to the fanatical, blinded crowd, "The shaman, Indra, seeks to destroy our god!"
Driven by a frenzied, godless zeal, the mob grabbed torches and weapons, surging toward Indra’s shack, their hearts consumed by a murderous rage.
To be Continued in Chapter 4
