
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/727298.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Mighty_Max
  Relationship:
      Skullmaster/Mighty_Max
  Character:
      Mighty_Max_-_Character, Skullmaster, Virgil, Norman
  Additional Tags:
      Bondage, Torture, Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Chosen_One
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-03-19 Words: 2341
****** Bound By Destiny ******
by citizenjess_(givehimonemore)
Summary
     In this AU of "Bring Me the Head of Mighty Max," Skullmaster succeeds
     in getting the Capbearer in his clutches.
Notes
     Written circa-2003. From some story notes updated 2010: "“Bring Me
     the Head of Mighty Max” is the last Skullmaster-centric episode
     before the first season finale, “The Maxnificent Seven”. As such, I
     found it an interesting juxtaposition, how Max could go from fully
     accepting his destiny to utterly loathing it. I felt that “Bring Me
     the Head of Mighty Max” showed him rebelling against fate, and then
     calling a reluctant truce with Virgil after he realizes that some of
     the things his fowl mentor has been saying all along have finally hit
     home, so to speak.
     "Also, anyone who’s seen the first season finale and the second
     season two-part premiere know that Max reverts back to being sullen
     and angry about his calling after the four heroes they call upon are
     killed by Skullmaster; in short, there’s a lot of burdens and angst
     for Max to carry, along with the Cap, and I hope that this piece has
     tapped into a bit of it, somehow."
He wasn’t quite sure how he got there, only that there was a throbbing lump on
his head and a force pulling at his wrists. Finally gathering his nerve, Max
blinked a few times to adjust his eyes to the darkness, and glanced up. Heavy
manacles attached his upper limbs to the stone ceiling, and accounted for the
fact that his legs dangled a good six feet or so from the ground. The Capbearer
immediately recognized the decor as part of the Underworld, location of lava
beasts, lost souls . . . and Skullmaster.
There was little doubt that the Mighty One was in quite a predicament. Being
captured was bad enough; add not being able to recall what had happened to the
mix and he had serious trouble on his hands. Man, this is bogus, he thought
frantically, kicking the air experimentally a few times. Realizing that the
chains were definitely going to hold, the Mighty One focused his attention on
trying to recall how he’d gotten there.
Virgil summoned me from the beach because Ol’ Bonehead sent his crystal-
controlled goons after me . . . Norman tried to stop them, but there were too
many for him to handle . . . I must have been knocked out and dragged back to
the Underworld!
At this, Max instinctively looked up, straining to catch a glimpse of the red
baseball cap he had come to bear as more of a burden than an accessory. It was
gone. He pondered this for a moment: “how did they get me here without it?”
“They didn’t.” The voice that responded was cold and harsh, and cut through the
air like a knife. Max, not realizing he’d spoken aloud, looked up startled at
the looming, caped figure that approached with the strident manner of a hungry
lion about to devour its prey. The length of the chains put him just about at
eye-level with the skinless being, and the boy struggled and squirmed as
Skullmaster glided only scant feet away. His icy eyes roamed over Max, taking
in the sight of the quivering human who had been bound just to his
specifications. He smirked, razor-sharp teeth glittering in the darkness.
“At last I have you in my grasp . . . the Mighty One, the Chosen One, the
Capbearer, He who is prophesied to destroy me . . . Max.” Skullmaster spit the
last word out like a curse, and the boy shivered.
“That’s my name,” he mumbled, and attempted to gather his courage and
strengthen his voice. “Enough with the small talk; what have you done with
Virgil and Norman?” Surely, he thought, they had been locked in separate
chambers until they agreed to do Skullmaster’s bidding.
If it were possible, the figure’s grin widened. “You really have no idea what
happened, do you, Mighty One?” He reached over and cupped Max’s face in a long-
nailed palm; the boy tried to pull away, but Skullmaster’s grasp merely
tightened, demonstrating that his captive was in no position to protest. “No,”
he murmured, “you have no idea how much danger you’re in, how utterly helpless
and weak you are.”
He smirked and reached over to finger a strand of Max’s goldenrod hair. “Your
friends are likely foolishly wandering around in the upper-world at this
moment, mourning the loss of their hero. You see, Mighty One,” he sneered,
tracing the contours of Max’s face with a single claw, “they have no way to
reach you. I, in fact, hold all the cards of destiny, now; the Crystal of
Souls, the Chosen One . . . and the Cosmic Cap.”
Max gasped lightly and tried once more to pull away unsuccessfully. “That isn’t
true,” he spat, trying his best to appear menacing and failing miserably. “You
wouldn’t still be in this dump,” he gestured with a slight nod of his head at
their surroundings, “if you had the Cap.”
Skullmaster reached into the folds of his cape and produced the cosmic
headpiece. Max blinked in confusion; Skullmaster continued to grin smugly; “how
curious that you would choose ‘hanging around’ for your words, Mighty One.” He
gripped Max’s chin and leaned in until their faces were scant inches apart. “It
would seem that you are the one in such a position.” Max’s eyes widened
fearfully, and he braced himself for what was coming.
The being unsheathed his long, jagged sword from its holster upon his waist; he
brought the tip near Max’s neck, reveling in seeing the boy squirm. “It would
be foolish of me to leave you alive down here; even if you would have no
possible means of escape, I’m not one to tempt Fate.” He snorted at how Max
paled at the prospect. “I’m not going to kill you quite yet,” he murmured, and
brought the sword down suddenly; with a ripping sound, Max’s shirt fell from
his body in pieces. The boy whimpered, and Skullmaster’s eyes glittered
demonically. “I prefer to have some fun with my captives,” he rumbled, and
tucked the Cap back into the folds of his cape.
Max shivered as an unoriginable draft swept over his upper half; goose-bumps
visibly rose and dotted his pale skin, and he quivered, only half-aware of his
surroundings. It dawned on him that Skullmaster had likely put his victims in
this situation before, and probably had a ritualistic method of torture that he
set aside for such occasions. This realization did absolutely nothing to ease
the Capbearer’s nerves. He gasped and felt his stomach muscles instinctively
contract as Skullmaster raked an open palm down his torso.
The being shook his head and tsked in amused disapproval. “I never felt you
were much of a Mighty One,” he murmured conspiratorially. “In fact, I never
thought much of Virgil’s blasted Prophecy in the first place.” Max very nearly
smirked; he couldn’t exactly deny how his written destiny made his life that
much more of a hassle. ‘As if junior high wasn’t enough,’ Max thought bitterly,
‘I have to constantly fight for my – oh, God, what’s he going to do to me?’
Skullmaster’s pinching of one of his nipples between jagged nails brought him
out of his reverie; it also caused him to emit a loud squeak, which only served
to prove the underlord’s point. “Now, Maximus was a real hero,” Skullmaster
continued. “Brute strength, cunning, and little regard for family or
friendship; it was a pleasure killing the original Capbearer.
“You, on the other hand,” the dark lord continued, piercing Max with a look
that could freeze fire. “Your indentation in the Prophecy was unfortunate, at
best. Lacking the ability even to defend yourself; whatever Virgil was thinking
. . . well, I suppose it doesn’t matter now, does it, Mighty One?” He scratched
the supple flesh of Max’s stomach again, and the Capbearer forced himself not
to cry out this time.
“Y’know,” the boy eventually forced out, “I’m not real gung-ho about this whole
Prophecy thing, either. So why don’t I just give you the Cap, you know, as a
present, and I can just, uh, say goodbye to my mom before you destroy the
world?” Nothing like blind optimism, Max thought; he wasn’t banking on being
able to plea-bargain with Skullmaster, especially considering how Bonehead held
all the cards, but he could buy himself a little time. He hadn’t quite
acquiesced himself to the idea of dying, yet.
Skullmaster, for his part, snorted in genuine amusement. “You don’t honestly
believe that I would be foolish enough to allow Virgil to initiate an
undoubtedly meticulously planned counter-attack once he’s sure you’re out of
harm’s way?” he smirked. The nails scratching Max’s quivering belly now dug
into the flesh, hard enough to draw blood. “Silly boy,” the villain hissed as
Max let out a keening cry of pain.
“The original Mighty One lasted much longer,” he continued; jagged cuts dripped
down Max’s torso, stray drops falling to the ground and disappearing from
sight. The Capbearer tried not to think about it too much, tried not to tremble
with fear. He nearly had his breathing under control when he felt Skullmaster,
his arch-enemy, licking - *licking?!* - the sticky skin he’d just marred. Max
wasn’t sure whether to be disgusted or terrified; he settled for biting his
lip, drawing blood on his own accord, this time.
Skullmaster licked skinless lips with the tip of a very serpentine tongue,
stained with his last drink. “Blood of the hero,” he murmured, more to himself
than his sole audience member. “Even if you are not a particularly adept one,
you still possess natural power, passion. Your blood is rich and sinfully pure;
I will enjoy drinking it out of your lifeless body.” Again Max failed not to
react, and Skullmaster’s eyes narrowed as his smile widened.
Re-adjusting himself to full, ever-imposing height, the villain leaned in close
to the boy, until he could whisper in his ear. “Maximus was most unruly when I
did this to him,” he purred. “Spat the most distasteful things at me; I was
forced to cut out his tongue.” Max believed it; he concentrated on trying not
to lose control, vainly hoping his torture would be slightly lessened if only
he could be quiet.
When Skullmaster unclasped his jeans and yanked them down to his knees, along
with his underwear, however, he couldn’t stop the squawk of indignation. He
didn’t have long to reflect on the situation, though; the villain took the
boy’s member in his clawed hand. “So young,” he noted. “Probably haven’t had
time to properly use this, have you, Mighty One?” He poked the humiliated boy
in the ribs until Max admitted that he was right. Head lowered, eyes closed,
the Capbearer clenched his teeth, damning his body for responding to the
disgusting ministrations of the one person in the universe he would never have
dreamed would be doing this to him.
Skullmaster, on the other hand, seemed amused by the boy’s flaccid cock. “Does
this sicken you, Mighty One?” he crooned. “It did Maximus; how revolting that I
have such control over even the most intimate parts of you, hmmm?” His velvety
voice, like the hiss of a cobra ready to strike, combined with his hand groping
forcefully over Max’s swollen penis, made the Capbearer cry in shame.
“P-please,” he begged, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Please, stop.” His face
flaming, heart beating against his rib cage like a captured animal, it didn’t
take him long to come, unceremoniously, in Skullmaster’s palm. This, too, the
villain tasted; it was too much for Max, who turned his head as much as
possible.
The Capbearer took a shaky breath; he waited for Skullmaster to finish his
task, to kill him, but, to his dismay, the being was far from finished. Walking
around behind the boy, his finger traced the cleft of the Mighty One’s behind.
If Max thought it couldn’t get worse, he was wrong; he bucked and gasped when
one of Skullmaster’s digits invaded him. However, when the being plunged his
member, unannounced, in-between Max’s buttocks, the Capbearer lost his facade
of calmness completely and utterly.
Sobbing, he felt Skullmaster’s hardness inside of him, ripping him, and all he
could do was hang there, pleading and making sounds that only seemed to
encourage the underlord to pump harder. Eventually, Max felt numb, the invasion
little more than a slight irritation. When Skullmaster stopped thrusting,
dulled blue eyes merely settled on the blade held up to his throat moments
later. He wasn’t a hero; he was a weak little boy in charge of holding onto a
very important artifact so everyone else could do the work, and Skullmaster
seemed to be the only other person to realize that.
‘I should thank him,’ the Capbearer thought absentmindedly; this gave his face
sort of a sleepy half-smile, the very picture of someone who had fully accepted
his death. Skullmaster dragged his sword across Max’s throat; blood dripped
from the edge of the blade, and the red line on the boy’s flesh became jagged
and wet. “Goodbye, Mighty One,” the villain whispered victoriously.
“It’s . . . just . . . Max,” the boy choked out before everything faded to
black.
*
“Mighty One? Mighty One? Max?!” Somebody was calling his name, quite persistent
in drawing a response from someone who was – wait, how did Virgil and Norman
get to the Underworld without the Cap? Were they dead, too? Curious, Max’s
eyelids fluttered open.
The first thing he realized was that he wasn’t dead; sitting atop Norman’s
shoulders (well, really, slouched over them), perhaps, but – he touched his
throat, finding it clean and unmarred – alive, nonetheless. Why?
“A dream, Mighty One,” Virgil answered in that eerie pseudo-telepathic Lemurian
way. “Obviously, a prophetic one, at that, since you referred to Skullmaster
aloud a number of times. Do you remember falling asleep?” he queried. “I
imagine hanging off the edge of a cliff and running from minions for an entire
afternoon affected you more than you cared to admit.”
“I was dead,” Max murmured, ignoring Virgil’s questions. “He killed me, hung me
up like a puppet and – and he knew that I wasn’t really a hero, and he did it
anyways.”
“You *are* a hero, Mighty O-“
“I’M NOT A HERO!” Max shouted. Rarely did he super-impose himself on Virgil by
yelling like that, but his mentor simply wasn’t listening.
Despite wanting to convince the boy otherwise, to assure him of the importance
of his destiny, Virgil seemed to sense that the dream had had a profound effect
on how the Capbearer viewed, well, the world, really; best not to turn him away
on the grounds of proving a point. “A-alright, Max,” he spoke softly. “Let’s
just get you home, now.” He tried to engage himself by studying the portal map,
but he worried deeply about what role the prophetic dream had actually played
in the scheme of things. All he knew for sure was that it had taken a serious
toll on Max; the happy, energetic boy he’d grown accustomed to had been
replaced with a sullen stranger with dulled blue eyes.
Max’s head lulled lethargically in pace with Norman’s footsteps as the trio
trodded home in silence.
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