FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Omnipocalypse

Reign of Rats: Wedding Party

Bride's Maids

By Von Krieger

I lay back in my bed, snuggled up to my lovely new pet, the both of us absolutely covered in one another's sexy fluids. The Bride had curled herself around me, letting her darling little Zerg parasites lick the both of us clean.

She didn't have any degree of control over what the Great System assigned her, lacking even my own partially powered Player status, but as a unit under my command I would be able to make decisions on her behalf and shape the way her body and powers developed. Well, even more so than I already had. After all, I had made her a bit bigger, given her multiple breasts, and allowed her to indulge her oral fixation as well as make most sex acts classed as "kissing" in her mind, since I'd added lips to her nipples and to her sheath.

Through their Player status, Angel and Emma of Errorat Brood and Mei-Ling of Ling's Lings had unlocked something that allowed for the splicing of Daughters of Fellstar units with units from the Starcraft and Command and Conquer video game serieses, mostly things that were Zerg related due to Angel's insectoid patron. But for some reason they had bits from the other two Starcraft factions added in.

The Bride was classed as an Elite Maratder, a rat-based pun on the Marauder unit, which was a heavily armored Terran infantry unit armed with twin grenade launchers. The baseline unit mixed up the Marauder with the Zerg Roach and the Protoss Adept, all of them ground-based range infantry. But as an Elite, the Bride somehow was spliced with Zerg Hydralisk and Protoss Stalker. Both were similar units to the originals, but the Stalker acquired a little bit more fragility in exchange for significant anti-armor capabilities while the Hydralisk had more rapid-fire shots and were a bit more versatile.

As a Broodmother of Fellstar she was essentially a walking barracks for our faction and would also act as a respawn point for anyone who coupled with her and was defeated in battle, or had taken a tumble down the stairs, or eaten something they really shouldn't have, or had a lab experiment go kablooey, or didn't want to walk all the way back to base and didn't mind losing whatever they had on them and undergoing a gooey rebirth. Look, attaching yourself to the Great System skews your race's priorities over time, okay?

But alas, we didn't have access to any units. Our faction hadn't been prepared for an immediate zone integration, so if I wanted Ratling reinforcements, I was going to have to make my own. Except that in order to do so I would need resources.

While sticking your tab in a slot and spurting some baby batter to mix up a new unit was still part of the process, it was greatly accelerated in Broodmothers. Like Zerg units, the Bride's Brood would be fully formed and fully capable of combat. Well, as capable as humanoid rats without much in the way of common sense and a fondness for mad science, madder biology, and outright pissed sorcery could be, anyway. We were as much of a danger to ourselves as to an opposing force.

Rather than minerals and gas, I just needed to acquire significant amounts of foodstuffs in order for my pet Broodmother to have the raw materials with which to birth our lovely little lords, ladies, lairds, and lordies. Or I would need to capture some food-related real estate and claim it in the name of France… err… the Daughters of Fellstar.

Lord Meatgristle and Lady Fellstar had gifted me with a few small tokens of their power for beginning to spread their power through a sector that they didn't control. Ratling fluids were chock full of corruptive Vyl power, and would twist and warp the environment in high enough amounts and concentrations. The corruption was referred to as the Fylth, and it generally took the form of degradation and urban blight.

Stuff like litter on the floor, graffiti on the walls, mysterious stains and smells, puddles of stagnant water (and other fluids), and the sort of wear and tear you'd expect to see over the span of decades. The thing was while Ratling-controlled territory generally looked like crap, it was kind of stuck there. Anything that would make the place worse and less functional would find itself quickly undone. There might be wrappers and cans and boxes all over, but there would be no rotting garbage, no pesky bugs, and any rodents would be quickly scooped up and added to the team. A bedroom may look like the worst sort of pay by the hour dive, but it would stay that way even in the midst of an earthquake or a hurricane.

Thus in order to expand my brood I would have to play an IRL RTS, OMG WTF LOL.

Or I could, you know, cheat.

Everything touched by the Zerg, and thus anything in the three "early release" Fellstar Broods, got a free "Swarm Attack" mutation from the Great System. The only limit to how this attack was defined was one's imagination and a cap on power. No /me covers the world in corruptive slime godmodding or Final Fantasy endboss blowing up all the planets in reverse order.

I'd already been able to define my own power, summoning a biokinetic ball of energy to alter and warp anything I hit it with (which would add a bit of chaos to the change, since the corruptive energies had a bit of time to corrupt themselves into adding something I hadn't intended), or channelling it into a melee attack to have greater control.

And as the quasi-Player and leader of the Bride's Brood (even if I wasn't the namesake, since my dear Bride would be doing all the hard work of birthing our Brood's beautiful, horrible babies) I got to make the decisions for the Great System.

Now, my dear Bride had unfortunately torn her wedding dress to tatters during her transformation. Little but scraps remained aside from her bridal veil, so the least I could do was to give her a replacement so she'd look positively radiant. A Zerg bug-themed wedding dress replacement, but a replacement nonetheless.

Start with nature's own little insectoid brides, the lacewings, mix in a bit of Mutalisk glaive wurm parasite for bounces and range, splice in a viral analog of my own biomancy, add in a connection to the currently rather empty Brood hivemind, toss in a few horns, spikes, spines, and flesh-recreations of pretty flowers and boom! My lovely Bride had a lovely living dress that she could also use to attack, tossing her cute little bouquets of love and transformation to speedrun the whole enemies to lovers process.

I dubbed the darling little cuties Flowergirls.

It was then that crystal ball on the ceiling of my car-turned-cart flickered to life and began to play a television broadcast. Hmm, I suppose this thing was a more fantasy-themed version of my car's computerized console mixed with the entertainment system. It was also apparently stealing cable.

Oh Great System, how I adore you.

-o-

Huh. Looks like Megalopolis's Business Mines… er… Business District was having a far more spectacular apocalypse than the zone I'd been driving through got. The newly dubbed "Manrattan" had something go fucky-wucky in its initialization into the Great System, with the vast majority of folks getting shunted into forced respawn, mostly turning into various flavors of rat-thing, while two ended up as players, one accidentally de-playered themselves and got bonded to another player as a mere mount, and a handful got snatched up by Random Overpowered Bastards who wanted to chuck people into their portal fantasy isekai bullshit ASAP. And then of course there was me, who had the good fortune of driving through the area and in the brief moments that the zone was initializing, just so happened to be exiting it.

A giant techno-pyramid, a bunch of smaller techno-pyramids, and several robo-sphinxes had emerged from the sea and were floating towards the icky black heart of the Business Mines, no not the Megalopolis Stock Exchange, no, not the Chitter building (Home of the Elongated Muskrat), but the Huge Medical Obstruction headquarters.

The broadcast was interrupted by static and then hijacked to display a close up of a cybernetic skeleton guy that was whatever slang term replaced "blinged up" in undead cyberpunk Egypt. Dude was covered in gold and lapis lazuli (or some other blue thing meant to represent it), and also lots and lots of blinkenlichten.

"Sup fuckers? Sea Pharoah here bringing you my latest conquest live: your world! Or the parts of it I bought with the gold coins I found in my break room sofa. I swear, the damned thing is hiding a bunch of creepy little hands that worm their way into your pockets when you're not paying attention. Like raccoons."

The Sea Pharoah stroked his braided cyber-beard, "Shit, do I have raccoons living in my break room couch? I think I might have raccoons living in my break room couch. Mumbles! MUMBLES!"

The camera tilted to show a much less gaudily plated robot skeleton man in a butler-like stance. I was pretty sure that the camera was actually some kind of cyber-Egypt cell phone. Poor Business Mines, invaded by an evil robo-necromantic social media influencer.

Meh. Definitely a lesser evil than what we already had.

Though I probably ought to get my home out of the line of fire if those flying pyramids and man-faced cats had lasers or something. A moment of thought to my dear Bride (who was frolicking in the park playing with a few of her Flowergirls) had her returning to my cart, having the little insectoid cuties hook her up, and started towing me to the nearest gas station with an attached auto repair department.

It was the end of the world, after all, and this guy would probably make everybody give up their cars for like… robo-chariots or something. Probably turn random passerby into skeletal robo-ponygirls or something and have them permanently conjoined side by side and also attached to the chariot.

Oooh, that might be a fun form to inflict on somebody at some point. Would just have to find a cute couple, or a pair of siblings, or a horse and rider that'd be thematically appropriate for the task. Mmm, hot, thick rat-horse dick.

No, no.

No time to rub one out and think about lewd biological horrors to inflict and induct into my eventual brood. I had to pay attention to my rival for control of the Business Mines, my opposing apocalypse.

Well… maybe I could let my cock get off on its own. She was her own organism, after all! She's the sweetest little baby eldritch horror that I crafted out of my living tome of fleshcrafting. I didn't want to accidentally leave that behind somewhere for somebody unsuspecting to get a hold of. After all, it was my job to warp humans into twisted rodentine abominations in a quasi-insectoid bug alien hive mind from a video game made real. I wasn't going to let some random desperate human steal my homework. If they wanted to do that they could be turned into a rat-dog and eat my homework like everybody else. And by homework, I mean my dick.

She hissed cutely and opened her maw, curling her big long tongue around my wrist and bringing my fingers into her mouth. In corrupted Manrattan, dick sucks you.

While I'd been pondering and directing the Bride to our destination, the biggest techno-pyramid had landed on top of the HMO Building and the Sea Pharoah, his butler, and a squad of generic robo-goons with skeletal animal heads were invading the building. They zapped people with lasers from weird polearm weapons that were half spear, half energy rifle, and half taser. Yes, that's more than one whole, but c'mon, this Sea Pharoah dude is so extra that of course he'd cram a bajillion functions into his flunkies' weapons. I bet one even was capable of generating a calming breeze, like some kind of technological equivalent of one of those girlies who stood next to the ancient emperor and fanned him or something. Or was there to make the Sea Pharoah's cape billow dramatically while indoors. Because of course that guy had a cape.

The robo-invaders stormed into some terrified-looking guy's office and the regal cyberskeleton sat down politely in the chair in front of the guy's desk.

"Hi, I'm here for the position?"

The guy blinked a few times before responding, "The position?"

The invader brought out an actual newspaper (who even reads those these days?) and shook it.

"Says in here that you recently had your previous Sea Pharoah arrested and haven't replaced him yet. I'm a Sea Pharoah. Your days of lacking royal aquatic oversight are at an end, my friend!"

The skeleton's default grin somehow got even wider and more smug.

"Ah… you see, we're missing our Chief Financial Officer, our CFO, not our Sea Pharoah."

Dead silence.

"Oh man, this has all been one big misunderstanding! I'm so sorry about all this, boy is my face red."

The Sea Pharoah gestured to his gold, chrome, and gem-studded face.

"Well, I don't have blood so it's not actually red. But you know what I mean. Mumbles! MUMBLES!"

The camera (a proper camera, or maybe the eyes of one of his Egyptian god-inspired furry-lite animal headed guards) zoomed back slightly to reveal the technozombie butler, causing both the desk guy and technozombie prime to startle.

"Fuck, Mumbles. Don't do that. Spontaneously appear just outside of my vision like a proper butler. Anyway, you need to work on your fucking diction when you read my morning paper to me! This guy isn't looking for a Sea Pharoah, he's looking for a CFO you grumbling numpty!"

Mumbles mumbled something.

"I don't think I care for your tone. Look, I don't care if my cyber-concubines were polishing my techno-penis at the time and I might have been a little distracted. This is totally your fault. I got all dressed up for a job interview, and there isn't even a position open for a Sea Pharoah!"

More mumbles from Mumbles.

"Ha ha, I just can't stay mad at you, Mumbles. Can you get me my straw? Social awkwardness always makes me hungry."

The Sea Pharoah turned towards the corporate boss guy and held out a hand.

"So sorry about all this. Underlings, can live with 'em can't live without 'em, can't kill 'em, resurrect 'em, and kill 'em again in an endless cycle of pain and torment. Oh, wait. Yes, I can."

The guy reluctantly shook hands and the Sea Pharoah reached off camera to grab a metal staw that was just as technological and blinged out as the rest of him.

"Thanks, Mumbles. Anyway, since there's not a position open, I suppose I've just got to make one."

And with that and a flash of horrible green light the Sea Pharaoh plunged the tip of the straw into the business guy's forehead, leaned forward, and began to suck out a roiling green vapor.

"Woo! This guy's positively marinated in sin. There's going to be good eatin' around here, I tell you what." said the Sea Pharoah, lifting the deposed CEO's rapidly shriveling body over the desk and stepping around to plop himself behind it.

"Ooh, that's rich." said the Sea Pharoah with a digital burp.

-o-

A few minutes later we'd pulled into Ric-ee's, a gas station chain that was a cult favorite in Megalopolis (and elsewhere), which may or may not actually involve an ancient, rabbit-worshipping fertility cult according to urban legend. Well, if the legend wasn't true, it sure as heck would be pretty soon as I wanted to make sure that my hidey hole turned home base stayed under wraps. And that, of course, meant bringing all the employees and customers into my loving embrace. So of course I set my dear Bride and her Flowergirls on the auto repair workers. They needed enrichment, after all.

And seeing the Sea Pharoah eating a dude's soul on not-quite-TV had reminded me that I'd used up a lot of energy transforming myself and enhancing my beloved Bride. Thankfully the auto workers had been kind enough to leave their lunches in their lockers for me to take. It wasn't like they'd need them anymore. After all, I was pretty sure that their bellies would quickly be filled with Ratyena sperm in a few minutes.

I needed a nice, out of the way place where I wouldn't be noticed to consume my ill-gotten gains, so it being a Ric-ee's, of course I headed for the cleanest part of the place. After all, they were the reigning and defending Megalopolis' Best Bathrooms winner five years running!

And lucky me, the auto shop had a door that opened right into the main men's room. I may not have been assigned mouse at birth, but my gender presentation as a ravishing rat didn't really matter. The choice was mostly because my dear cockbeast was grooming herself with her tongue and fit to burst. And when that happened I'd start corrupting the environment, covering it in Fylth.

The Vyl energies would taint and corrupt anything non-living, transforming it into a worn down trashy paradise that wouldn't degrade any further and the dark and sinister force would empower us ratlings into greater performance and make the stuff around us effectively indestructible. It was like a spiritual version of things getting worn out and used until they fit or worked better that also prevented any further decay.

I plopped myself down in one of the stalls (not the handicapped one, I may be a horrible corruptive force causing the end of the world as somebody knows it, but I'm not inconsiderate, but I did take the one next to the urinals, 'cause I'm also evil) and began stuffing stolen sandwiches into my greedy maw. My codex-cock also apparently enjoyed my meals, and let loose with a few splattering loads. Dammit, one orgasm only served to prime the pump as it were, and now I was properly horny.

I pondered how to slake my slattern lusts as I continued my larcenous lunch, finding amusement in the squeaky clean tiles beginning to chip and yellow around where my cum splattered. The paint peeled off of the stall walls, revealing rust and all kinds of obscene graffiti. Oooh! There was even a goodly sized glory hole!

Hmm, I had restored my reserves and had a bit of extra biomass to work with. So while I waited for my creep-analog to start claiming territory, I formed myself three itty bitty Flowergirls of my own. I didn't want to be unarmed, after all, and the cute little living weapons also made for wonderful fashion accessories. I made one pink, one blue, and one white after my own hair colors and the lovely little ladies went to work grooming my magnificent multihued mane.

Oh hey! It looks like my case of the hornybugs will soon be solved, as a cheerful, whistling employee entered my rapidly-degenerating abode with the intention of inspection and cleaning if needed. I was going to have him polish my horn and then cover him with bugs.

Or perhaps not as the cheerful whistling approached me and he rudely occupied the urinal right next to me. Breaking the man code, sir, breaking the man code! Well, no matter, since he was going to be less of a man in both senses of the term in a minute.

I stuck my cock through the fortuitously provided hole and poked him in the side before he began his business. I, of course, solved his issue for him by transmuting his full bladder into something else, and immediately set on adjusting the most offensive parts of the man-thing. That being the woefully undersized package and the lack of a curvaceous figure, of course.

He spun to the side, cock already erect against his will.

"The heck?" he muttered, looking down to find himself eye to eyespot with my sweet codex-cock. She shot her tongue out and turned on the sticky setting I'd stolen from some Zerg strain developed from frogs (Infestors had the sticky tendril thing, right? Hmm, maybe make some frog-rat-festers in the future, gotta workshop the name, though).

My soon to be plaything let out a rather unmanly shriek (which I had nothing to do with, I hadn't gotten to any changes above the waist yet, okay, maybe I'd made his nipples a bit more sensitive and started plumping up his lips, but I hadn't touched anything else) and he began to instinctively thrust against my hunger member.

Oooh, that hit the spot! Virginity lost, mission accomplished! Well, kind of. This was my first time being the one getting the penetrating, after all. For my dear sweet Bride was much, much larger than me in pretty much all areas. Cock included. So of course our previous coupling had been my dick in hers, the start of our brood wriggling deep into her womb, just awaiting the biomass needed to blossom into crystalline eggs that would hatch into our horrible little ratling babies. Well, full-sized babies, since they skipped over the smol and useless stage thanks to the Great System.

"I wanna see you down on your knees, worshipping my cock with your mouth." I purred. Now that I'd been properly penetrated, I was actually craving something nice, warm, and wet to stick my shaft into.

Alas, my codex-cock decided to take a moment to lick her lips, and with the sticky suction no longer applied my dear deflowerer fled into the night. Well, mid evening.

I certainly wasn't going to run with my raging erection slapping my belly and my balls bouncing against my thighs. Not without some alteration on how example sensation worked down there. Note to self: develop the whole "get off from running" thing for the conjoined chariot-pulling ratquines.

I slipped back into the auto shop, heading for the stock room where I could stuff my snout, caress my cock, and put the biomass to work making a few more flowergirl minions for me to send out to impersonally induct new recruits into my evil empire. Or get a head start on gathering the resources I needed to actually claim this place as mine with some structures once the customers and crew were copiously corrupted.

I passed by a TV in the auto shop, where the Sea Pharoah was still slurping on his soul-sucking straw.

"Nope, put the doggy bag away, Mumbles. I started this meal, and I'm going to finish it. If you take it, you gotta eat it. If I don't do it now, the soul's going to be all congealed and chewy later."

Okay, maybe I had a less than evil empire.

-o-

I was actually fine with letting the poor, scared, highly aroused (scaroused?) soon to be ex-man-thing scamper off (the lack of solving my arousal issues aside). With not one, not two, but three of my cute little Flowergirls embedded in his noggin even if my biomancy could be purged, his transformation into a cute, sexy minion was inevitable.

As one would expect with the Zerg unit list, my first mass of minions was going to be Zerglings, of course. I needed as many minions as I could get, and the Swarmlings would effectively allow me to get three for the price of one. Zerg Supply and Ratling Supply didn't exactly match up, but I had twisted and tweaked the way things happened in order to adapt the Zerg evolution towards my own purposes. And made it sexy, of course.

The Flowergirls had begun to worm their way into my dear pet's mind, allowing me to get a good idea of what he was doing as well as what he was experiencing. With my internal radar, I knew exactly where all the man-things were, using my exquisitely sneaky-stealth to creep into the stock room.

As the place had yet to be claimed by any System-recognized faction, me placing down a structure of my own would claim it on behalf of the Daughters of Fellstar. There was a nice open space between a bunch of pallets that somebody had set up a cozy little hidey-hole in with a few blankets and a pillow spread out on bags of rice, a camp chair, and a little TV with a set of headphones.

"Oh me, I think if I wasn't already dead, I might die." said the Sea Pharoah on the little TV, all his little blinky lights tinted a nauseating shade of green as he went back to sucking, "If this guy is an example for just how sinful this world's population is, boy, am I going to have a fun time."

A rather wet digital burp, "Seriously, how much evil can you fit into one dude?"

I plopped myself down in the chair, used a claw to cut open a bag of rice and start shoveling grains into my cute little rat-snout. I'd need significant amounts of energy and biomass to create a Hatchery and a Spawning Pool, and while assimilating the foodstuffs into the structures themselves would work for most of it, I still had to make the templates myself, as well as provide the spark in my spunk to start the transformation process.

I was going to be here awhile, so I closed my eyes and left my body on autopilot so I could fully experience my dear minion's corruption of his co-workers.

Ah! His name was Ole. Well, that wouldn't do. I wasn't making more Matriarches, but my Zergling analogs would have a similar ability to replace a larvae somehow becoming three creatures. That sort of thing was for kobolds and trenchcoats rather than us Ratlings, and there were in fact some of the little lizardmen in the core sectors, so I didn't want to stomp on their cute little lizardy toes.

No, no. Rather than split one soul over three bodies (I'm a biomancer not a necromancer, futzing with the soul is not my department) I simply coded each of my minions to self-impregnate and rapidly spawn a near-clone. Of course in order to do this I needed each Brideling to have fully functional lady parts, and if I was doing that anyway, why not give out the full MILF package?

I'd made my Flowergirls with each one having a portion of my hair color, one pink, one blue, one white. Blue had dug in the deepest and spent her energy ensnaring Ole into the hive mind, leaving White and Pink to dominate Ole's newly enhanced head of hair. Hmm, white and pink flowers?

Welcome to the Rat Race, Oleander!

The poor dear hadn't been fully inducted into the system yet, so his clothes were still static, unadjustable things. That meant his deliciously boosted cock and balls weren't able to fit back into his pants, and he had been a bit preoccupied with running in order to preserve his oral virginity to tuck himself back into his boxers. Not that it would've helped anyway.

His junk was already that of a full-on Ratyena and he had the libido to match. Running away from a scary female-presenting packmate was a completely normal Ratyena thing to do, and you were probably going to get chased down and boinked anyway, so you might as well enjoy it. So the run-from-the-dominant-yeen-girl-arousal-reflex was in full swing, and thus so was his cock, splattering bits of precum everywhere and spreading the Fylth over the store to help accelerate the Bride Brood's claim on it.

Ole burst into the break room, where he knew that other people would be. There he was, out of breath, panting, his thick, dripping girlcock on display. Shame for the soon to be Oleander that I'd already sent out lovely little Flowergirls to mark my new minions and get them rapidly inducted into my ranks.

"Dude, put that thing away." said Belma, unimpressed with Ole's oozing appendage.

"Th-there's some kind of monster in the bathroom!" Ole panted.

"Th-there's some kind of monster hanging out for everybody to see right here," Belma replied, "You're lucky it's me in here, otherwise you'd be chained up in an office watching a series of videos on sexual harassment from the goddamned cartoon rabbit. The series is called 'Preventing Sexual Hare-assment in the Workplace' and it's as full of stupid rabbit puns as everything else."

"No, there's a rat monster in the bathroom and she covered in in graffiti and cut a glory hole in one of the stalls and stuck her dick through and it was some kind of snake frog monster and it shot out a sticky tongue at my junk and it sucked my dick and she was gonna stuff it in my mouth, but I got away!"

Belma patted the couch next to her, "There, there. I'm sorry you think that happened to you. But you need to calm your tits."

"But there was a monster!"

"No, I mean you literally need to calm your tits. You're leaking all over yourself."

Ole looked down to find that his work shirt now sported a pair of dark, damp spots on his chest, just the buds of simple breasts for now rather than the massive mommy milkers that he'd eventually be sporting.

The slightly less human, slightly less male stared blankly.

"But I'm a guy, I don't have tits!"

Belma sighed, "You're a guy and you DIDN'T have tits. But you knew you were going to get 'em eventually."

This left Ole even more baffled, "Huh?"

"Even if you didn't have tits, dude, you were gonna get 'em at some point in the course of your condition."

The modified Zerg ability (as well as a liberal amount of my own seed biomanticly manipulated into the proper areas of his anatomy) kicked in and Ole's belly and ballsack started to swell at a dramatically appropriate time. Along with his hips and butt. No way was I going to have my maternity-themed minions walking around looking like anorexic models. Nuh-uh. Super thicc hourglass figures for everybody.

"But I'm a guy, I can't get pregnant!" Ole protested.

"Dude, you live in Megalopolis, weirdness capital of the world. It's probably weirder that you're ignorant of all the ways guys can get pregnant. And you're definitely pregnant."

Belma pulled up her coworker's shirt and ran her hand over Ole's rounded and slowly expanding tummy.

"Seriously. Calm your tits. I'm pretty sure we've got breast pumps. Get your shit drained and change into a new shirt."

"But… I can't! I don't… I have no idea what's going on!"

Belma sighed again, "Ok, fine. We're both off the clock and I'll help you just this once. But you owe me."

"But the monster…!"

"Fuck the monster," Belma paused and then chuckled, "Then again, I guess you already did. Now shut up and don't make this weird."

She yanked Ole's shirt up further, his bust now significant enough to keep it in place.

"Ya know, my mom split pretty much as soon as she popped me out. So I didn't have a mom to breast feed me." Belma explained as she traced her tongue over one of Ole's super sensitive, rapidly darkening nipples.

"So I guess you can be my Mom instead."

Ole moaned as Belma wrapped her lips around his nipple and began to drink. It was like that sensation was enough to make the floodgates of whatever was going on with him open. Well, that or being called "Mom," because for some reason that was really, really hot. The word sent a spike of pleasure through him and caused his cock to spurt a significant amount of translucent pre onto the coffee table.

The cheap wooden particle board rapidly gained nicks and cuts, words and lewd drawings carved into it. The magazines atop it had their pages crinkle and curl and then began to shift. Better Holes and Hovels promised 10 ways to spice up your lair with stolen couch cushions. Strife Magazine had a lovingly defaced statue of a rat-man with antlers who was chest-high to a cute angel whose head was out of the frame and offered an interview with the two major Ratling powers on Earth. Grime Magazine, meanwhile, celebrated three Rat-searchers who developed dozens of new improvised sex toys from common trash you could find in the Fylth.

Ole stared at the changes and didn't notice his own. The Great System was trying its best to preserve his clothes during the transition, but his body was changing faster than the System was adapting. His developing fat MILF ass and thighs were beginning to be too much for his poor jeans to contain and they started to rip.

I'd designed Oleander's new body from scratch and I was aware of exactly how it ought to develop, where, and how soon. So it was a complete shock to me when the boygirl basically exploded out of his pants as his legs suddenly transformed all at once.

Like… all of my carefully sculpted biological tweaks were still there. It was just that something else had been tossed into the mix of rat and hyena. Ole moaned and began to involuntarily and rapidly kick one leg up and down. His shoes were managing to hold up better than his pants did, but as his feet rapidly swelled in size at the end of his now digitigrade legs they eventually gave up the ghost when they were perhaps double the size they had been. What the heck? I mean big stompy pawbs were sexy and all, but these were fuzzy and not ratty at all!

Ole began to instinctively stroke Belma's ears as she suckled from him, and the touch accelerated her own transformation. Her horrible man-thing ears smoothed out and enlarged, except they weren't stopping! They were getting longer and longer!

Oh you fucking shit!

I glared at the rabbit logo on the bag of rice I was shoveling into my mouth. It isn't bad enough that you have to have these people here, working retail of all things, but when the end of the world arrives, multiple ends of the world simultaneously even, you're not going to let your greasy corporate grip on their minds, bodies, and souls go?

Yeah. The bunny-themed company that these poor folks worked for had stamped an indelible mark upon their souls and demanded that the poor corporate drones turned actual drones would forever bear the marks of their employment at a weird cult gas station chain, and that they would be at least in part forever be remade in the image of Ric-ee Rabbit. Looks like the rumors about the ancient bunny fertility cult were true.

Belma's cock was already spilling out of her khakis and she shredded them with a bunnyeen-rabbit clawed handpaw.

"Hmm, maybe you are my Mom after all?" she teased.

"I… I'm not!" Ole tried to protest.

"Look, we've got the same fat, drooly cock," Belma purred, rubbing their dicks together and making a gooey mess.

"We've got the same sexy buck teeth," Belma mashed her proto-muzzle against Ole's, their tongues intertwining. Ole's ears shot out to their full, three-foot length, adorned with the browns of cute yeen spots.

"We've got the same huge, leaky tits," Belma crawled into Ole's lap, her cock spewing jets of pre all over her rounded belly and milk-dripping breasts. Ole's boobs had long since equaled and surpassed Belma's in size, but somehow the girl was catching up.

"We've got the same gushing pussy," she lowered herself onto Ole's eager yeenis, causing Ole's hands to morph into big, thick paws and for spotted fur to rapidly shoot up his arms and legs.

"We've got the same gleaming white hair and we even style in the same way!" Belma pulled one of her braided pigtails over and matched it against the matching braided tail on the side of Ole's head that had the white hair.

"I mean, I don't have your big, sexy horns. But that's a corruptive mutation-blessing and not something genetic." Belma ran her tongue over one of the spiralling ram's horns that had pushed out of Ole's temples. Dearest Blue's transformative work having progressed to the point where she had fully added dear Oleander's brain to the hive mind and had started on growing the horns required for long-range telepathic transmission.

What sort of mother would you be if you didn't keep in touch with your spawn?

"I'm not… I'm not…" Ole continued to protest.

"And above all I share your fetish that incest is really, really fucking hot," Belma panted, bouncing up and down on her "mother's" member.

"Don't you want to knock up your own daughter? Don't you want to suck my dick? Don't you want me to fill you up with my own-daughter sisters while I pop the grandkids you fucked into me?"

In that moment Ole's transformation finished and the human male closed his eyes one last time and the Brideling matriarch opened them for the first time.

"Oh fuck yes, I'm… I'm your Mommy!" she admitted.

Belma cried out as her body shuddered and shifted, a pair of gazelle-like horns sprouting from her temples. The System said that her name meant "White Gazelle," and by golly I was going to give her the theming to match.

Belma's belly was already bloating with pregnancy even before Oleander climaxed. The fun thing with Zerg was that yeah, they didn't HAVE to do sexual reproduction, but if they did they could just snag some DNA from whatever and start the process with that rather than needing specialized gametes.

Quite quickly the two competing bellies forced the two apart, each of Belma's bounces moving her upward to where she began to thrust between Oleander's big, milky tits, and then finding her way into her mother's cute bunny-yeen-ratty muzzle.

They really were mother and daughter now. With a Ratling Brood, those bound to the same Broodmother were going to be at least siblings upon spawning or respawning. And with only one Broodmother and only one other Ratling in the Brood (me!) it was assured that until that changed every member of my faction was effectively going to be our children. Kind of.

The human bits remained the same, but they were spliced with some of my own Ratling essence, and some of my dear pet's Ratyena essence. Okay, the gods-damned rabbit was also throwing some seed into this supremely ookie cookie. But that made everyone I inducted into the Bride Brood about as genetically close as a grandchild.

And rather than tweaking Belma's biology to develop as her own lineage of Bunnyeen Ratbit, I had allowed her to assimilate Oleander's instead.

Why?

Because my lord and lady had blessed me with not one, but two abilities related to bedding and breeding my own kin. One to make the process easier (and remove the negatives on top of what the Great System would do) and the other to assure the loyalty of those in my bloodline to me the closer they were genetically.

So it was really in my best interest to make my minions as closely related to me, and thus to each other, as possible.

And on top of that we were all horrible little oversexed rat people that worshipped a literal demon (and also his hot, sexy fallen angel girlfriend), so having a couple ghastly perversions and degenerate fetishes was to be expected.

Oleander gleefully sucked off her daughter as she climaxed for the first time as a Brideling, the thick ropes of cum that splattered all over the break room becoming more and more translucent with each passing ejaculation, but not slowing in their amount nor intensity.

She was unable to voice what was going on, mouth crammed as it was full of her daughter's cock, but her massively oversized ballsack began to twitch and clench just as her heretofore undiscovered pussy added its own load of fluids to a stained, ripped, and tattered couch that was now no stranger to having hot, incestuous rat-sex taking place on top of it. Or the same rats giving birth on it.

A thick paw, chimerically formed from rabbit and hyena DNA upon a human framework, pushed free from Oleander's cock. I hadn't forgotten about the wonders of the hyena pseudopenis when I'd gifted my children this wonderful organ, since I couldn't exactly pass on my own (living codices of genetic manipulation were really fucking energy intensive to reproduce biologically, after all). And giving birth to two full-sized daughters and having them in the same womb might result in some issues.

Like them fucking one another in there, bloating up with their own daughters, and so on and so forth and nobody actually giving birth to anybody. Just eternal recursive incestuous pregnancy and swelling. Which, hey, was still really fucking hot, but not conducive to producing a small army of Zergling analogs.

Unfortunately I was limited by energy and biomass with the first generation, so I couldn't cram everything in that I wanted in the first generation. But using the Great System to spawn in my additional units, I could imprint what I wanted on the eggs and sperm and then have the daughters pass on their enhancements to their mothers.

Most of the humans had either been marked by a Flowergirl and were in the process of converting, or were well away from my current location. So as my first proper "child" pushed herself out of her mother's urethra, I allowed myself to indulge.

I threw my head back and screamed in blissful climax at the secondhand sensation of giving birth I got from Oleander as well as the blissful tingling of our daughter's fluid-mattered fur as she felt the air for the first time.

True Bridelings had a lot more in common with the Bride in their body layout than they did with me. I didn't make them fully feral, but they were capable of quadrupedal motion and their upper limbs were far more like forepaws than proper human hands. That didn't really affect manual dexterity, as we Ratlings were gifted with greatness in that area, even if we had nothing but fat, fumbly, sexy, oversized paws.

But I didn't want my kiddos to have those big fuck-off stabby limbs coming from their backs that the Zerglings had. Nah. Those were no fun. They were all business, made for war and stabbing and stuff. So instead I'd relocated the third set of limbs to give my Bunnyeen Ratbits two matching sets of great big bappy pawbs, and then another smaller, more normal sized set of arms with more human proportions.

Okay, okay, it also equalized the number of arms with the number of breasts they had. I'd specifically given them four, in between the two I had and the six sported by my lovely not so little pet. With the big bellies, I thought that six would be a waste since they'd be pushed to the side and potentially drained by the wriggling around of a fully sized clone-daughter.

The blue-haired chimera's hunched over posture took a bit from the Gnolls of fantasy fiction. Well, what used to be fantasy fiction. They were now just as real as anything else now that the Great System had blessed us.

She peeled her elder sister away from their mother, deeply kissing Belma before sliding the former human's smaller member into her own. The new minion I'd dubbed "Bluebell" all but shoved her sister's head into a similarly sized nipple, "Big sis has to drink up and grow big and strong!" she growled, "Gotta feed the baby I'm going to bust into her ballsack!"

Oleander was cum-drunk from her daughter's spunk and another daughter's emergence rolled her onto the floor. The pink-haired one I'd name "Rose" picked up her mother off the floor and impaled her onto her cock like a fleshlight.

"So many more sisters to make, gotta hit the cap before we can move out and take more territory!" Rose purred, "Gotta get Mommy good 'n pregnant again!"

My purchase of Zerglings allowed the Great System to gift me up to 80 points worth. Which was tripled due to them being classed as Swarmling Zerglings. They'd also been given an additional bonus, as those created by the System would be stronger than their mass-produced counterparts later on. With the Great System death was no longer an option, and in areas such as the one I was in, which was suffused deeply with all the Sin Energies, but particularly Lust, defeat and climax were treated similarly by the system.

In combat each defeated Brideling would release an effect that drove their kin into frenzy, granting them increased speed and durability. But in the bedroom? Each climax splattered the area with pheromone-rich fluids and corruptive Fylth. Each Brideling's ability to give pleasure, their sexual stamina, and recovery time would improve with each additional gooey climax that splattered across their immediate vicinity. They'd make the breeding and birthing more and more frenzied and intense until they hit the cap of 240 family-fucking freaks. Or possibly beyond if I spawned more Overwhores.

Why, even now one of the few humans I hadn't managed to tag with a Flowergirl was approaching the break room. The detritus of crusty tissues, torn clothing scraps, discarded wrappers, and tied off condoms unsettled her a little bit. But with each passing breath more and more Fylth entered her lungs.

She passed a TV with a red-light flashing Sea Pharaoh.

"Mumbles, roll me back to my cybersarcophagus, I think I need a nap while I decrypt this dude's soul into a digital spirit. Throw his drained husk into the punishment pool and have it turned into something demeaning. Like a coat rack, or maybe a roboguard with a little yappy chihuahua head. Oh, no, no! I know! Just give him the standard package and then banish him to New Jersey. This suckhole planet has a New Jersey, right?"

An offscreen muttering.

"What? No, Mumbles, I'm evil, not heartless. Well, okay, maybe I am heartless since I don't have any organs. But I'm not going to send the guy to Hell."

A pause.

"What's Hell done to deserve this asshole?"

As she put a hand to the door she had the other upon a leaking breast. Her lips parted in a moan, revealing the enlarged incisors inherited from rat and rabbit alike. Unlike her predecessors, there was now enough Mana in the area to convert her clothing, so the generous bulge in her loins was quite comfortable and well supported, and her shoes perfectly fit her big, sexy paws even as they got bigger and bigger, as her claws poked out from the newly open toes.

"Hi Mom! Hi Sis, Sis, and Sis!" she said cheerfully, pulling off a top adorned with a security badge and tossing it aside.

"I'm off for lunch and I want to get a good meal out of Mom and knock up her nuts with a few new sisters before I go back on duty. There's these weird robot skeleton assholes causing problems down the street, and I want to have plenty of backup if they want to start their shit here. I mean they're welcome to drop in and use our glory holes. We're not Megalopolis' Lewdest Bathroom five years running for nothing. I'll suck off a robo-dong if they want to drop in. But if they want to like… 'Where is John Connor?' I'll crush their metal skulls under my fat, sexy paws."

Ooooh! It looks like my control over this location has been acknowledged by the Great System and all those within and now considered my minions! Mwahahahaha!

Let's see, a security guard with brilliant blue hair? She can be Officer Gentiana.

I wonder if I can get to her in time to knock her up before somebody else beats me to it.

What can I say? I'm a sucker for (and want to suck on) a girl in uniform.

Omnipocalypse

Reign of Rats: Wedding Party

Bride's Maids

By Von Krieger

I lay back in my bed, snuggled up to my lovely new pet, the both of us absolutely covered in one another's sexy fluids. The Bride had curled herself around me, letting her darling little Zerg parasites lick the both of us clean.

She didn't have any degree of control over what the Great System assigned her, lacking even my own partially powered Player status, but as a unit under my command I would be able to make decisions on her behalf and shape the way her body and powers developed. Well, even more so than I already had. After all, I had made her a bit bigger, given her multiple breasts, and allowed her to indulge her oral fixation as well as make most sex acts classed as "kissing" in her mind, since I'd added lips to her nipples and to her sheath.

Through their Player status, Angel and Emma of Errorat Brood and Mei-Ling of Ling's Lings had unlocked something that allowed for the splicing of Daughters of Fellstar units with units from the Starcraft and Command and Conquer video game serieses, mostly things that were Zerg related due to Angel's insectoid patron. But for some reason they had bits from the other two Starcraft factions added in.

The Bride was classed as an Elite Maratder, a rat-based pun on the Marauder unit, which was a heavily armored Terran infantry unit armed with twin grenade launchers. The baseline unit mixed up the Marauder with the Zerg Roach and the Protoss Adept, all of them ground-based range infantry. But as an Elite, the Bride somehow was spliced with Zerg Hydralisk and Protoss Stalker. Both were similar units to the originals, but the Stalker acquired a little bit more fragility in exchange for significant anti-armor capabilities while the Hydralisk had more rapid-fire shots and were a bit more versatile.

As a Broodmother of Fellstar she was essentially a walking barracks for our faction and would also act as a respawn point for anyone who coupled with her and was defeated in battle, or had taken a tumble down the stairs, or eaten something they really shouldn't have, or had a lab experiment go kablooey, or didn't want to walk all the way back to base and didn't mind losing whatever they had on them and undergoing a gooey rebirth. Look, attaching yourself to the Great System skews your race's priorities over time, okay?

But alas, we didn't have access to any units. Our faction hadn't been prepared for an immediate zone integration, so if I wanted Ratling reinforcements, I was going to have to make my own. Except that in order to do so I would need resources.

While sticking your tab in a slot and spurting some baby batter to mix up a new unit was still part of the process, it was greatly accelerated in Broodmothers. Like Zerg units, the Bride's Brood would be fully formed and fully capable of combat. Well, as capable as humanoid rats without much in the way of common sense and a fondness for mad science, madder biology, and outright pissed sorcery could be, anyway. We were as much of a danger to ourselves as to an opposing force.

Rather than minerals and gas, I just needed to acquire significant amounts of foodstuffs in order for my pet Broodmother to have the raw materials with which to birth our lovely little lords, ladies, lairds, and lordies. Or I would need to capture some food-related real estate and claim it in the name of France… err… the Daughters of Fellstar.

Lord Meatgristle and Lady Fellstar had gifted me with a few small tokens of their power for beginning to spread their power through a sector that they didn't control. Ratling fluids were chock full of corruptive Vyl power, and would twist and warp the environment in high enough amounts and concentrations. The corruption was referred to as the Fylth, and it generally took the form of degradation and urban blight.

Stuff like litter on the floor, graffiti on the walls, mysterious stains and smells, puddles of stagnant water (and other fluids), and the sort of wear and tear you'd expect to see over the span of decades. The thing was while Ratling-controlled territory generally looked like crap, it was kind of stuck there. Anything that would make the place worse and less functional would find itself quickly undone. There might be wrappers and cans and boxes all over, but there would be no rotting garbage, no pesky bugs, and any rodents would be quickly scooped up and added to the team. A bedroom may look like the worst sort of pay by the hour dive, but it would stay that way even in the midst of an earthquake or a hurricane.

Thus in order to expand my brood I would have to play an IRL RTS, OMG WTF LOL.

Or I could, you know, cheat.

Everything touched by the Zerg, and thus anything in the three "early release" Fellstar Broods, got a free "Swarm Attack" mutation from the Great System. The only limit to how this attack was defined was one's imagination and a cap on power. No /me covers the world in corruptive slime godmodding or Final Fantasy endboss blowing up all the planets in reverse order.

I'd already been able to define my own power, summoning a biokinetic ball of energy to alter and warp anything I hit it with (which would add a bit of chaos to the change, since the corruptive energies had a bit of time to corrupt themselves into adding something I hadn't intended), or channelling it into a melee attack to have greater control.

And as the quasi-Player and leader of the Bride's Brood (even if I wasn't the namesake, since my dear Bride would be doing all the hard work of birthing our Brood's beautiful, horrible babies) I got to make the decisions for the Great System.

Now, my dear Bride had unfortunately torn her wedding dress to tatters during her transformation. Little but scraps remained aside from her bridal veil, so the least I could do was to give her a replacement so she'd look positively radiant. A Zerg bug-themed wedding dress replacement, but a replacement nonetheless.

Start with nature's own little insectoid brides, the lacewings, mix in a bit of Mutalisk glaive wurm parasite for bounces and range, splice in a viral analog of my own biomancy, add in a connection to the currently rather empty Brood hivemind, toss in a few horns, spikes, spines, and flesh-recreations of pretty flowers and boom! My lovely Bride had a lovely living dress that she could also use to attack, tossing her cute little bouquets of love and transformation to speedrun the whole enemies to lovers process.

I dubbed the darling little cuties Flowergirls.

It was then that crystal ball on the ceiling of my car-turned-cart flickered to life and began to play a television broadcast. Hmm, I suppose this thing was a more fantasy-themed version of my car's computerized console mixed with the entertainment system. It was also apparently stealing cable.

Oh Great System, how I adore you.

-o-

Huh. Looks like Megalopolis's Business Mines… er… Business District was having a far more spectacular apocalypse than the zone I'd been driving through got. The newly dubbed "Manrattan" had something go fucky-wucky in its initialization into the Great System, with the vast majority of folks getting shunted into forced respawn, mostly turning into various flavors of rat-thing, while two ended up as players, one accidentally de-playered themselves and got bonded to another player as a mere mount, and a handful got snatched up by Random Overpowered Bastards who wanted to chuck people into their portal fantasy isekai bullshit ASAP. And then of course there was me, who had the good fortune of driving through the area and in the brief moments that the zone was initializing, just so happened to be exiting it.

A giant techno-pyramid, a bunch of smaller techno-pyramids, and several robo-sphinxes had emerged from the sea and were floating towards the icky black heart of the Business Mines, no not the Megalopolis Stock Exchange, no, not the Chitter building (Home of the Elongated Muskrat), but the Huge Medical Obstruction headquarters.

The broadcast was interrupted by static and then hijacked to display a close up of a cybernetic skeleton guy that was whatever slang term replaced "blinged up" in undead cyberpunk Egypt. Dude was covered in gold and lapis lazuli (or some other blue thing meant to represent it), and also lots and lots of blinkenlichten.

"Sup fuckers? Sea Pharoah here bringing you my latest conquest live: your world! Or the parts of it I bought with the gold coins I found in my break room sofa. I swear, the damned thing is hiding a bunch of creepy little hands that worm their way into your pockets when you're not paying attention. Like raccoons."

The Sea Pharoah stroked his braided cyber-beard, "Shit, do I have raccoons living in my break room couch? I think I might have raccoons living in my break room couch. Mumbles! MUMBLES!"

The camera tilted to show a much less gaudily plated robot skeleton man in a butler-like stance. I was pretty sure that the camera was actually some kind of cyber-Egypt cell phone. Poor Business Mines, invaded by an evil robo-necromantic social media influencer.

Meh. Definitely a lesser evil than what we already had.

Though I probably ought to get my home out of the line of fire if those flying pyramids and man-faced cats had lasers or something. A moment of thought to my dear Bride (who was frolicking in the park playing with a few of her Flowergirls) had her returning to my cart, having the little insectoid cuties hook her up, and started towing me to the nearest gas station with an attached auto repair department.

It was the end of the world, after all, and this guy would probably make everybody give up their cars for like… robo-chariots or something. Probably turn random passerby into skeletal robo-ponygirls or something and have them permanently conjoined side by side and also attached to the chariot.

Oooh, that might be a fun form to inflict on somebody at some point. Would just have to find a cute couple, or a pair of siblings, or a horse and rider that'd be thematically appropriate for the task. Mmm, hot, thick rat-horse dick.

No, no.

No time to rub one out and think about lewd biological horrors to inflict and induct into my eventual brood. I had to pay attention to my rival for control of the Business Mines, my opposing apocalypse.

Well… maybe I could let my cock get off on its own. She was her own organism, after all! She's the sweetest little baby eldritch horror that I crafted out of my living tome of fleshcrafting. I didn't want to accidentally leave that behind somewhere for somebody unsuspecting to get a hold of. After all, it was my job to warp humans into twisted rodentine abominations in a quasi-insectoid bug alien hive mind from a video game made real. I wasn't going to let some random desperate human steal my homework. If they wanted to do that they could be turned into a rat-dog and eat my homework like everybody else. And by homework, I mean my dick.

She hissed cutely and opened her maw, curling her big long tongue around my wrist and bringing my fingers into her mouth. In corrupted Manrattan, dick sucks you.

While I'd been pondering and directing the Bride to our destination, the biggest techno-pyramid had landed on top of the HMO Building and the Sea Pharoah, his butler, and a squad of generic robo-goons with skeletal animal heads were invading the building. They zapped people with lasers from weird polearm weapons that were half spear, half energy rifle, and half taser. Yes, that's more than one whole, but c'mon, this Sea Pharoah dude is so extra that of course he'd cram a bajillion functions into his flunkies' weapons. I bet one even was capable of generating a calming breeze, like some kind of technological equivalent of one of those girlies who stood next to the ancient emperor and fanned him or something. Or was there to make the Sea Pharoah's cape billow dramatically while indoors. Because of course that guy had a cape.

The robo-invaders stormed into some terrified-looking guy's office and the regal cyberskeleton sat down politely in the chair in front of the guy's desk.

"Hi, I'm here for the position?"

The guy blinked a few times before responding, "The position?"

The invader brought out an actual newspaper (who even reads those these days?) and shook it.

"Says in here that you recently had your previous Sea Pharoah arrested and haven't replaced him yet. I'm a Sea Pharoah. Your days of lacking royal aquatic oversight are at an end, my friend!"

The skeleton's default grin somehow got even wider and more smug.

"Ah… you see, we're missing our Chief Financial Officer, our CFO, not our Sea Pharoah."

Dead silence.

"Oh man, this has all been one big misunderstanding! I'm so sorry about all this, boy is my face red."

The Sea Pharoah gestured to his gold, chrome, and gem-studded face.

"Well, I don't have blood so it's not actually red. But you know what I mean. Mumbles! MUMBLES!"

The camera (a proper camera, or maybe the eyes of one of his Egyptian god-inspired furry-lite animal headed guards) zoomed back slightly to reveal the technozombie butler, causing both the desk guy and technozombie prime to startle.

"Fuck, Mumbles. Don't do that. Spontaneously appear just outside of my vision like a proper butler. Anyway, you need to work on your fucking diction when you read my morning paper to me! This guy isn't looking for a Sea Pharoah, he's looking for a CFO you grumbling numpty!"

Mumbles mumbled something.

"I don't think I care for your tone. Look, I don't care if my cyber-concubines were polishing my techno-penis at the time and I might have been a little distracted. This is totally your fault. I got all dressed up for a job interview, and there isn't even a position open for a Sea Pharoah!"

More mumbles from Mumbles.

"Ha ha, I just can't stay mad at you, Mumbles. Can you get me my straw? Social awkwardness always makes me hungry."

The Sea Pharoah turned towards the corporate boss guy and held out a hand.

"So sorry about all this. Underlings, can live with 'em can't live without 'em, can't kill 'em, resurrect 'em, and kill 'em again in an endless cycle of pain and torment. Oh, wait. Yes, I can."

The guy reluctantly shook hands and the Sea Pharoah reached off camera to grab a metal staw that was just as technological and blinged out as the rest of him.

"Thanks, Mumbles. Anyway, since there's not a position open, I suppose I've just got to make one."

And with that and a flash of horrible green light the Sea Pharaoh plunged the tip of the straw into the business guy's forehead, leaned forward, and began to suck out a roiling green vapor.

"Woo! This guy's positively marinated in sin. There's going to be good eatin' around here, I tell you what." said the Sea Pharoah, lifting the deposed CEO's rapidly shriveling body over the desk and stepping around to plop himself behind it.

"Ooh, that's rich." said the Sea Pharoah with a digital burp.

-o-

A few minutes later we'd pulled into Ric-ee's, a gas station chain that was a cult favorite in Megalopolis (and elsewhere), which may or may not actually involve an ancient, rabbit-worshipping fertility cult according to urban legend. Well, if the legend wasn't true, it sure as heck would be pretty soon as I wanted to make sure that my hidey hole turned home base stayed under wraps. And that, of course, meant bringing all the employees and customers into my loving embrace. So of course I set my dear Bride and her Flowergirls on the auto repair workers. They needed enrichment, after all.

And seeing the Sea Pharoah eating a dude's soul on not-quite-TV had reminded me that I'd used up a lot of energy transforming myself and enhancing my beloved Bride. Thankfully the auto workers had been kind enough to leave their lunches in their lockers for me to take. It wasn't like they'd need them anymore. After all, I was pretty sure that their bellies would quickly be filled with Ratyena sperm in a few minutes.

I needed a nice, out of the way place where I wouldn't be noticed to consume my ill-gotten gains, so it being a Ric-ee's, of course I headed for the cleanest part of the place. After all, they were the reigning and defending Megalopolis' Best Bathrooms winner five years running!

And lucky me, the auto shop had a door that opened right into the main men's room. I may not have been assigned mouse at birth, but my gender presentation as a ravishing rat didn't really matter. The choice was mostly because my dear cockbeast was grooming herself with her tongue and fit to burst. And when that happened I'd start corrupting the environment, covering it in Fylth.

The Vyl energies would taint and corrupt anything non-living, transforming it into a worn down trashy paradise that wouldn't degrade any further and the dark and sinister force would empower us ratlings into greater performance and make the stuff around us effectively indestructible. It was like a spiritual version of things getting worn out and used until they fit or worked better that also prevented any further decay.

I plopped myself down in one of the stalls (not the handicapped one, I may be a horrible corruptive force causing the end of the world as somebody knows it, but I'm not inconsiderate, but I did take the one next to the urinals, 'cause I'm also evil) and began stuffing stolen sandwiches into my greedy maw. My codex-cock also apparently enjoyed my meals, and let loose with a few splattering loads. Dammit, one orgasm only served to prime the pump as it were, and now I was properly horny.

I pondered how to slake my slattern lusts as I continued my larcenous lunch, finding amusement in the squeaky clean tiles beginning to chip and yellow around where my cum splattered. The paint peeled off of the stall walls, revealing rust and all kinds of obscene graffiti. Oooh! There was even a goodly sized glory hole!

Hmm, I had restored my reserves and had a bit of extra biomass to work with. So while I waited for my creep-analog to start claiming territory, I formed myself three itty bitty Flowergirls of my own. I didn't want to be unarmed, after all, and the cute little living weapons also made for wonderful fashion accessories. I made one pink, one blue, and one white after my own hair colors and the lovely little ladies went to work grooming my magnificent multihued mane.

Oh hey! It looks like my case of the hornybugs will soon be solved, as a cheerful, whistling employee entered my rapidly-degenerating abode with the intention of inspection and cleaning if needed. I was going to have him polish my horn and then cover him with bugs.

Or perhaps not as the cheerful whistling approached me and he rudely occupied the urinal right next to me. Breaking the man code, sir, breaking the man code! Well, no matter, since he was going to be less of a man in both senses of the term in a minute.

I stuck my cock through the fortuitously provided hole and poked him in the side before he began his business. I, of course, solved his issue for him by transmuting his full bladder into something else, and immediately set on adjusting the most offensive parts of the man-thing. That being the woefully undersized package and the lack of a curvaceous figure, of course.

He spun to the side, cock already erect against his will.

"The heck?" he muttered, looking down to find himself eye to eyespot with my sweet codex-cock. She shot her tongue out and turned on the sticky setting I'd stolen from some Zerg strain developed from frogs (Infestors had the sticky tendril thing, right? Hmm, maybe make some frog-rat-festers in the future, gotta workshop the name, though).

My soon to be plaything let out a rather unmanly shriek (which I had nothing to do with, I hadn't gotten to any changes above the waist yet, okay, maybe I'd made his nipples a bit more sensitive and started plumping up his lips, but I hadn't touched anything else) and he began to instinctively thrust against my hunger member.

Oooh, that hit the spot! Virginity lost, mission accomplished! Well, kind of. This was my first time being the one getting the penetrating, after all. For my dear sweet Bride was much, much larger than me in pretty much all areas. Cock included. So of course our previous coupling had been my dick in hers, the start of our brood wriggling deep into her womb, just awaiting the biomass needed to blossom into crystalline eggs that would hatch into our horrible little ratling babies. Well, full-sized babies, since they skipped over the smol and useless stage thanks to the Great System.

"I wanna see you down on your knees, worshipping my cock with your mouth." I purred. Now that I'd been properly penetrated, I was actually craving something nice, warm, and wet to stick my shaft into.

Alas, my codex-cock decided to take a moment to lick her lips, and with the sticky suction no longer applied my dear deflowerer fled into the night. Well, mid evening.

I certainly wasn't going to run with my raging erection slapping my belly and my balls bouncing against my thighs. Not without some alteration on how example sensation worked down there. Note to self: develop the whole "get off from running" thing for the conjoined chariot-pulling ratquines.

I slipped back into the auto shop, heading for the stock room where I could stuff my snout, caress my cock, and put the biomass to work making a few more flowergirl minions for me to send out to impersonally induct new recruits into my evil empire. Or get a head start on gathering the resources I needed to actually claim this place as mine with some structures once the customers and crew were copiously corrupted.

I passed by a TV in the auto shop, where the Sea Pharoah was still slurping on his soul-sucking straw.

"Nope, put the doggy bag away, Mumbles. I started this meal, and I'm going to finish it. If you take it, you gotta eat it. If I don't do it now, the soul's going to be all congealed and chewy later."

Okay, maybe I had a less than evil empire.

-o-

I was actually fine with letting the poor, scared, highly aroused (scaroused?) soon to be ex-man-thing scamper off (the lack of solving my arousal issues aside). With not one, not two, but three of my cute little Flowergirls embedded in his noggin even if my biomancy could be purged, his transformation into a cute, sexy minion was inevitable.

As one would expect with the Zerg unit list, my first mass of minions was going to be Zerglings, of course. I needed as many minions as I could get, and the Swarmlings would effectively allow me to get three for the price of one. Zerg Supply and Ratling Supply didn't exactly match up, but I had twisted and tweaked the way things happened in order to adapt the Zerg evolution towards my own purposes. And made it sexy, of course.

The Flowergirls had begun to worm their way into my dear pet's mind, allowing me to get a good idea of what he was doing as well as what he was experiencing. With my internal radar, I knew exactly where all the man-things were, using my exquisitely sneaky-stealth to creep into the stock room.

As the place had yet to be claimed by any System-recognized faction, me placing down a structure of my own would claim it on behalf of the Daughters of Fellstar. There was a nice open space between a bunch of pallets that somebody had set up a cozy little hidey-hole in with a few blankets and a pillow spread out on bags of rice, a camp chair, and a little TV with a set of headphones.

"Oh me, I think if I wasn't already dead, I might die." said the Sea Pharoah on the little TV, all his little blinky lights tinted a nauseating shade of green as he went back to sucking, "If this guy is an example for just how sinful this world's population is, boy, am I going to have a fun time."

A rather wet digital burp, "Seriously, how much evil can you fit into one dude?"

I plopped myself down in the chair, used a claw to cut open a bag of rice and start shoveling grains into my cute little rat-snout. I'd need significant amounts of energy and biomass to create a Hatchery and a Spawning Pool, and while assimilating the foodstuffs into the structures themselves would work for most of it, I still had to make the templates myself, as well as provide the spark in my spunk to start the transformation process.

I was going to be here awhile, so I closed my eyes and left my body on autopilot so I could fully experience my dear minion's corruption of his co-workers.

Ah! His name was Ole. Well, that wouldn't do. I wasn't making more Matriarches, but my Zergling analogs would have a similar ability to replace a larvae somehow becoming three creatures. That sort of thing was for kobolds and trenchcoats rather than us Ratlings, and there were in fact some of the little lizardmen in the core sectors, so I didn't want to stomp on their cute little lizardy toes.

No, no. Rather than split one soul over three bodies (I'm a biomancer not a necromancer, futzing with the soul is not my department) I simply coded each of my minions to self-impregnate and rapidly spawn a near-clone. Of course in order to do this I needed each Brideling to have fully functional lady parts, and if I was doing that anyway, why not give out the full MILF package?

I'd made my Flowergirls with each one having a portion of my hair color, one pink, one blue, one white. Blue had dug in the deepest and spent her energy ensnaring Ole into the hive mind, leaving White and Pink to dominate Ole's newly enhanced head of hair. Hmm, white and pink flowers?

Welcome to the Rat Race, Oleander!

The poor dear hadn't been fully inducted into the system yet, so his clothes were still static, unadjustable things. That meant his deliciously boosted cock and balls weren't able to fit back into his pants, and he had been a bit preoccupied with running in order to preserve his oral virginity to tuck himself back into his boxers. Not that it would've helped anyway.

His junk was already that of a full-on Ratyena and he had the libido to match. Running away from a scary female-presenting packmate was a completely normal Ratyena thing to do, and you were probably going to get chased down and boinked anyway, so you might as well enjoy it. So the run-from-the-dominant-yeen-girl-arousal-reflex was in full swing, and thus so was his cock, splattering bits of precum everywhere and spreading the Fylth over the store to help accelerate the Bride Brood's claim on it.

Ole burst into the break room, where he knew that other people would be. There he was, out of breath, panting, his thick, dripping girlcock on display. Shame for the soon to be Oleander that I'd already sent out lovely little Flowergirls to mark my new minions and get them rapidly inducted into my ranks.

"Dude, put that thing away." said Belma, unimpressed with Ole's oozing appendage.

"Th-there's some kind of monster in the bathroom!" Ole panted.

"Th-there's some kind of monster hanging out for everybody to see right here," Belma replied, "You're lucky it's me in here, otherwise you'd be chained up in an office watching a series of videos on sexual harassment from the goddamned cartoon rabbit. The series is called 'Preventing Sexual Hare-assment in the Workplace' and it's as full of stupid rabbit puns as everything else."

"No, there's a rat monster in the bathroom and she covered in in graffiti and cut a glory hole in one of the stalls and stuck her dick through and it was some kind of snake frog monster and it shot out a sticky tongue at my junk and it sucked my dick and she was gonna stuff it in my mouth, but I got away!"

Belma patted the couch next to her, "There, there. I'm sorry you think that happened to you. But you need to calm your tits."

"But there was a monster!"

"No, I mean you literally need to calm your tits. You're leaking all over yourself."

Ole looked down to find that his work shirt now sported a pair of dark, damp spots on his chest, just the buds of simple breasts for now rather than the massive mommy milkers that he'd eventually be sporting.

The slightly less human, slightly less male stared blankly.

"But I'm a guy, I don't have tits!"

Belma sighed, "You're a guy and you DIDN'T have tits. But you knew you were going to get 'em eventually."

This left Ole even more baffled, "Huh?"

"Even if you didn't have tits, dude, you were gonna get 'em at some point in the course of your condition."

The modified Zerg ability (as well as a liberal amount of my own seed biomanticly manipulated into the proper areas of his anatomy) kicked in and Ole's belly and ballsack started to swell at a dramatically appropriate time. Along with his hips and butt. No way was I going to have my maternity-themed minions walking around looking like anorexic models. Nuh-uh. Super thicc hourglass figures for everybody.

"But I'm a guy, I can't get pregnant!" Ole protested.

"Dude, you live in Megalopolis, weirdness capital of the world. It's probably weirder that you're ignorant of all the ways guys can get pregnant. And you're definitely pregnant."

Belma pulled up her coworker's shirt and ran her hand over Ole's rounded and slowly expanding tummy.

"Seriously. Calm your tits. I'm pretty sure we've got breast pumps. Get your shit drained and change into a new shirt."

"But… I can't! I don't… I have no idea what's going on!"

Belma sighed again, "Ok, fine. We're both off the clock and I'll help you just this once. But you owe me."

"But the monster…!"

"Fuck the monster," Belma paused and then chuckled, "Then again, I guess you already did. Now shut up and don't make this weird."

She yanked Ole's shirt up further, his bust now significant enough to keep it in place.

"Ya know, my mom split pretty much as soon as she popped me out. So I didn't have a mom to breast feed me." Belma explained as she traced her tongue over one of Ole's super sensitive, rapidly darkening nipples.

"So I guess you can be my Mom instead."

Ole moaned as Belma wrapped her lips around his nipple and began to drink. It was like that sensation was enough to make the floodgates of whatever was going on with him open. Well, that or being called "Mom," because for some reason that was really, really hot. The word sent a spike of pleasure through him and caused his cock to spurt a significant amount of translucent pre onto the coffee table.

The cheap wooden particle board rapidly gained nicks and cuts, words and lewd drawings carved into it. The magazines atop it had their pages crinkle and curl and then began to shift. Better Holes and Hovels promised 10 ways to spice up your lair with stolen couch cushions. Strife Magazine had a lovingly defaced statue of a rat-man with antlers who was chest-high to a cute angel whose head was out of the frame and offered an interview with the two major Ratling powers on Earth. Grime Magazine, meanwhile, celebrated three Rat-searchers who developed dozens of new improvised sex toys from common trash you could find in the Fylth.

Ole stared at the changes and didn't notice his own. The Great System was trying its best to preserve his clothes during the transition, but his body was changing faster than the System was adapting. His developing fat MILF ass and thighs were beginning to be too much for his poor jeans to contain and they started to rip.

I'd designed Oleander's new body from scratch and I was aware of exactly how it ought to develop, where, and how soon. So it was a complete shock to me when the boygirl basically exploded out of his pants as his legs suddenly transformed all at once.

Like… all of my carefully sculpted biological tweaks were still there. It was just that something else had been tossed into the mix of rat and hyena. Ole moaned and began to involuntarily and rapidly kick one leg up and down. His shoes were managing to hold up better than his pants did, but as his feet rapidly swelled in size at the end of his now digitigrade legs they eventually gave up the ghost when they were perhaps double the size they had been. What the heck? I mean big stompy pawbs were sexy and all, but these were fuzzy and not ratty at all!

Ole began to instinctively stroke Belma's ears as she suckled from him, and the touch accelerated her own transformation. Her horrible man-thing ears smoothed out and enlarged, except they weren't stopping! They were getting longer and longer!

Oh you fucking shit!

I glared at the rabbit logo on the bag of rice I was shoveling into my mouth. It isn't bad enough that you have to have these people here, working retail of all things, but when the end of the world arrives, multiple ends of the world simultaneously even, you're not going to let your greasy corporate grip on their minds, bodies, and souls go?

Yeah. The bunny-themed company that these poor folks worked for had stamped an indelible mark upon their souls and demanded that the poor corporate drones turned actual drones would forever bear the marks of their employment at a weird cult gas station chain, and that they would be at least in part forever be remade in the image of Ric-ee Rabbit. Looks like the rumors about the ancient bunny fertility cult were true.

Belma's cock was already spilling out of her khakis and she shredded them with a bunnyeen-rabbit clawed handpaw.

"Hmm, maybe you are my Mom after all?" she teased.

"I… I'm not!" Ole tried to protest.

"Look, we've got the same fat, drooly cock," Belma purred, rubbing their dicks together and making a gooey mess.

"We've got the same sexy buck teeth," Belma mashed her proto-muzzle against Ole's, their tongues intertwining. Ole's ears shot out to their full, three-foot length, adorned with the browns of cute yeen spots.

"We've got the same huge, leaky tits," Belma crawled into Ole's lap, her cock spewing jets of pre all over her rounded belly and milk-dripping breasts. Ole's boobs had long since equaled and surpassed Belma's in size, but somehow the girl was catching up.

"We've got the same gushing pussy," she lowered herself onto Ole's eager yeenis, causing Ole's hands to morph into big, thick paws and for spotted fur to rapidly shoot up his arms and legs.

"We've got the same gleaming white hair and we even style in the same way!" Belma pulled one of her braided pigtails over and matched it against the matching braided tail on the side of Ole's head that had the white hair.

"I mean, I don't have your big, sexy horns. But that's a corruptive mutation-blessing and not something genetic." Belma ran her tongue over one of the spiralling ram's horns that had pushed out of Ole's temples. Dearest Blue's transformative work having progressed to the point where she had fully added dear Oleander's brain to the hive mind and had started on growing the horns required for long-range telepathic transmission.

What sort of mother would you be if you didn't keep in touch with your spawn?

"I'm not… I'm not…" Ole continued to protest.

"And above all I share your fetish that incest is really, really fucking hot," Belma panted, bouncing up and down on her "mother's" member.

"Don't you want to knock up your own daughter? Don't you want to suck my dick? Don't you want me to fill you up with my own-daughter sisters while I pop the grandkids you fucked into me?"

In that moment Ole's transformation finished and the human male closed his eyes one last time and the Brideling matriarch opened them for the first time.

"Oh fuck yes, I'm… I'm your Mommy!" she admitted.

Belma cried out as her body shuddered and shifted, a pair of gazelle-like horns sprouting from her temples. The System said that her name meant "White Gazelle," and by golly I was going to give her the theming to match.

Belma's belly was already bloating with pregnancy even before Oleander climaxed. The fun thing with Zerg was that yeah, they didn't HAVE to do sexual reproduction, but if they did they could just snag some DNA from whatever and start the process with that rather than needing specialized gametes.

Quite quickly the two competing bellies forced the two apart, each of Belma's bounces moving her upward to where she began to thrust between Oleander's big, milky tits, and then finding her way into her mother's cute bunny-yeen-ratty muzzle.

They really were mother and daughter now. With a Ratling Brood, those bound to the same Broodmother were going to be at least siblings upon spawning or respawning. And with only one Broodmother and only one other Ratling in the Brood (me!) it was assured that until that changed every member of my faction was effectively going to be our children. Kind of.

The human bits remained the same, but they were spliced with some of my own Ratling essence, and some of my dear pet's Ratyena essence. Okay, the gods-damned rabbit was also throwing some seed into this supremely ookie cookie. But that made everyone I inducted into the Bride Brood about as genetically close as a grandchild.

And rather than tweaking Belma's biology to develop as her own lineage of Bunnyeen Ratbit, I had allowed her to assimilate Oleander's instead.

Why?

Because my lord and lady had blessed me with not one, but two abilities related to bedding and breeding my own kin. One to make the process easier (and remove the negatives on top of what the Great System would do) and the other to assure the loyalty of those in my bloodline to me the closer they were genetically.

So it was really in my best interest to make my minions as closely related to me, and thus to each other, as possible.

And on top of that we were all horrible little oversexed rat people that worshipped a literal demon (and also his hot, sexy fallen angel girlfriend), so having a couple ghastly perversions and degenerate fetishes was to be expected.

Oleander gleefully sucked off her daughter as she climaxed for the first time as a Brideling, the thick ropes of cum that splattered all over the break room becoming more and more translucent with each passing ejaculation, but not slowing in their amount nor intensity.

She was unable to voice what was going on, mouth crammed as it was full of her daughter's cock, but her massively oversized ballsack began to twitch and clench just as her heretofore undiscovered pussy added its own load of fluids to a stained, ripped, and tattered couch that was now no stranger to having hot, incestuous rat-sex taking place on top of it. Or the same rats giving birth on it.

A thick paw, chimerically formed from rabbit and hyena DNA upon a human framework, pushed free from Oleander's cock. I hadn't forgotten about the wonders of the hyena pseudopenis when I'd gifted my children this wonderful organ, since I couldn't exactly pass on my own (living codices of genetic manipulation were really fucking energy intensive to reproduce biologically, after all). And giving birth to two full-sized daughters and having them in the same womb might result in some issues.

Like them fucking one another in there, bloating up with their own daughters, and so on and so forth and nobody actually giving birth to anybody. Just eternal recursive incestuous pregnancy and swelling. Which, hey, was still really fucking hot, but not conducive to producing a small army of Zergling analogs.

Unfortunately I was limited by energy and biomass with the first generation, so I couldn't cram everything in that I wanted in the first generation. But using the Great System to spawn in my additional units, I could imprint what I wanted on the eggs and sperm and then have the daughters pass on their enhancements to their mothers.

Most of the humans had either been marked by a Flowergirl and were in the process of converting, or were well away from my current location. So as my first proper "child" pushed herself out of her mother's urethra, I allowed myself to indulge.

I threw my head back and screamed in blissful climax at the secondhand sensation of giving birth I got from Oleander as well as the blissful tingling of our daughter's fluid-mattered fur as she felt the air for the first time.

True Bridelings had a lot more in common with the Bride in their body layout than they did with me. I didn't make them fully feral, but they were capable of quadrupedal motion and their upper limbs were far more like forepaws than proper human hands. That didn't really affect manual dexterity, as we Ratlings were gifted with greatness in that area, even if we had nothing but fat, fumbly, sexy, oversized paws.

But I didn't want my kiddos to have those big fuck-off stabby limbs coming from their backs that the Zerglings had. Nah. Those were no fun. They were all business, made for war and stabbing and stuff. So instead I'd relocated the third set of limbs to give my Bunnyeen Ratbits two matching sets of great big bappy pawbs, and then another smaller, more normal sized set of arms with more human proportions.

Okay, okay, it also equalized the number of arms with the number of breasts they had. I'd specifically given them four, in between the two I had and the six sported by my lovely not so little pet. With the big bellies, I thought that six would be a waste since they'd be pushed to the side and potentially drained by the wriggling around of a fully sized clone-daughter.

The blue-haired chimera's hunched over posture took a bit from the Gnolls of fantasy fiction. Well, what used to be fantasy fiction. They were now just as real as anything else now that the Great System had blessed us.

She peeled her elder sister away from their mother, deeply kissing Belma before sliding the former human's smaller member into her own. The new minion I'd dubbed "Bluebell" all but shoved her sister's head into a similarly sized nipple, "Big sis has to drink up and grow big and strong!" she growled, "Gotta feed the baby I'm going to bust into her ballsack!"

Oleander was cum-drunk from her daughter's spunk and another daughter's emergence rolled her onto the floor. The pink-haired one I'd name "Rose" picked up her mother off the floor and impaled her onto her cock like a fleshlight.

"So many more sisters to make, gotta hit the cap before we can move out and take more territory!" Rose purred, "Gotta get Mommy good 'n pregnant again!"

My purchase of Zerglings allowed the Great System to gift me up to 80 points worth. Which was tripled due to them being classed as Swarmling Zerglings. They'd also been given an additional bonus, as those created by the System would be stronger than their mass-produced counterparts later on. With the Great System death was no longer an option, and in areas such as the one I was in, which was suffused deeply with all the Sin Energies, but particularly Lust, defeat and climax were treated similarly by the system.

In combat each defeated Brideling would release an effect that drove their kin into frenzy, granting them increased speed and durability. But in the bedroom? Each climax splattered the area with pheromone-rich fluids and corruptive Fylth. Each Brideling's ability to give pleasure, their sexual stamina, and recovery time would improve with each additional gooey climax that splattered across their immediate vicinity. They'd make the breeding and birthing more and more frenzied and intense until they hit the cap of 240 family-fucking freaks. Or possibly beyond if I spawned more Overwhores.

Why, even now one of the few humans I hadn't managed to tag with a Flowergirl was approaching the break room. The detritus of crusty tissues, torn clothing scraps, discarded wrappers, and tied off condoms unsettled her a little bit. But with each passing breath more and more Fylth entered her lungs.

She passed a TV with a red-light flashing Sea Pharaoh.

"Mumbles, roll me back to my cybersarcophagus, I think I need a nap while I decrypt this dude's soul into a digital spirit. Throw his drained husk into the punishment pool and have it turned into something demeaning. Like a coat rack, or maybe a roboguard with a little yappy chihuahua head. Oh, no, no! I know! Just give him the standard package and then banish him to New Jersey. This suckhole planet has a New Jersey, right?"

An offscreen muttering.

"What? No, Mumbles, I'm evil, not heartless. Well, okay, maybe I am heartless since I don't have any organs. But I'm not going to send the guy to Hell."

A pause.

"What's Hell done to deserve this asshole?"

As she put a hand to the door she had the other upon a leaking breast. Her lips parted in a moan, revealing the enlarged incisors inherited from rat and rabbit alike. Unlike her predecessors, there was now enough Mana in the area to convert her clothing, so the generous bulge in her loins was quite comfortable and well supported, and her shoes perfectly fit her big, sexy paws even as they got bigger and bigger, as her claws poked out from the newly open toes.

"Hi Mom! Hi Sis, Sis, and Sis!" she said cheerfully, pulling off a top adorned with a security badge and tossing it aside.

"I'm off for lunch and I want to get a good meal out of Mom and knock up her nuts with a few new sisters before I go back on duty. There's these weird robot skeleton assholes causing problems down the street, and I want to have plenty of backup if they want to start their shit here. I mean they're welcome to drop in and use our glory holes. We're not Megalopolis' Lewdest Bathroom five years running for nothing. I'll suck off a robo-dong if they want to drop in. But if they want to like… 'Where is John Connor?' I'll crush their metal skulls under my fat, sexy paws."

Ooooh! It looks like my control over this location has been acknowledged by the Great System and all those within and now considered my minions! Mwahahahaha!

Let's see, a security guard with brilliant blue hair? She can be Officer Gentiana.

I wonder if I can get to her in time to knock her up before somebody else beats me to it.

What can I say? I'm a sucker for (and want to suck on) a girl in uniform.