Bully the bullies
Undeserved Ascendance
chapter 14
by
copier
· original author:
an188
Blitzo licked his lips slowly, the long wet tongue dragging across lavender-painted flesh with pure, dripping malice. His violet eyes devoured the four towering bodybuilders frozen in front of him like rabbits caught in headlights.
Look at you pathetic meat sacks, he thought, a dark chuckle rumbling deep in his massive chest. I used to drool over every flex, every drop of sweat rolling down your roid-gut abs. I jerked off in the showers fantasizing about sucking those thick cocks while you laughed and called me a desperate twink. I wanted to BE you. I feared you. And now? His smirk widened, showing too many teeth. Now you’re nothing but toys. Cheap, breakable little action figures for a god.
“Slave…” he whispered, the word rolling off his tongue like velvet poison.
Stolas appeared instantly at his side, invisible to everyone else, red eyes glowing with filthy delight. The genie’s forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air. “Mmm, yes, my cruel, perfect Master?”
Blitzo’s voice dropped to a husky murmur only Stolas could hear. “I wish to be the greatest martial artist alive. Perfect, instinctive knowledge of twenty different fighting styles — Muay Thai, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, Krav Maga, Wing Chun, Karate, Taekwondo, Capoeira, Silat, Sambo, Systema, and every dirty street-fighting trick in between. Instant mastery. No learning curve.”
Stolas moaned like he was being fucked, claws raking down his own ghostly abs. “Ohhh, Master… turning you into an unstoppable weapon of beautiful violence? It’s almost too delicious. Your wish is my orgasm.” He snapped his fingers with theatrical flair.
Knowledge slammed into Blitzo’s brain like lightning. Muscle memory flooded every fiber — decades of training, thousands of fights, perfect timing, lethal precision. His body adjusted instantly, stance shifting naturally into something predatory and graceful despite his seven-foot bulk. A deep, guttural groan tore from his throat. His monstrous cock surged inside the tiny black shorts, throbbing violently. A huge, oily, grease-like stain bloomed across the front of the fabric, spreading rapidly. Thick drops of custard-cum leaked down his tree-trunk thighs, glistening trails running all the way to his flip-flops.
The four bodybuilders stared, mouths open, still not recognizing the towering, vascular god in front of them.
Blitzo stepped forward, hips rolling with sensual menace, until he loomed directly over the biggest of the four — a 6’5”, 315-pound shaved-head brute named Derek who had once punched Blitzo so hard his lip split for a week. Blitzo lazily hooked one long, manicured purple nail into his own belly-button piercing, twisting it slowly, making his shredded ten-pack flex and dance inches from Derek’s face. His pierced nipples were rock-hard, gold earrings glinting.
“Aw, look at you,” Blitzo purred, voice dripping condescension and contempt. “Big, scary muscle boy. Bet you feel real small right now, huh? Standing in my shadow like a scared little bitch.” He flexed his chest — pecs bouncing heavily, veins popping like ropes. “How about a friendly competition, meathead? Strength. Skill. Whatever you think you’re good at. Or are you too pussy to face someone who actually looks like a god?”
Derek swallowed hard, sweat already beading on his forehead. He felt tiny. Weak. The stranger’s presence was suffocating. “I… I don’t know who the fuck you are, freak, but—”
Blitzo cut him off with a sharp, witty laugh. “Freak? Darling, I’m the upgrade you’ll never afford. What’s the matter — afraid your precious steroids won’t save you when I make you look like the overpriced balloon animal you are? Come on, big man. Or should I just call you ‘Derek the Deflated’ from now on? I hear the boys in the locker room already laugh about how you need to stuff your posers to look half as big as you pretend.”
The other three snickered nervously. Derek’s face flushed crimson with rage and fear. “Fine, you arrogant prick. Let’s go.”
The “competition” started at the deadlift platform.
Derek pulled 950 pounds — his personal best — with a roar.
Blitzo stepped up, loaded the bar to 1,200, then casually added another four plates. He deadlifted it one-handed, fifteen reps, whistling the whole time like it was a toothpick. “Cute effort, princess.”
Next, the bench press. Derek managed 675 for three shaky reps.
Blitzo loaded 1,200, lay back, and pressed it like a toy — twenty reps, then held the bar one-handed at full extension while he checked his nails. “Boring. Let’s make it fun.” He stood, grabbed the entire bench press machine (frame, weights, and all — over 3,000 pounds), and military-pressed it overhead ten times, laughing like a child on a sugar rush. “Wheee! Look, Ma, no hands!”
The gym had gone completely silent except for the sound of dropping jaws.
Derek was pale. “What the fuck are you?”
“Still not impressed?” Blitzo cooed, stepping closer until his chest brushed Derek’s. “Fine. Hands-down. No rules. Fight me, big boy.”
They circled. Derek threw a heavy right hook — Blitzo slipped it with effortless grace, countered with a Muay Thai elbow that cracked against Derek’s jaw like a gunshot. The big man staggered. Blitzo flowed into Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, sweeping the leg and mounting him in one fluid motion. Punches rained — precise, devastating, each one landing with perfect power. Derek tried to buck him off; Blitzo transitioned to an armbar, then switched to a rear-naked choke using Systema pressure points that made Derek’s eyes roll back.
Thirty seconds later Derek was out cold, face slack, drooling on the rubber floor.
Blitzo stood up slowly, flexing both arms in a victory pose, cum still dripping lazily down his thighs. He felt alive. Powerful. Godlike. Humiliating them was delicious… but it wasn’t enough. He wanted them broken. Completely. Irreparably. He wanted them to beg, to cry, to understand they were nothing.
He turned to the remaining three, violet eyes glowing with wicked hunger.
1. Blitzo manipulates them into attacking him first, then beats and humiliates all four one by one inside the gym, keeping the carnage contained but psychologically devastating.
2. Blitzo simply snaps and starts attacking them because he can, turning the gym into a mass brawl that spills out onto the street with cars crushed, buildings damaged, and pure chaotic destruction.
Look at you pathetic meat sacks, he thought, a dark chuckle rumbling deep in his massive chest. I used to drool over every flex, every drop of sweat rolling down your roid-gut abs. I jerked off in the showers fantasizing about sucking those thick cocks while you laughed and called me a desperate twink. I wanted to BE you. I feared you. And now? His smirk widened, showing too many teeth. Now you’re nothing but toys. Cheap, breakable little action figures for a god.
“Slave…” he whispered, the word rolling off his tongue like velvet poison.
Stolas appeared instantly at his side, invisible to everyone else, red eyes glowing with filthy delight. The genie’s forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air. “Mmm, yes, my cruel, perfect Master?”
Blitzo’s voice dropped to a husky murmur only Stolas could hear. “I wish to be the greatest martial artist alive. Perfect, instinctive knowledge of twenty different fighting styles — Muay Thai, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, Krav Maga, Wing Chun, Karate, Taekwondo, Capoeira, Silat, Sambo, Systema, and every dirty street-fighting trick in between. Instant mastery. No learning curve.”
Stolas moaned like he was being fucked, claws raking down his own ghostly abs. “Ohhh, Master… turning you into an unstoppable weapon of beautiful violence? It’s almost too delicious. Your wish is my orgasm.” He snapped his fingers with theatrical flair.
Knowledge slammed into Blitzo’s brain like lightning. Muscle memory flooded every fiber — decades of training, thousands of fights, perfect timing, lethal precision. His body adjusted instantly, stance shifting naturally into something predatory and graceful despite his seven-foot bulk. A deep, guttural groan tore from his throat. His monstrous cock surged inside the tiny black shorts, throbbing violently. A huge, oily, grease-like stain bloomed across the front of the fabric, spreading rapidly. Thick drops of custard-cum leaked down his tree-trunk thighs, glistening trails running all the way to his flip-flops.
The four bodybuilders stared, mouths open, still not recognizing the towering, vascular god in front of them.
Blitzo stepped forward, hips rolling with sensual menace, until he loomed directly over the biggest of the four — a 6’5”, 315-pound shaved-head brute named Derek who had once punched Blitzo so hard his lip split for a week. Blitzo lazily hooked one long, manicured purple nail into his own belly-button piercing, twisting it slowly, making his shredded ten-pack flex and dance inches from Derek’s face. His pierced nipples were rock-hard, gold earrings glinting.
“Aw, look at you,” Blitzo purred, voice dripping condescension and contempt. “Big, scary muscle boy. Bet you feel real small right now, huh? Standing in my shadow like a scared little bitch.” He flexed his chest — pecs bouncing heavily, veins popping like ropes. “How about a friendly competition, meathead? Strength. Skill. Whatever you think you’re good at. Or are you too pussy to face someone who actually looks like a god?”
Derek swallowed hard, sweat already beading on his forehead. He felt tiny. Weak. The stranger’s presence was suffocating. “I… I don’t know who the fuck you are, freak, but—”
Blitzo cut him off with a sharp, witty laugh. “Freak? Darling, I’m the upgrade you’ll never afford. What’s the matter — afraid your precious steroids won’t save you when I make you look like the overpriced balloon animal you are? Come on, big man. Or should I just call you ‘Derek the Deflated’ from now on? I hear the boys in the locker room already laugh about how you need to stuff your posers to look half as big as you pretend.”
The other three snickered nervously. Derek’s face flushed crimson with rage and fear. “Fine, you arrogant prick. Let’s go.”
The “competition” started at the deadlift platform.
Derek pulled 950 pounds — his personal best — with a roar.
Blitzo stepped up, loaded the bar to 1,200, then casually added another four plates. He deadlifted it one-handed, fifteen reps, whistling the whole time like it was a toothpick. “Cute effort, princess.”
Next, the bench press. Derek managed 675 for three shaky reps.
Blitzo loaded 1,200, lay back, and pressed it like a toy — twenty reps, then held the bar one-handed at full extension while he checked his nails. “Boring. Let’s make it fun.” He stood, grabbed the entire bench press machine (frame, weights, and all — over 3,000 pounds), and military-pressed it overhead ten times, laughing like a child on a sugar rush. “Wheee! Look, Ma, no hands!”
The gym had gone completely silent except for the sound of dropping jaws.
Derek was pale. “What the fuck are you?”
“Still not impressed?” Blitzo cooed, stepping closer until his chest brushed Derek’s. “Fine. Hands-down. No rules. Fight me, big boy.”
They circled. Derek threw a heavy right hook — Blitzo slipped it with effortless grace, countered with a Muay Thai elbow that cracked against Derek’s jaw like a gunshot. The big man staggered. Blitzo flowed into Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, sweeping the leg and mounting him in one fluid motion. Punches rained — precise, devastating, each one landing with perfect power. Derek tried to buck him off; Blitzo transitioned to an armbar, then switched to a rear-naked choke using Systema pressure points that made Derek’s eyes roll back.
Thirty seconds later Derek was out cold, face slack, drooling on the rubber floor.
Blitzo stood up slowly, flexing both arms in a victory pose, cum still dripping lazily down his thighs. He felt alive. Powerful. Godlike. Humiliating them was delicious… but it wasn’t enough. He wanted them broken. Completely. Irreparably. He wanted them to beg, to cry, to understand they were nothing.
He turned to the remaining three, violet eyes glowing with wicked hunger.
1. Blitzo manipulates them into attacking him first, then beats and humiliates all four one by one inside the gym, keeping the carnage contained but psychologically devastating.
2. Blitzo simply snaps and starts attacking them because he can, turning the gym into a mass brawl that spills out onto the street with cars crushed, buildings damaged, and pure chaotic destruction.
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June 13
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