Chapter Text
----- Prologue: Saturn Devouring His Son
“I’m going to put a stop to this madness and confront him.”
Ronny looked up at his older brother Alessandro, the crown prince. His brother was a tall, handsome giant, with a sturdy build, intense dark eyes, and short, slick, black hair. Ronny had always admired Alessandro and hoped to be like him someday. While Ronny inherited the same dark eyes and black hair from his mother, he was smaller and scrawnier, and certainly less confident and courageous.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Ronny stammered with uncertainty. Confronting their father the king seemed impossible from his perspective.
“I can’t just stand by and do nothing any longer,” Alessandro declared, clenching his fist with passion. “Perhaps I can reason with him.” He stood up and marched briskly out of the room with purpose. Young Ronny watched him go with a pit of dread forming in his gut.
Alessandro traversed the long stone corridors of the castle, his footsteps muted by the opulent carpeting. He gritted his teeth and tried to dismiss the nagging doubts that pecked at his brain. He would not allow himself to be dissuaded this time. Innocent lives were at stake, even if they were small and humble. He needed to act.
He ascended the steps to the king’s private suite, sequestered in the left wing of the castle. His personal guard stood stiffly at the wooden door, immobile despite the lack of eyes observing him. He was a gigantic, hairy, hulking brute of a giant, with a scar running down his weathered face covered by a leather eyepatch. When he spied the crown prince heading his way, he bowed obediently.
“Ajax,” Alessandro addressed the guard with authority. “I’m here to request an audience with my father.”
“Very well, Your Highness,” the guard acknowledged, rising back to his feet. “I shall return momentarily.” He left to announce the prince’s presence to the king. Alessandro waited impatiently, tapping his foot on the stones and pacing. Ajax finally returned, gesturing wordlessly for the prince to enter. Alessandro advanced forward with a haughty mien, the guard following silently behind. Paranoid as always, the king insisted that his guard accompany the prince to his quarters, even though his guest was his own flesh and blood.
“His Royal Highness, Prince Alessandro,” Ajax announced, holding the door as the prince strode in holding his head high.
“Ah, Alessandro!” a deep masculine voice boomed from within the room. “What a pleasure!” Despite the warm ebullience of the words, Alessandro felt a frigid chill down his spine. His father, King Richard, sat in a luxurious chair of red velvet by the roaring fireplace. Even though the weather outside was bright and sunny, he had the curtains drawn, draping the room in shadow.
“Come, sit,” the king encouraged, raising a bony hand out of the gloom. The fire reflected off his eyes, making them spark from his foreboding silhouette like the eyes of a demon. The twin lanterns turned towards the door. “That will be all, Ajax,” he commanded in a much harsher tone. Ajax gave a deferential bow and closed the door behind him as he left.
Alessandro scanned the room with unease as he sat opposite his father in an identical plush chair. His hand strayed to the slim dagger concealed by his side, under his belt. He didn’t want to use it, but he feared he may have no other option if his implorations fell on deaf ears.
“What brings you to my quarters on this fine day, my son?” King Richard asked. His fingers absently stroked the armrest of his chair, digging into the fabric with thick nails.
“Father...” Alessandro swallowed, trying to bolster his nerves. “I urgently need to discuss important matters of state. Specifically, regarding our relationship with the human kingdom under your... illustrious protection.” He bit his lip.
“Ahh... is that so...” the king mused. His lips peeled back into a wolfish grin, his slick teeth glowing orange in the light. “You have my ear.”
Alessandro took a deep breath to center himself, then spoke the phrases he’d been meticulously arranging in his mind for months now. “Father, I believe our purpose has been corrupted. In olden times, us giants protected the humans from outside forces that would destroy such a delicate people. Our influence was benevolent and mutually beneficial.” He paused to allow his words to sink in.
“But now... now... our touch is more sinister, more avaricious. We are always demanding more, too much. And this business of insisting upon a tribute of young maidens: I will be frank, it makes me ill, terribly ill.” Alessandro attempted to maintain his outward composure, but his body nevertheless vibrated with poignant emotion.
“Mmmmm...” the king hummed. “Why don’t we discuss this over wine?” His flippant attitude spiked Alessandro’s temper, but he didn’t dare protest. To his surprise, the king did not call a servant, but rather collected a bottle and two goblets from a nearby table. When he poured wine into one of the goblets, Alessandro thought he saw something glint between his fingers in the firelight—though perhaps it was merely his imagination.
The king’s pale hand emerged from the shadows to offer a goblet, and Alessandro politely accepted. He held the goblet in his lap and resumed the conversation. “To be blunt, I cannot support these barbaric measures any longer. They are unjust and morally indefensible. We have strayed from the righteous path, and we must correct our course, lest the legacy of our Hardon dynasty be forever tarnished.”
“Oh, is that so?” A taunting smirk played on his father’s lips. “And what would you have me do?” He took a serene sip of his wine.
“Stop this madness. Allow the humans full sovereignty. Release them from this heavy burden of tribute. The resources required to secure our border on that side are minimal. We don’t need the humans to pay us in living flesh,” the crown prince recited firmly.
“Hmmmm. And what would you say, if I rejected your suggestions?” He drank another sip of the red liquid from his goblet and licked his lips. “Have a drink, Alessandro. It will clear your mind.”
“Father, please. This is very serious.” Alessandro huffed, annoyed by his progenitor’s inability to focus on the issue at hand. He brought the cup to his lips to placate him, pouring a small amount into his mouth and swallowing. “If you refuse to listen... I’m afraid I can no longer support you.”
“No longer... support?” King Richard straightened in his chair and leaned forward, setting aside his cup and clasping his hands together. His visage finally entered the light, displaying his wrinkled features, graying hair, and striking blue eyes, cold as glaciers. Alessandro was disturbed to behold, instead of the troubled concern he anticipated, a devious leer spreading across the old man’s face. “Alessandro... that smacks of sedition.”
“Perhaps,” the crown prince replied. He stiffened, his nerves screaming of impending danger, yet he did not flinch from the confrontation.
“My dear son... I’ve sensed your discontent for a long time coming. I’m surprised it took you this long to come to me with your concerns. I thought you were made of sterner stuff than that.” His grin faded. “You disappoint me.”
“Father, I—” Alessandro began, but halted as a sharp burning sensation invaded his gut. He placed his hand over his midsection with a grimace. King Richard evinced no surprise as his roguish smile resurfaced. The prince groaned, doubling over as the pain spread through the rest of his body. His goblet of wine toppled over, spilling all over the carpet, but the king didn’t seem to care in the least. His extremities felt like they were being poked with thousands of needles as his joints and bones audibly cracked and crunched. His flesh compressed as if squeezed by the coils of a python, forcing his organs to twist and contort to fill the hollow cavities of his form. His vision swam as the room appeared to distort and warp around him in a distorted mess, the chair beneath him expanding into a sea of velvet.
Alessandro cried out pitiably in a combination of agony and fear, not fully comprehending what was happening as his innards rearranged and he was swathed in blackness. Something incomprehensibly enormous closed around him and lifted him high up into the air, what felt like an impossible distance. He fought against the powerful mass, pushing against the squishy surface with his limbs, but his strength was insufficient to produce any meaningful yield. He let out a frightened yelp as he was dropped onto a warm, soft, ridged surface.
Alessandro was beyond baffled, unable to explain all these wild sensations. His heart palpitated in a frenzy, enough to make him dizzy and disoriented. He looked down and blushed as he realized he’d been stripped of all his clothing, as well as his dagger. He was as bare and defenseless as the day he’d been born. His eyes drifted further down to examine the uneven lined surface he was sitting on. He gazed at the patterns dumbly with confusion, which seemed so familiar, yet simultaneously so alien. Nothing made any sense.
A booming chuckle, accompanied by a gust of warm air, directed his attention skyward. Alessandro froze in shock. His vision was overwhelmed by a gigantic mouth that loomed over him, as wide across as an entire room, with teeth large enough to lounge on like furniture. The prince scrambled back from the terrifying sight, only to run into a wall made of fingers that towered over him like trees, much taller and thicker in diameter than his entire body. He perceived, with horror, that he was cupped in a gargantuan hand. He whimpered with instinctive terror.
“W-what is this? How?” the prince managed to stammer out, his complexion paling.
Another resounding chuckle made him shirk back into the giant fingers. “I put a shrinking potion into your wine, you ignorant fool,” the mouth rumbled, bathing the tiny man in humid breath that reeked of wine. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you rose against me. I can’t believe you were too blind and trusting to see this coming.”
The prince was speechless as the platform of a hand raised up alongside the cliffside of the giant’s face, so that he was eye level with his father, now a colossal beast of unfathomable proportions. His irises were huge and frigid, like mountains in winter, devoid of any empathy. The black holes of his pupils dilated as he examined his miniaturized son with fascination, making Alessandro shiver. King Richard’s gigantic eyes rolled to the side as the gleam of metal caught his attention.
“Ho, what’s this?” the giant rumbled. He reached into Alessandro’s heap of clothes left behind on his chair and pulled out the dagger. “Ah. I suspected as much.” The shrunken prince gasped as his own blade, glinting with hot flames in the light, was turned against him, the tip touching his bare chest. At his current stature, the blade looked miles long.
“I ought to carve you up with your own knife for even thinking to stab your father,” the king growled. He pressed the tip harder into the prince’s chest, producing a thin trickle of blood. Alessandro winced. “I could dismember you, limb by limb, slice you open and eviscerate you, decapitate you! A fitting end for a repulsive traitor!”
He let up on the pressure and cast the dagger to the side. “However... you are still my son, and I have a merciful heart for my own flesh and blood. I shall give you a more suitable death, worthy of the honor of the Hardon bloodline.” The wicked grin plastered on his features hardly seemed to fit his words. The immense hand beneath the diminutive prince abruptly rotated to the side, dropping him. He shrieked as he fell through the air and splashed into a lake of liquid.
Alessandro resurfaced, sputtering, and rubbed the substance out of his eyes. From the taste, he recognized it as the very same wine he’d drank earlier. As his vision cleared, he was horrified to find himself swimming in a huge vat of wine, encompassed in a circle by smooth gilded walls. He turned ashen as his father’s mountainous face hovered above the edge of the cup.
“No... you wouldn’t...” he choked, as the obvious implications of this action sank in.
“Quite the contrary, my son, I would!” King Richard guffawed cruelly, hurting the prince’s delicate little eardrums with his deafening voice. “What better way for you to die than to add your strength to my physical body? Isn’t that poetic?”
“No... please... don’t...” Alessandro implored with escalating alarm, as the king swirled the wine in his cup, his bloodthirsty leer deepening. The prince flapped his arms to stay afloat, staring in horror up at the king’s mouth, blown up before him in grotesque detail. The slick surfaces of his teeth shined with saliva, marred by a microscopic chip in one of the teeth on the side, a feature that Alessandro never noticed prior, when he was a proper giant. The huge slab of meat that constituted the tongue emerged and dragged along the teeth and thin lips, wetting them further.
Alessandro’s heart jumped into his throat as the vast set of lips settled on the rim. The cup angled, causing the wine to flow, along with Alessandro, towards certain death. The prince frantically swam in the opposite direction, but failed to beat the current as it dragged him closer to the giant mouth. The lips parted, revealing a foreboding cavity of darkness that stretched deep within. Alessandro screamed as he watched the upper lip and incisors pass over his head, and he was sucked into the maw. His last view of light was extinguished as the mouth closed, encasing him in a semicircle of teeth and gums.
The prince struggled for his life, to no avail. The king stirred the sip of wine in his mouth at a leisurely pace, savoring the moment. The tiny prince banged against his molars, bounced on his massive, squishy tongue, and hit his head on the hard curved palate above. He cried out in terror as gallons of wine began to drain down the tube beyond the tongue, carrying him with it. He tried to grab the uvula at the back of the throat to halt his descent, but failed miserably, instead sliding down the base of the tongue and into the dark pit below. The throat received him eagerly and gulped him down in a suffocating embrace.
The poor little prince could hardly move as the powerful muscular contractions forced him down, down a terrifying drop into a nightmarish, claustrophobic new hell. A thunderous heartbeat thudded in his ears, along with gusts of wind from prodigious lungs, as he was constricted through the giant’s noisy chest. He plummeted further, overwhelmed with mindless fear as ominous grumbling resounded louder around him, announcing the next step of his horrific journey through King Richard’s digestive system. He wasn’t ready. He hadn’t mentally prepared himself for such unspeakable horrors.
His legs were suddenly free, and he kicked them wildly as he was pushed through the esophageal sphincter into the stomach. He plopped into a puddle of stinging fluid, gasping for breath as rancid, acidic fumes assaulted his eyes and nose. He couldn’t see anything in the darkness, but he could feel the stomach walls churning around him, the excessive heat, the acid sloshing and bubbling and slowly eating away at his skin. The various sounds of the gastric juices stirring and gurgling, the meat walls squelching as they shifted, and the reverberating heartbeat and breathing, overwhelmed him and made him involuntarily shudder.
He was done for. He was going to die. The appalling truth hit him with the force of a sledgehammer. He had utterly failed, and his death would be in vain. He lamented his failure, even as his vision turned gray from the thin air, and his consciousness slipped away from him. His last thoughts were thick with regret. He wished he’d said a proper goodbye to his younger siblings, his little brother and sister, before his death. He wished he could’ve saved the little humans trapped at the castle and shielded the human kingdom from King Richard’s reign of terror. He wished he could’ve made a difference, and his life had held any meaning at all. His piteous pleas for clemency were left unheard, as he suffocated and his life ended, and his body dissolved into the acid like any other scrap of meat.
King Richard sat back down in his chair with a luxurious stretch and drank his wine, reveling in his success. He patted his belly as he felt the feeble squirms within gradually fade. He smirked, running his tongue over his teeth. There would be no rebellion, no regicide on his watch. He did what he had to do, even if the necessary measures including devouring and killing his own heir, his pride and joy. For he wasn’t just some meek pushover: He was King Richard Hardon, the most ruthless and Machiavellian ruler of them all.
----- Chapter 1: A Typical Royal Dinner
Six years later…
Crown Prince Ronny, the adult heir to the throne, sat down at his usual spot at the table, on the right-hand side of his father, the king. King Richard claimed his rightful place at the head of the table, and Princess Bianca, the youngest by about two years, sat across from her brother Ronny. The king’s personal guard Ajax, his shadow, stood discreetly off to the side behind his seat, ever watchful.
Ronny, dour as always, glared at his sister, who stuck her tongue out at him in response. He scoffed superciliously and removed his gloves for dinner, folding them neatly on the table. He was rescued from having to converse with his loathsome family members by the servants, who came in balancing plates loaded with vittles. Ronny sat in a gloomy silence as Chester, the royal food taster, checked each entrée for poison. He curled his lip with mild disgust when he was given his portion: prime rib, sautéed swiss chard, and scalloped potatoes, with a human dressed in a light sauce.
Bianca had a similar reaction, poking and prodding the tiny woman on her plate with her fork. The woman winced, but stayed silent and didn’t try to run, knowing the consequences of resisting giant royalty would be far more gruesome. “Daddy, when are we going to get more humans? It’s been a while since the last tribute.”
King Richard wiped his lips daintily with a napkin as he gleefully swallowed the human on his own plate. “Hmmm… it’s been a while, hasn’t it? We are certainly overdue for some fresh meat.”
The giantess princess perked up. “If so, can you order some little men this time? Pleeeeeease? Ladies are fine and all, but they’re all we ever get, and I want a handsome boy to play with…” She pouted, scraping her fork with an obnoxious screech on her dish. Her human repast covered her ears and grimaced. Ronny rolled his eyes.
The king gave his daughter a knowing smirk and chuckled lightly. “I’ll see what I can arrange, my darling.” He picked up his knife and cut into his meat, which leaked blood onto his plate.
Ronny shook his head and dug into his own meal, flicking the human carelessly off his slab of prime rib. He didn’t understand his father’s obsession with tiny maidens, or his sister’s fascination with miniature men. Why couldn’t she be normal for once and content herself with an attractive giant instead? Humans were fine for eating, when he was in the right mood, but otherwise Ronny found them to be gross vermin, clambering around with their wiry legs like bugs. Distracted by his thoughts, he failed to notice his tiny female side dish had crawled off the edge of his plate. He put a bite of meat in his mouth, and his face puckered with detestation.
“Ugh!” he groaned, spitting the offending meat back onto his dish without concern for decorum. “Nasty!” His face turned purple with rage. “Bring me the royal chef!” he bellowed. The servants scrambled to obey. Soon enough, the obese chef rushed into the dining room, huffing and puffing with the effort.
“Yes, Your Highness? How may I best serve you?” he asked nervously, wringing his hands and picking at his blond mustache. He was sweating profusely, his skin ruddy with exertion.
“Bucky!” Ronny roared. “This food isn’t fit to serve to a dog! The meat is cold in the middle and saltier than the sea! Dumping a mountain of salt on such a bland cut doesn’t improve the flavor, you cretin! I’m a prince, and I deserve only the best, not this offensive rubbish!”
His temper flared as he got worked up into a frenzy. He stood up out of his chair and gesticulated with his hands aggressively. “You’re a sorry excuse for a cook, you worthless piece of shit! Just look at these vegetables! Wilted strings reeking of too much garlic and swimming in watery juices! And these potatoes! Unpalatable texture, lumpy and uneven, tasteless paste! Unacceptable, reprehensible slop!”
He picked up the plate and hurled it against the wall with all his might, shattering the porcelain and staining the wall and expensive carpeting with juices. The servants hurried forward to clean up the mess in a hush. Nobody was especially surprised by his tantrum: The servants were accustomed to unhinged outbursts from the royal family. Ronny ignored them and continued to verbally berate the chef, who pointedly stared at his feet. Ronny shoved his finger into his fat chest as he ranted in his face, spitting and swearing. After several minutes of screaming at the top of his lungs and frothing at the mouth, Ronny finally cooled down, dismissing the silent chef with a contemptuous wave of his hand. His face changed from pink back to its usual pasty shade. He crossed his arms petulantly and slumped in his chair.
“Good job, Ronny,” King Richard praised, grinning wide. “Sometimes you need to put the commoners in their place and make them fear you.” He chomped down on a bite of meat, clearly enjoying his meal despite his son’s scathing condemnation of its quality. Ronny shrugged, still scowling. The servants, so inferior to the royals as to be invisible to them, cleaned up his mess in the background.
Bianca was unperturbed by Ronny venting his spleen, continuing to toy with the human on her plate as she ate the food around her. Eventually, she got bored and lifted the poor woman up by her leg, studying her wriggling with a cold inquisitiveness. She lowered the tiny woman headfirst into her mouth, licking her face and closing her plump lips around her torso before slurping her flailing legs inside with the rest of her body. She sucked on the delicious morsel for a while, shuffling her from one cheek to the other, before sending her off on a trip to her stomach with a hearty gulp.
She watched as the servants flitted anxiously back to the table, bringing with them a sumptuous feast of roasted partridge and yams for the picky prince. He sulked as the royal food taster sampled each portion and cleared the food for consumption. The servants backed away, sweating nervously as Ronny tasted the partridge. The bratty prince raised an eyebrow and grunted, but didn’t complain. The tension dissipated among the servants and they disappeared into the background again, relieved not to be on the receiving end of another explosive fit.
“Hey, Ronny, what happened to the human in your food?” Bianca queried.
Ronny shrugged as he continued to shovel food into his mouth. “Fuck if I know. She probably ended up as a red stain on the wall.”
King Richard frowned. “What a waste.” He gave Ronny a stern look. The aura in the room subtly changed, as if the air itself chilled. “Don’t squash your humans so carelessly, Ronny. They are valuable, and we can only extract so many without them revolting against us.”
Ronny stiffened. “Of course, Father,” he mumbled, casting his eyes downward. “I won’t do it again.” The king assumed a milder expression, accepting his words, and the mood lightened again. Ronny repressed a shudder.
“I never understood why you don’t just conquer the human kingdom, enslave the populace, and farm them,” Bianca remarked, tilting her head. “Wouldn’t that make more sense? Then you can have as many as you want.”
The king sighed and shook his head. “Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. Haven’t you noticed the humans that are here for a long time tend to lose their unique flavor and vitality? That’s because, if they’re not fed and cared for well, and they grow sad, they become frailer, weaker, and less appealing to the palate. That’s why over time we need fresh tributes, and why I usually dispose of them, when they are no longer of any use to us for our personal pleasure.”
He licked his lips as he finished the last bite of his dinner. “I prefer my humans to be free-range, so to speak, and of high quality. That standard of health isn’t possible if they were all forcibly imprisoned. Happy humans also multiply in greater numbers, which is even better for us. Let them have their silly little kingdom, go about their lives, and exist in blissful ‘freedom.’ As long as they give us our rightful share and don’t complain, I will be content.”
He inserted his fingers into his pocket and pulled out a small, trembling woman. “Of course, as you know, not all humans go stale! I still have my favorites, like my cute sweet little Millie, now don’t I?” He grinned roguishly and nuzzled her with his nose.
“Y-yes, of course, Your Majesty! I would never want to disappoint you!” the poor creature squeaked, out of fright rather than affection. Ronny looked away, repulsed by the display. He hated his father’s distasteful perversions and could hardly stand to watch. Bianca stared at him with jealousy, wishing she had a tiny man to kiss and pet and play with. King Richard always exclusively requested maidens as tribute, and she was fed up with his selfishness. She was used to always getting what she wanted, so the fact that she couldn’t have one irritated her to no end.
The servants cleared the dirty dishes off the table and brought slices of cheesecake for dessert. King Richard removed a small vial from his pocket full of a glowing blue potion and dripped a drop onto Millie’s head. Her face paled with dread as her body absorbed the substance, a magical anti-digestion fluid that would keep her unharmed inside his stomach. He pressed her into the soft dessert with his index finger up to her shoulders. She turned her head away from him, and Ronny spotted quiet tears glistening on her cheeks. The prince switched his attention to his own dessert and ate in silence, ignoring the display.
King Richard scooped up Millie with his fork and licked the sweet filling off her body, chuckling at her small whines of discomfort. He gently enveloped her in his mouth, humming with delight. After slopping his tongue all over her and sliding her against the inner walls of his teeth, he took another bite of cheesecake and rolled her around with it, sucking it all up with pleasure. He continued in this manner until he finished his entire slice before finally gulping down the small lady.
Ronny hastened to excuse himself from the table, grabbing up his gloves. As he lifted them, he noticed an abnormal weight inside, caused by a small, shivering lump. He flipped the glove and dumped its mystery contents out on the table, only to discover the food human that he thought he’d thrown across the room was hidden inside. She tumbled out and landed on the hard surface with a splattering of sauce.
Ronny glared at her, then at his fancy gloves, soiled inside with sauce. “Ugh! Look what you did, you filthy little rat! These gloves are ruined!” He flung the gloves away, his dark eyes flashing as his white-hot wrath returned with a vengeance. The woman’s eyes widened and she cowered before the giant man looming above her like a mountain. She had already narrowly escaped death when he smashed his dinner plate against the wall; she knew what he was capable of with his volatile temper.
The giant prince slammed his fist on the table next to her, startling her to her feet. Even standing up, she was shorter than his stacked fingers; he could easily crush her in his grasp like an insect. Her legs turned into useless rubber beneath her as she comprehended the futility of resisting and collapsed to the table. Ronny unclenched his fist and grabbed her up, raising her close to his face.
“Vile, foul worm,” he grumbled as she whimpered helplessly in his hand. “I’ll make you pay for that.” He knew humans hated to be eaten, so he shoved her into his mouth and swallowed her hard, sending her straight to the fleshy prison in his midsection. King Richard grinned with approval as he observed his son. Ronny stormed off in a huff, stomping on his gloves and kicking them to the side on his way out.
He clomped down one of the many stony corridors of the castle, fuming with irritation. He could feel the human fighting inside his gut as she was jostled about by his rapid steps. That idiotic human deserved her punishment. Those gloves were custom-made, based on the measurements of his hands, and now he’d have to order a new pair from the royal tailor. Such an inconvenience!