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For centuries, those who take celebrate the Leg Day tradition have been persecuted under the order of the Brachialis' tyranny. Have been striped to slavery and woe. Forced to build the Brachialis' empire or face horrifying punishments, punishments that make death seem like a long awaited cure for their demise.
However the mind of the Brachialis' king, or Flexor, was corrupted by greed and thirst for more power and more gargantuan abs. Out of both pure fear and venom, the Flexor ordered his army to collect all the first and last born of the, so called, 'cucks' shacks and tents. Cries of mothers and the rumble of their quads can be heard throughout the night, as meaty-legged children of all ages were thrown into the raging river filled with predators and thorns. The Flexor's people felt haven't a qualm.
Hooded and shielding her kin, a mother ran from her hovel has the soldiers' lack of calves were first sighted. Hiding in bushes and behind structures, the mother ran to the peaceful tributary, where her people would usually bath and collect water. She squats down, putting her child within an abandoned basket that was in the shrubs. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she looked down at here resting baby as she pushed the basket into the stream. She stayed there until the soldiers found her.
20 years later
A blossoming fire lit up the night sky, countless villagers jumped and clapped around the sacred hearth as brides sing and lads drum. A man was sitting next to his lover, the man whom thighs were thicker than the scales of a serpent and harder than the finest armors. His thighs radiated every beam of light, his glutes proudly showcased their flawless shape. Every woman within the village and beyond have tried to flirt him to their undergarments, but to no avail, for that he could only love one woman. Her jet black hair highlighted sliver artforms, her skin was smoother than butter. However, the main thing that made him desire her is their charismatic, tight leg muscles. They both practice Leg Days.
One misty morning, the man was just attending his sheep when he had a vision. He saw the persecutions of his kind under the Flexor. He saw his mother saving his life by giving him to the gentle stream. He saw himself freeing them from the burning status quo. He knew what needed to be done.
The dour temples' doors opened. Revealing marvelous thighs for the Brachialis to be disgusted by. Guards nearly jumped on him before the Flexor silenced them. He allowed the man to speak,
"Majesty, I had a vision of a better future for all. A future where all exercised their entire body."
"What?!" The Flexor interrupted, his towering biceps quivering.
"But first, you need to let my people go."
The entire temple was silent and idle, the man slowly raised up his leg, "Behold, the power of hamstrings," he said before stomping the ground. Golden light began to flourish from his foot before bursting into an explosive aura, hundreds of coins began to rain from the aura, clicking against the stone ground.
The Flexor was outraged by the demonstration of blasphemy. "I command that you will be exiled from this land or killed within this foolish mission! I will never let you queers go!"
The guards then tackled the man, dragging him the uncharted. The man wished he didn't need to go to alternative routes.
It all started normally, the Brachialis tending their cattle before the clouds darkened. A storm raged within seconds, bench presses and pull up bars brittled and rusted, and once perfect abs and arms fattened into flappy waxy imperfections. The Flexor was furious, he demanded war against the man, the cucks cheered for the empire's threat.
The man has met with the slaves. He has told them to paint their doors with protein shakes, for a plague like no other is coming, those who have done this task will be safe.
The night sky comes. A mist fills the streets, avoiding the shacks of the leg traditionalists. Throughout the night, the first and last born of the Brachialis' children passed, the screams of the mothers and rumble of their deltoids filled the morning.
The Flexor orders the genocide of all 'cucks'. Crowds rush out the streets as soldiers once again chased them. They stop at the raging river, the man lifts his leg and stomps the shore. The water and rocks obeyed his command and rise up to reveal the secret path. The escapes ran through the moist mud with, but the sound of the oppressors were near. When every legger made it through, the man stomps his foot again, the waves crash into the army who were unable of catch up due to their pathetic calves.
The man's people are finally free.
The corpses floated to the shore and upon the feets of their former slaves.
Days have passed, the man returns from the mountain with the Ten Commandments, a guide to not just a impressive physique, but to thick, fabulous thighs.