FSE

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formerly SoFurry search engine

*WARNING: * This story contains some fairly generic fantasy, an action set piece with bloody violence, and a whole lot of rape.

Synne was clad light, the chainmail that girded her covered in padded canvas armor. It had been dyed a midnight blue, the low, flat color of deepest evening, just before the sun set and cast all into blackness.

She wore no sigil, no crest, no sign of her order. The golden circle that represented her allegiance to the Church had been removed and that spot, high on her chest, felt strangely empty.

Still, Synne knew it was to afford her better camouflage. Where the symbol of the sun blazed out in fiery defiance against the tides of degenerate hedonism during the day, at night it signaled only her presence to those who stood against the fist of righteousness.

When the mission had come to her she'd accepted without question or hesitation. Hers was not the place to pause or fear for her mortal flesh. Not when the stakes were so high and her faith so absolute.

The Matriarch had asked her three times if she wished to decline, as was custom, and three times she had remained knelt, paws clasped to her chest, and said no.

Refusal was allowed for tasks as risky as the one that had fallen to her, but Synne would sooner have plunged herself into a river of hot ash than declined a holy mission. Refusal was for those who held the bitter seed of doubt in their hearts. Refusal was for those who prized their mortal flesh above their eternal soul.

She raised her eyes to the crescent moon that hung in the sky overhead. That was the light of the sun reflecting from its silver surface, she knew. Though the powers of righteousness were yet distant, they were never entirely absent.

She opened and closed her paws, the steel gauntlets that covered them whispering. They'd been well oiled and maintained, each piece smoothly interlocking with nearly no noise at all.

All of her gear was like that, perfectly balanced and poised for battle, every bit of it a tool of the cause.

Her equipment spoke of dedication, and so did she.

Beneath her armor and the clothes she wore, Synne stood tall and fierce. She was a wolverine, her tightly muscled frame covered in thick, silky fur that trended a rich, creamy brown along her back and across her eyes before blending to uninterrupted sable across her muzzle and front. Both her arms and legs were capped with black fur that almost took on the appearance of gloves, as was her broad, short tail, which hung behind her, its tip brushing against the backs of her knees.

From head to tail, Synne had almost the appearance of a creature custom built to be a weapon, a living destroyer. Everything about her was blunt and strong. Her legs, digitigrade, were stout and corded with muscle, the flare of her hips and swell of her breasts speaking of flawless physical conditioning.

Synne slipped on her sallet, leaving the visor up for the moment. It was dark, and though she could see just fine, she wanted her peripheral vision intact. Dark, wary eyes flashed from side to side, the whiskers lining her blunt, black furred muzzle twitching as her nubby, round ears perked beneath the steel of her helmet.

She stood at the top of a shallow hill, overlooking a great roil in the earth before her. Beyond that, past many hundreds of yards of shattered earth and masonry and wood, was the great dark shape of the Adversary's castle.

The Adversary had a name, he had once been Lord Hart, but those days were so alien and distant that Synne could scarcely remember them. Certainly the safe days of the Church's hegemony hardly seemed real. Now it was war and the Adversary, no further nuances seemed even remotely necessary.

There were roads carved into the destruction, their graveled surfaces stood out, little lines of silver traced through the dappled mess of broken land that surrounded them.

This was the legacy of the last alliance that had marched on the Adversary's hold.

She could see some of it from where she crouched, at the edge of the trees. There was an outer wall, a stretch of homes and civilian buildings perhaps a half mile deep, then the inner keep.

Everything outside for a distance of perhaps a mile had been completely shattered. There were no clear paths for cavalry to advance, no terrain for siege equipment to be rolled over.

The Adversary had detonated the ground beneath the last army and cost the land half of its knights. A dozen kingdoms had fallen into succession wars before the last ears had stopped ringing.

Since then it had been up to the Church. The pettiness of kings could not be trusted, even if they were divinely ordained. Men would be men, was the Matriarch's conclusion, and so the Church would need to fight on alone, until such time as another alliance strong enough to combat the Adversary was forged.

Synne's task was to pick her way through the rubble and try to determine the positioning of the Adversary's guards. She could already see a few places where rudimentary fortifications were being planned, others where it seemed like patrols went regularly.

Her first place to check was a ruined village perhaps a hundred yards away. She couldn't see any lights, nor hear any movements, but it was possible that there were enemies there nonetheless. The Adversary's men were devoted and well trained. If she got into a fight then it would be a tough one to escape.

Synne took a moment to lift her eyes to the moon once more, focusing upon the eternal presence of the divine. It would protect her. She knew this in the same instinctive, inherent way her body knew how to keep on breathing even without the direct input of her thoughts.

And that knowledge, that connection to faith, erased any hesitance she might have otherwise had as she slipped silently down the shallow hill and into the shattered wasteland that surrounded the Adversary's castle.

As she went, she dropped a paw to the pommel of her sword, one finger rubbing over the sun sigil engraved there. It was a habit, something she did when heading into potential danger.

Around her rose jagged plates of intermingled stone and earth, the grass and flowers still growing from them, trees hanging limply by their roots, half unearthed. Every so often Synne's eyes fell upon signs of civilization, half broken walls and shattered foundations, lead pipes and roofing tiles, all scattered and smashed into the earth.

She picked her way through, senses alert. She heard a small animal stir inside of its burrow not too far from her, a small network of noises rising from the ruins as she disturbed the local ecosystem, yet there were no other people that she could detect.

Not by sound, not by smell, certainly not by sight. The ruins remained desolate and still, turned black and silver by the weak light of a waning moon.

It took her some time to reach the edge of the ruined village, but Synne crept into place, flattening herself against an upright piece of masonry, peering down into the shallow dip that most of the village had settled into.

It was a miserable looking place, but she could see definite signs of recent habitation. A fire ring had been built close to the half collapsed front of what looked to have once been a stable, and Synne could see markings made on the wall in charcoal. There were arrows and swirls, little notations added beneath.

...Was that a map?

She squinted but couldn't quite see it from where she was, the angle was oblique and the lighting suboptimal. The wolverine chewed the inside of one cheek, debating if she ought to go closer.

She couldn't hear anyone nearby, but that didn't mean there weren't people lying in wait. What if this was a trap? She could see a few good places for enemies to stage an ambush from. Would it be worth it to creep forward and try to get a better look at the map? A part of her said no.

The stories she'd heard of what the Adversary did to the people he captured were...upsetting.

Synne blinked, disappointed in herself. That was doubt. That was cowardice. Fearing capture or death was for weaklings and apostates.

Gritting her teeth, the wolverine slipped around the corner of the masonry slab, keeping to the shadows, placing each paw carefully, mindful of the debris that littered the ground.

Yeah...there had definitely been people here recently. She could smell the food they'd cooked, the sour tang of the ale they'd drank, even an odd musky scent she couldn't quite identify. Her lip curled instinctively, showing a flash of sharp white teeth.

It was all fresh, alarmingly so. She'd have to hurry. Still, at least she knew where a definite pocket of activity was.

The wolverine crouched down and examined the little map scrawled on the wall. It was vague, more a suggestion than any real work of cartographical effort, but she could recognize the vague shape of the village, a line that seemed to suggest the route she'd taken to get to it, and a further network of paths that were clearly favored paths through the rubble.

Synne couldn't suppress a smile. This could be valuable. It would have to be checked of course, she wasn't about to assume this wasn't a piece of false information planted by the enemy, but...

This was a start. She felt a little more reassured as she committed the map to memory and crosschecked it with her impression of the rubble from atop the shallow hill at the devastation's edge.

Most of it seemed to check out. The wider routes where rubble had been shifted aside were fairly visible, but some of them were narrower and-

The wolverine stiffened as a sudden noise came from off to her side, approaching footsteps, the clank of armor.

She stole back towards the slab of masonry, intending to retreat along the same path she'd taken to get to the village, but hesitated as she realized that there was noise coming from there too.

Both of the easy, apparent paths into the village were being advanced along by enemies. Synne took a quick breath and moved around the side of the stable, sequestering herself in the shadows, dropping to a low crouch as she sniffed the air.

She could smell leather and steel, wine and earth. Someone said something from around the corner, just a bit too far for even her keen ears to make sense of it. Then she could see figures lifting from the shadows, becoming more apparent the closer they came.

The wolverine pressed herself further into the shadows, remaining still and silent, eyes moving from man to man. There were two little groups approaching the village from opposite ends, eight enemies in total. They looked relaxed, alert but clearly not worried, riding right on the edge of complacence.

They were even well groomed and clearly fresh from the castle, their armor gleaming and fur well groomed. The lead man, a lion, removed his helmet as he entered the village, shaking out a long auburn mane.

"Hey," he called to the man at the head of the opposite group, offering him a lazy wave, "find anything fun on your sweep?"

"When do we ever?" Grumbled his opposite, a black furred jackal, as he scratched behind one pointed ear.

Synne kept her breathing light and her body still. The Adversary's men would move on, she told herself. And if they didn't...divinity forbid...if they didn't, then she would simply wait. She could remain still for a long, long time if it was necessary, and something told her that she probably wouldn't be moving for a while longer.

The Adversary's soldiers gathered in front of the stable, only a few yards away, close to the map she'd been investigating. Synne shifted in place, finding a little gap in the wall she could watch them through. Her peephole allowed her to see through the half collapsed front of the stables, and though her view was imperfect, she was able to get a decent idea as to the makeup of the group.

They were armored in steel and chain, heavier gear than her own. The lion wielded a poleax, most of the others had swords, though one, a paint horse, had a crossbow.

If it came to a fight, she decided, she'd kill him first.

But for the time being, and hopefully for all the time they'd unwittingly sharing a village with her, the soldiers remained unaware of the wolverine's presence, even as Synne slowly allowed herself to slip down into a deep crouch, back pressed against a packed berm of earth and stone, ready to jump up at a moment's notice.

As she did, she took a better look at her surroundings. To her right was the stable wall, beyond which were the soldiers, to her left was a steep earth slope that she supposed she could climb in a pinch...though it would definitely make noise.

In front of her was the rest of the village and the masonry slab at the very edge of it that she'd hidden behind earlier.

Behind the wolverine, pressed against her back, was the rest of the earth slope, pressing hard against what remained of the stables, which looked ready to give up and finish its collapse at any moment.

She kept one eye on the soldiers, listening carefully as they settled down. Perhaps this wasn't too bad, she decided, if she was able to get some information out of this then it would make the danger she was in absolutely worth it.

"You...and you," the lion instructed, two of the soldiers standing (a red fox and a brown mink respectively), "your turn to stand watch, who's up after...?"

A white and brown spotted rabbit raised a paw, followed closely by the jackal. Satisfied, the lion sat down onto a rickety looking chair with a sigh, a pair of others beginning to fill the fire ring with fuel as the mink and fox set off to the far end of the village. They passed by the edge of the stable, but though Synne tensed up, paw tightening on the hilt of her sword, they didn't offer so much as a glance in her direction.

She forced one eye back to the group, ever mindful of the two sentries on the periphery. They wouldn't see her even if they turned around, Synne knew she was too deep into the shadows for that to happen, but if they came too close or caught her scent...

The wolverine shut her eyes for a moment and forced herself to be centered. If she got scared then that would only increase the enemy's odds of finding her. If she got scared then she'd make mistakes.

She felt calmer when she resumed her clandestine surveillance, watching as the soldiers in front of the stable lit their fire, a hesitant orange glow illuminating their features.

There was the lion, off to the far left, sitting on the only intact piece of furniture that remained, leaning casually back against the stable wall. He was clearly the leader, with the jackal as a probable second in command. Certainly he'd had gravitated to the lion since his portion of the patrol's arrival. Him and another canine, a dark furred wolf with a splotch of white that covered his throat.

They had to be the officers, Synne supposed. Also good targets to gun for if it came to a fight. If she took out them and the equine crossbowman then she actually liked her odds. The others would be scared and leaderless then.

Still...all of the soldiers looked fit and prepared, their weapons and armor were well taken care of and when the lion reached forward to pat the jackal on the shoulder, she could see muscles rippling beneath his tawny fur.

They'd be tough enemies.

...If it came to a fight. And she didn't want that. Not really.

Eight versus one wasn't anything to sneeze at, even if she was an agent of the divine.

The conversation between the soldiers was mundane at first, complaints about the patrolling, which the lion sternly clamped down upon, then relented and reminded them that they'd be rotating back to the castle soon. His subordinates greeted this news with good cheer.

One, the rabbit, blew out a breath.

"Been forever since we've been on a good raid." He waved a paw vaguely out at the land beyond the destruction.

His comrades nodded, the jackal frowning.

"Not like there's really anything left," he grumbled, "everything close is played out. Nothing good to snatch up anymore."

"What about the church up in the pass?" The wolf asked, amber eyes carrying across the group.

"The approach is no good," the lion said, a trace of regret in his voice, "we'd have to go uphill on open ground. The Matriarch and her harpies would cut us all down before we got within a hundred yards."

"Not if Lord Hart came with us." The rabbit insisted.

Synne felt her lip curl at the very mention of the Adversary's name. His old name, she reminded herself, before he'd consorted with demons and lost all right to personhood.

"Yeah..." The wolf smiled, "what a prize that would be if we cracked one of the Church's strongholds open." For a moment there was a sort of collective, almost hungry longing in the eyes of the soldiery, then the horse's brow knit.

"How come we don't go out and do that?" He asked, "it's been, what, a year since Lord Hart did all this," he swept a hoof out across the ruin that surrounded them, "you think he could blow down the front wall of a little monastery, right?"

"All in due time," the lion said, "I say we leave the magic to Lord Hart and simply follow the existing plan rather than sticking our noses where they don't belong. He's done well for us so far, hasn't he?"

It was clear that the lion's question was a purely rhetorical one, but Synne could see genuine agreement in the vigorous nods that the soldiers gave in response.

"Imagine fucking the Matriarch..." The rabbit said wistfully, after a moment had passed.

Synne felt herself go stiff, anger swirling in the pit of her stomach. The mere concept of what the rabbit had said was unimaginable, offensive in the very worst ways. She felt her paws curl into fists, gauntlets creaking as she trembled with quiet rage.

"You'd have to tie her down," the jackal said with a smirk, "she'd rather jump off a cliff than get dicked. Her and all the rest of the Church's minions."

"What are we talking about?" The fox asked from his place at the edge of the village, one ear swiveling back to face his comrades.

"Fucking the Matriarch." Replied the lion, firelight reflecting off his eyes.

"What is she?" The mink, who'd clearly been listening to the conversation, asked.

"A fox," said the rabbit, "a silver one."

"If we ever get her," the fox said, "I call her first."

"You?" The lion laughed, brows raising.

"Yeah," insisted the fox, "she's the same species as me, right? I want to put a litter in her."

This seemed to amuse the soldiers, even as Synne silently ground her teeth. Still, the wolverine remained silent, enclosed in the shadows.

"Forget the Matriarch," the horse said, "I'd settle for just a regular devotee."

"They fight." The jackal reminded him, but the horse seemed unconcerned.

"Of course they do," the fox called, "that's the whole point. Wouldn't be any fun if there wasn't danger."

"Amen." The lion said.

"They're just women," the horse said, ears pinning back, "they can't be that bad."

The jackal cocked his head to one side, exposing a pale slashing scar that parted the fur along the bottom of his jaw.

"That got put there by a Church blade," he said, "...don't underestimate them."

The horse shrugged, eyes moving around the fire, where he saw that he didn't seem to have any support. Rolling his eyes, he got up.

"Gotta take a leak." He mumbled, and started...around the side of the stable.

Oh no.

Synne rose slightly up, gripping the hilt of her sword, eyes locked on the spot where the horse was headed. She could hear his footsteps, and though she prayed for him to stop, to simply go a few paces and then simply do his business, he kept on coming, apparently intent on privacy.

For a moment Synne felt an icy flash of fear, then wrestled it down.

This was fine.

This was...

What if this was meant to happen? Her eyes strayed to the sun sigil on her pommel, illuminated by a shaft of firelight.

Had she been placed here to smite a little cluster of sinners? Was this her actual mission?

And suddenly the horse was rounding the corner.

Synne didn't hesitate. Drawing her sword, she grasped the blade halfway along its length with steel jacketed fingers and thrust it up and under the shelf of the horse's chin, where throat met jaw. The blade pierced skin and crunched through bone, the horse's eyes widening just before going completely blank, his entire body short circuited in an instant.

The horse shivered in place, like a person noticing a draft, then went limp. Synne guided him into the side of the berm, aware that her forward arm was soaked with crimson up to the elbow. She couldn't see it fully in the moonlight, but the scent of blood was sudden and sharp, a crimson cascade of the stuff burbling from the horse's slack mouth as he slid slowly to the base of the berm, perfectly limp.

Her kill had had been quiet and precise, just as her training had mandated. Synne shook her bloodied gauntlet, claret spattering the stable wall, and stepped over the body, peeking one last time at the soldiers before she did.

The wolf's ears had perked and Synne could see his nose wrinkling. He'd scented blood...and a lot of it. Very soon they'd realize that something was up.

She hesitated, eyes moving up the slope. If she hurried she could probably make it, but then she'd be in a pursuit, and one where her pursuers knew the ground a lot better than her.

Once more her eyes flashed to the sign of her order. The sun.

She had to stand.

The crossbowman was already dead and she had the element of surprise for about three more seconds.

Synne stepped around the corner, careful to make her pace match the horse's. The men by the fire would be flash-blind, she reminded herself, they wouldn't be able to see any great distance out into the darkness.

She had an advantage there, a good one.

Time to take advantage of it.

Stepping casually around the corner, she let her eyes move over the Adversary's men. They were arrayed, a few looking to her, eyes just starting to widen as they realized that she wasn't their friend. The wolf was beginning to stand up, paw going for his sword. He'd put together the blood scent and her appearance, eyes moving to her crimson soaked blade.

Synne put her blade through the back of one man's neck and kicked another into the fire ring, sparks flaring as he rolled away, yelping with surprised pain. They were still reacting, so she turned to the leadership, all clustered together against the wall of the stable, nowhere to retreat to.

The wolf was up first, blade flashing forward. Synne blocked and seized ahold of the steel with her free paw, aiming a stab for the wolf's exposed armpit, where the armor was thin and his body exposed.

Seeing the danger, the wolf let of his blade and shied back, running into the wall with a bang. Synne sent his sword spinning into the darkness and turned to land a slash across the front of the jackal's breastplate, steel screeching against steel. It did the canine no damage, but unbalanced him enough that he fell back, catching himself against the wall with one paw.

The lion was trying to ready his poleax, but he'd been caught in tight quarters with a long weapon and Synne rammed him hard in his chest with one shoulder, the lion falling back, his weight and momentum sending him through the already abused stable wall with a crash of splintering wood.

Throughout the rest of the little stable Synne heard a sudden chorus of groans and squeals. In an instant she realized what was about to happen and jumped away, a beam catching her on the shoulder as the roof came down with a puff of dust and a cacophony of shattering tiles and breaking wood.

The wolverine staggered to the side, shoulder suddenly numb, and caught a sword stroke across the stomach that nearly doubled her over, padded armor splitting, chain holding strong. She dodged the following stab and stomped hard on the side of the soldier's knee, bringing him down with a yelp.

She was in the middle of a plume of dust, given strange luminance by the firelight. Already she could see figures struggling free from the collapsed stable, the lion picking himself up to the side, poleax snapped in half.

Reversing her sword, so she was gripping the blade and wielding the steel crossguard like a hammer, Synne caught the next blow and cracked the rabbit across the side of the helmet. He slumped down, stunned, sword falling from one limp paw.

Her enemies were wearing steel, and now that the element of surprise was past, she needed to land some crushing blows that would cripple or incapacitate them. Otherwise they would overwhelm her.

The soldiers by the fire had shied back, some rubbing their eyes, trying to blink the dust out, others clearly wishing only to advance as part of a group. The man she'd stabbed in the back of the neck lay facedown in the middle of a dust clotted pool of crimson, a silent warning for what they could expect if they faced her.

And then she heard rapid footsteps, the wolverine turning just in time to redirect a wild blow from the fox, who had sprinted back to join his comrades. The mink tried to stab but she twisted aside and rammed him in the side of the head with one elbow, sending him staggering back. Once more the fox tried to get in close but she hooked her fingers under the visor of his helmet and threw him off his feet, the fox slamming hard against the rubble of the stable with a pained groan.

The mink backed off, sword grasped tight with both paws, blinking behind his visor, breath coming fast. Was that fear in his eyes?

She hoped so.

The jackal stepped free from the rubble, brushing dust from his armor with one paw as he settled his helmet onto his head. His visor had been ripped free on one side and Synne could see that the canine was curling his lip at her, exposing blood pinked teeth.

But the wolverine had little time to focus on this, for the soldiers were coming at her once more, the fox being pulled to his feet by the lion, who still hadn't found a new weapon.

The jackal lunged into the midst of the brawl, his blow deflected. Synne tried to ram the pommel of her sword into the jackal's half exposed face but he twisted, meeting her blow with the side of his helmet, staggering back.

Once more Synne reversed her sword, keeping one paw on the blade to stabilize her aim as she turned aside a hail of swings, sending her attackers back. The mink tried to lunge at her knees but she kicked his legs out from under him and was prevented only from slipping her blade through his visor by the concerted effort of his fellows.

She snarled, frustrated, as they dragged their comrade away. And then the wolf leapt at her. He held no weapon and ducked his head against her slash, her blade missing his visor by barely an inch. Then his paws hooked around her waist and he was trying to drag her down.

The wolverine remained upright, but just barely, the wolf's gauntleted paws scraping against her armor, head ducked into her lower stomach as she hammered down on him with the pommel of her sword, spinning as she went.

Grip failing, the wolf tumbled away with a grunt, and Synne tried to turn back, only to be hammered in the stomach with a spear tackle from the fox. She staggered back, going to one knee, and hooked her fingers through the fox's visor, shoving his head into the ground, breaking his grip.

A blade crashed down across her shoulders and the wolverine fell forward, across the squirming fox, rolling aside and slashing wildly out as she staggered back to her feet, upper body aching.

For a half second she tried to gauge the positions of the men around her, then the fox, still on the ground, swept her legs out from under her and she fell hard onto one side, nearly losing grip on her sword.

The wolverine growled, low in her throat, tensing to move, but there were men all around her now. The crossguard of a sword, held in reverse just like she'd been doing, slammed hard into her stomach and she was folded nearly double, the air forced from her lungs.

Still she lashed out, forcing the mink back and cracking the wolf across one armored knee, putting the canine onto his side. The rabbit rushed forward to seize her arms and she jammed her blade between his legs, chainmail shearing and the soldier shrieking, collapsing in a welter of blood.

The lion, stepping forward, a sour look on his face, stomped hard on the wolverine's paw and forced her blade from her grip. Then they were on top of her, and though Synne shouted and snarled and thrashed, one by one her limbs were immobilized, until she was lying on her back, pinned beneath the weight of a half dozen battered enemies.

"Oh you bitch..." Huffed the wolf, but there was a distant and decidedly relieved sort of glee in his voice.

The lion picked up her sword, Synne snarling, the sight of an enemy handling a Church sword outraging her. She could see his eyes fixing on the sun sigil.

Slowly, a smile spread across his face and he tossed down the blade, where his surviving men could all see it.

"Holy shit." Said the fox, from where he was pinning her left leg.

Synne tried to thrash free, while the soldiers were momentarily distracted, but they held her in place, the lion grabbing the visor of her helmet and slamming her head against the ground.

Dazed, the wolverine managed a weak growl but nothing more, the resistance momentarily knocked out of her. She could taste blood.

Somehow the fear hadn't quite penetrated yet, she was still riding high on a wave of adrenaline that her mind was taking full advantage of, even if her body was beyond the point of being able to use it.

"Gerhardt is dead..." The jackal muttered, eyes slipping away from the rabbit, who lay unmoving in the middle of a jagged pool of blood.

"Francis and Riagan too." The lion said. He didn't sound especially sad to have lost three of his men, instead his voice had taken on an almost thoughtful quality, like this development could probably have a silver lining if looked at in the right way.

The wolf reached down with one paw and undid the strap of Synne's helmet, avoiding the retaliatory snap the wolverine leveled at him. Even if her limbs were pinned, her teeth were still very sharp. But the wolf went nowhere near her mouth. Instead he tugged her helmet off and tossed it away.

Synne's fur was mussed and her muzzle bloodied, but even as she snarled at the soldiers, they seemed almost transfixed, a few exchanging sly little glances. The wolverine tried to catch her breath, reasoning that they'd let their guard down sometime...and when they did she'd jump up and kill them all.

"A proper devotee..." The lion said, eyes moving back to the collapsed stables, where the dust was only just beginning to settle, "pity Riagan's not around, he wanted one of these, right?"

This inspired a muted chorus of laughter from the soldiers. Their helmets were beginning to come off, and as she got a better look at their faces, suddenly Synne realized very clearly what was about to happen.

The men she'd fought were mussed and battered and, in more than a few cases, bloodied.

They wanted revenge.

And she knew how the Adversary and his minions got revenge.

"Don't you dare," she breathed, exposing blood pinked teeth, "you cannot sully the righteousness of the divine."

But, as menacing as her tone was, it had no effect on the soldiers. Gauntlets were coming off, armor in general being shed. As she watched, the fox produced a dagger and slit the front of her padded armor, the swell of the wolverine's breasts becoming more apparent as the outer layer of her armor was discarded.

Synne thrashed from side to side, snapping at the soldiers closest to her. Leaning over, the wolf rammed a fist into her stomach. Even through chainmail the pain was excruciating. Wheezing, she tried to curl into herself but simply couldn't.

Paws caressed over her, the mink sliding a paw brazenly between the wolverine's legs. She was armored there, a strip of chainmail going over her undergarments, but the presence of a paw there, any paw at all, made her vision go red.

Once more she bucked and thrashed, but the soldiers hammered her back down, raining punches and kicks onto the defiant wolverine until she was limp and shivering, eyes blazing.

"Stop it..." She grunted, struggling to keep her arms outstretched as the soldiers forced them inexorably over her head. She could feel others, the lion and the jackal, working together to slip her chainmail skirt over her head.

Again she snapped and resisted. The lion kicked her in the side and the wolverine curled away, whimpering, momentarily lost in a hazy world of white hot pain. With every punch or kick she took she could feel her body getting weaker, her ability to resist diminishing. And there were simply too many soldiers to meaningfully fight off. Any moment she tried to focus on stymying the efforts of one, another was working to inflict further harm on her.

"I can't overstate just how much I hate your Church," the lion said, settling next to the wolverine's head, "but I will admit that they provide one valuable service...without people like you, our work would be much less exciting."

Synne tried to bite him but the lion seemed to have been expecting that. He cracked her hard across the face, half of the wolverine's vision turning momentarily to white, then grabbed her by the muzzle, holding her mouth shut, nearly canceling her breathing altogether.

Synne seethed, furious tears boiling in the corners of her eyes as paws roamed over her, squeezing her breasts, feeling the hard, well worked muscles beneath her soft fur, sliding between her tight thighs.

The fox was the first to dart a paw between Synne's legs, fingers roving boldly over her virgin slit. The wolverine's pussy was sable, completely unused as per Church strictures. Only virgins could be ambassadors to the divine. Only virgins could receive missions worthy of the blessing of the sun.

"Stop!" Synne howled, but the word came out only a blurred shriek of outrage and humiliation. Tears began to cut through the fur on her face as she trembled, completely unable to resist the outrages she knew were coming.

Had she misinterpreted the demands of the divine? Had she failed?

Oh no...

Oh no...

She felt panic welling up within her, dark and inky, filling her lungs, demanding she scream and sob and plead, but she resisted it...barely. An agent of the divine was not to disgrace herself, even in the midst of the most terrible tortures.

She knew this.

The fox plunged a finger into her and Synne thrashed in place, crying out again. She was dry and the fox's intrusion hurt, her vision went blurry with tears, but more of outrage and fury and shame than any physical pain they were causing her.

If they did this then her link to the divine would be severed. She'd be just like anyone else. Knowing that, she felt almost as though her very soul were being ripped in two.

"Please..." She begged to the divine on high, eyes settling on the moon and the light glowing off of it, "please please...I'll never stray, I'll never disobey, I'll be forever faithful. Please..."

"She's so tight," the fox said, eyes bright with anticipation, "I can barely get my fingers in her."

"Who gets her first?" The mink asked, paw roving up and down Synne's inner thigh.

The jackal, looking slightly annoyed, turned his gaze pointedly to the lion.

"Sir?" He asked, weirdly polite, "would you care to do the honors?"

The lion, looking amused, shook his head.

"She took me by surprise," he said, "and I'm afraid I wasn't very useful back there. Someone who fought with more dignity should do it."

The soldiers looked at each other, quietly surprised, expressions turning quickly to gratefulness and glee as they considered. The fox added a second finger, working his digits deeper into the squirming wolverine, ignoring her muffled cries of protest.

"Why thank you, sir." The jackal said before anyone else could outright state a claim.

The lion smirked and took hold of Synne's arm with his free paw, allowing the jackal to move between the wolverine's legs. She tried hard to close them, but it was impossible, even with her strength. The fox slowly, reluctantly dragged his fingers free of her virgin pussy.

The air of formality, like this was a legitimate exercise of warfare, was beginning to crack. Synne could feel the energy of the men around her growing more frenetic. Pants were being shed and she could see, to her horror, hard lengths exposed to the air.

The jackal ran his paws along the backs of Synne's thighs, until he was squeezing her rear, digging his claws deliberately into her flesh as he hoisted her hindquarters a few inches into the air, a vengeful look entering his eyes.

She'd collapsed a building on top of him, and so she would pay.

The jackal's knotted length was jet black and thick, throbbing, a bead of milky pre already forming at its pointed tip. Synne whimpered as he positioned it between her legs, the tip brushing her folds. It was the first time she'd ever seen a canine cock, in fact this whole terrible experience was the first time she'd seen male genitals of any kind, and it scared her badly.

He was going to put that inside of her?

Then the jackal was sliding forward.

He did so slowly, with cruel deliberateness, eyes locked on her face. Synne writhed in place, screaming into the lion's paw, trying to pull free once more but failing miserably. She was simply too hurt and beaten to manage anything that would even challenge the soldiers.

The jackal's length was hot, almost scalding, and it filled her completely, white hot stabs of pain progressing deeper and deeper inside of her as the jackal pushed his hips forward, until his knot was pressed firmly at the entrance to her stretched hole.

The whole process took maybe three seconds but to Synne it felt like an endlessly duplicating eternity, the horror of her violation refracting in her mind.

Panting already, the jackal leaned over her, spreading the wolverine's legs even further, and began to pump his hips, accelerating as he pounded into her, knot grinding viciously against the lips to Synne's pussy, inspiring snarls from the wolverine with each thrust.

But though it was the most present, the jackal's depredations weren't the only ones taking place. Synne shut her eyes but nothing could erase the sensation of the mink and wolf squeezing her soft furred breasts and pinching her nipples.

So this was it. She was no longer an agent of the divine...

The realization was so stunning, so brutally crushing, that for along moment Synne simply froze up, unsure how to react, frightened beyond words, furious and resentful and ashamed. This shouldn't have happened. This couldn't be happening to a member of the Church. How had a bunch of degenerate heathens gotten the best of her?

The wolverine choked out a ragged sob into the lion's paw, then the jackal was grunting, knot pulsing as he blew his load, sticky ropes of canine seed splashing into Synne's virgin womb.

He pulled out, satisfied, one last spray of cum landing on the lips of Synne's freshly fucked pussy, marking them with alabaster pearls of cum.

Synne tried to pull her legs shut but the wolf was on top of her, forcing his cock into her hole, inspiring a muffled cry from the wolverine. She squeezed her eyes shut and trembled.

From there things seemed to come and go in flashes, lucid, hyper-real moments surrounded by fog, her mind trying desperately to protect her from the trauma of her current moment.

At some point the soldiers got bored of humping her in the dirt and moved her to the ruins of the stable, where a pretty decent platform was constructed. She tried to run but the wolf tackled her and the fox kicked her until she gave up.

When they shoved her onto the platform, she tried to snap weakly at the men holding her arms but only managed to cry out as the fox shoved into her, gripping at her hips and jackhammering into her cum streaked hole as the mink straddled her and slid his throbbing length between her breasts, pumping away with happy abandon.

When the fox came he did so with a cry, warmth blooming inside of her, joining the other loads that had been shot into her abused hole. She opened her mouth to cry out, to tell them to stop, anything to bring the nightmare to an end, but was only met with a hot spurt of mink cum that splashed the underside of her muzzle and coated her lips.

There was some discussion made as to whether or not they could risk fucking her mouth, but the continual weak snarls Synne offered were just enough to convince them not to.

A small consolation, given that her other holes were all but defenseless. The fox, slicking his fingers with saliva, slid them determinedly into the wolverine's tight pucker, ignoring Synne's attempts to flatten her tail down over her vulnerable hole, entranced by the silky, almost unbearable tightness he could feel within.

The lion was the first to claim her tail-hole, and he did so with Synne face down on the platform, his barbed feline cock spreading her open, midnight hued pucker stretched around his not insubstantial length.

The wolverine mewled with pain, claws scoring the wood of the platform, eyes hot and swollen with tears, body utterly exhausted. She longed to scream and thrash and kick, to call down the fury of the divine upon her rapists, but she lacked the capacity to so much as form a single word. Her mind was fizzed with pain and fatigue and humiliated shame, sensory overload in process.

Thrusting his hips, the lion pressed Synne down flat, pushing into her as deep as he could go. She could feel his balls slapping against the cum sodden fur around her slit and shut her eyes once more, lip still curled, a weak growl bubbling up from deepen her chest.

The lion came with a roar, marking his claim of the woman who'd savaged his unit with a thick blast of feline cum that drooled out from around his barbed length.

He withdrew and stepped back, leaving the wolverine entirely untouched for a moment.

Synne, registering this, tried to sit up and make some attempt at escape, but only managed to curl into a ball and whimper, arms wound protectively around herself.

Slowly, the soldiers approached, fondling Synne's beaten body, growing increasingly bold as the wolverine didn't fight back. The most resistance she offered was attempts at pulling away, which were solved by slaps and kicks.

Sensations only seemed to come at a distance, Synne's eyes firmly shut, the abuses wrought on her filtering in through a haze of shock and pain that only seemed to be growing thicker as time went on. She was crashing, she realized, her body unable to process any more of the torment she was enduring.

A part of her felt scared by this, the rest felt nothing at all.

Satisfied that the resistance had been beaten out of the wolverine, the fox claimed her tail-hole, pulling Synne into his lap after a moment, gravity sinking his knot into the defiled wolverine, her hole stretching to accept him, enveloping his length in silky, scalding tightness.

The soldiers took turns with the defenseless wolverine for some time, experimenting with different positions and marking her with spurts of cum, dappling her brown and black fur with streaks and splotches of white.

After a while they even decided it was safe to use her mouth. The mink pumped into Synne's throat, gasping and clutching her ears before shooting a load that overflowed her mouth, balls tightening against her chin. The soldiers did this in turn, claiming each of her holes at their leisure, leaving the wolverine limp and despondent.

Synne lay still, eyes shut, and trembled, the world growing more and more distant with each passing moment.

When this would end she did not know, but something told her that even after the soldiers grew tired and concluded their seemingly endless session, this wouldn't be the end of her troubles.