Lady Vikki is a towering figure of brutal power, a force that dominates the Realm of Cruella. Her body, heavily built and sculpted with bulging muscles, is a living monument to sheer, unstoppable strength. There’s not an ounce of fat on her, just raw muscle honed through relentless hours spent in her private gym, where she lifts weights that even most men couldn’t dream of. But it isn’t men of strength that Vikki seeks out for her sadistic games—it’s the weak ones, the skinny, fragile figures who offer no resistance at all. That’s what she loves most: men who can’t fight back, who are utterly helpless in the face of her overwhelming power.
She regularly arranges her infamous “tournaments,” where she drags scrawny, trembling men into her fighting pit, only to tear them apart for the amusement of her cruel friends. The men are chosen for their lack of strength, their fragile bodies ideal for the brutal entertainment Vikki craves. They are weak, gaunt, their ribs poking through their skin, no match for her massive frame. And that’s exactly how she likes it. She doesn’t want a challenge—she wants them to crumble beneath her, bones snapping under her hands like brittle twigs.
The skinny men who find themselves in Lady Vikki’s brutal tournaments are not ordinary prisoners. They are “ferals,” wild men captured during the infamous Feral Hunts organized by the Ladies of the Realm of Cruella. These hunts take place on vast estates, where the ferals—men who have fled society and chosen to live outside the law, scraping together what little food they can in the wild—are seen as little more than sport. Hunted like animals, they are chased down, captured, and dragged back to the prisons where their real torment begins.
Once captured, the ferals are not treated as prisoners with any rights or purpose beyond serving the Ladies’ whims. They are simply left to rot in their cells, starved, and reduced to weak, skeletal figures. The Ladies allow them no food beyond the bare minimum needed to keep them alive, their bodies withering away as they languish in the cruel isolation of the prison. Their once wild, rebellious spirits are slowly broken as they are denied nourishment, their muscles wasting away until they are frail shadows of their former selves.
The prison guards—under orders from the ruling Ladies—delight in ensuring that these men remain as weak and vulnerable as possible. They toss just enough scraps of food into their cells to keep them from dying, but never enough to allow them to regain their strength. It is a slow and calculated method of breaking them down, both physically and mentally, until they are little more than emaciated playthings for the sadistic games the Ladies enjoy.
When Lady Vikki and her friends organize their tournaments, it is these starved, broken men who are pulled from their cells. By this point, they are too weak to offer any real resistance. Their ribs protrude from their skin, their limbs are fragile and uncoordinated, and their hollow, sunken eyes reflect nothing but despair. Vikki enjoys this. She doesn’t want them to stand a chance—she finds pleasure in the ease with which she can overpower them, snap their bones, and hear their feeble cries for mercy.
The ferals have been stripped of everything: their strength, their dignity, their freedom. They have nothing left to fight with. When they are led out of their cells and thrown into the pit, they know they are facing certain destruction. For Lady Vikki, the thrill lies in their helplessness, in the certainty that no matter how hard they try to escape or fight back, they are nothing more than toys to be broken.