Tales of the Snake Men: Book Two – Chapter 4
Chapter 4: Breaking Point
Memories of Serpentis, of his loyalty to King Hiss, blurred into static. But the Slime was relentless. And then as if to tip the balance further, the Slime pulled forth a memory.
A vivid scene flooded his mind. Kobra Khan standing tall at King Hiss’s side, battle-worn and victorious. The skies over Snake Mountain were dark with smoke, but the battlefield rang with the roars of the vanquished Evil Warriors.
Khan had led the charge against Skeletor’s forces that day. He remembered the sting of blaster fire across his armor, the satisfying crunch of his claws meeting enemy flesh, the scent of burning earth beneath his feet. And most of all, he remembered the look King Hiss gave him. A rare nod of respect.
“You fought like a true serpent,” Hiss had said, wrapping a hand around Khan’s shoulder.
“The Snake Men rise because of warriors like you.”
That warmth – earned, sacred – burned brighter than any flame. A moment of pride. Of belonging. But the Slime twisted it. The image flickered. The warmth faded. The battlefield darkened. In its place, the Slime offered a new vision—King Hiss turning away. That same hand, once gripping his shoulder in pride, now pushed him aside.
“You were useful… once,” the warped memory sneered.
“But you’re not one of us. You never were.”
Kobra Khan recoiled in horror.
“No. That’s not… That’s not what happened. King Hiss would never…”
But the Slime cooed in his mind, voice sultry, mocking, nurturing.
“They left you. They feared your strength. But I… I adore it.”
Kobra Khan shook his head, venom welling in his throat.
“They trusted me!”
Khan snarled, baring his teeth, but the Slime continued flowing from above—thicker now. It was seeping into every crevice, as the warmth spread. Kobra Khan’s body trembled. Pride… pain… and pleasure tangled inside him until he couldn’t tell where one ended and the next began.
“This… feels so good…” he thought, horrified.
“No—it’s the Slime. It’s just… a trick. I’m not enjoying this. I’m not—”
It didn’t matter. His body was betraying him. The Slime coiled around his arms and elbows, sliding into the creases of his scaled hands. His claws clenched, then opened… flexing, twitching. Slime webbed between his fingers like organic shackles.
“Struggle harder! Every twitch… every scream… makes you mine faster. Just let go…”
The ooze had entered his veins now, replacing his adrenaline with something far more addictive. Every breath he took was saturated with its scent—sweet and acrid, like a blend of burnt sugar and toxic perfume. It filled his lungs, his mind, his soul. The whispers echoed endlessly, layered, sometimes seductive, sometimes cruel—invading his every thought, turning defiance into doubt, and then into desire:
“They used you. Let me rewrite what they broke. I will never let you fall… unless it is into me.”
Kobra Khan moaned deep, guttural, involuntary. He tried to recall why he was resisting. The Snake Men? King Hiss? The war? It all felt distant, like a dream fading in the light of a beautiful nightmare. Then, deep inside, something flared – another memory.
Smoke curled over the scorched ground of the Black Wastelands, the air thick with the stench of charred metal and defeated foes. The remnants of Skeletor’s war machines smoldered in the distance, and the battered but victorious Snake Men stood tall atop a ridge of shattered stone.
“We drove them back!” shouted Rattlor, thumping his chest, scales gleaming with blood and pride.
“They’ll remember today!”
Kobra Khan stood at the center of it all, his breath ragged, his fists dripping with venom. Skeletor’s forces had been relentless, but they hadn’t anticipated the unity—nor the fury—of the Snake Men.
And there, high above on a raised outcrop, King Hiss surveyed the battlefield. His multiple heads had withdrawn, replaced by his regal humanoid form. He turned slowly, his glowing eyes settling on Khan.
“You fought like a true serpent,” Hiss said.
“Skeletor will learn that we are not relics of the past—we are the future.”
Khan dropped to one knee in reverence. His chest swelled with pride. For once, he wasn’t just a weapon—he was respected. He was trusted. He belonged.
“I would die before betraying you, my King,” Khan hissed with conviction.
Hiss smiled, placing a scaled hand on Khan’s shoulder.
“No, Khan. You will live for the Snake Men.”
“We drove them back!” shouted Rattlor, thumping his chest, scales gleaming with blood and pride.
“They’ll remember today!”
Khan gasped, mouth open wide. The pleasure trembled, faltered for just a moment. His heart thudded in his chest like a war drum.
“I am Kobra Khan! General of the Snake Men—I won’t be forgotten!” he roared, his voice cracked and raw.
The Slime pulsed angrily.
“They left you,” it hissed.
“Did they come back for you? No! But I am here. I reward your pain.”
Another memory forced itself forward – Rattlor dragging Khan from the flames of a battlefield, both of them wounded, laughing as they limped back to Serpentis. Brotherhood. Loyalty. Blood – earned bonds.
“They are my kin…” Khan choked up, his voice shaking, clawing through the bliss-fog.
The Slime grew hotter, more desperate.
“Fool. They abandoned you the moment you were captured. I am your only truth now. You can still feel it… can’t you? That warmth… that peace…”
Khan shook his head violently, Slime flying from his face, hands trembling. His body ached for surrender, but his mind—his soul—screamed in protest. The Slime knew exactly what to say—and it said it in his own voice, until Kobra Khan could no longer tell where he ends and the Slime begins.
“You say you’re loyal to the Snake Men… Where are they now? Watching you squirm? Letting you fall? They’ve abandoned you. I never will.”
