FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

(Note: At the risk of providing slight spoilers, I do need to inform the reader that the following story takes place in a country suffering from genocide between conflicting ethnic groups, with the attendant consequences. As a result, I need to especially point out that in addition to its other content, this story features brief scenes of violence and murder, including against children, as related from the amoral viewpoint of a preternatural horror. Keep this in mind before deciding to proceed with this story. Also, all characters involved are obviously fictional, and I do not endorse or condone their opinions or actions.)

The boneheap was not born; in fact, there wasn't even really a process of coming into being. In every single point in space and time in every dimension, the boneheap was not, until, at a particular juncture of physical and temporal locations, it simply was.

It sat, in a clearing strewn with verdant grass, an immobile heap of bleached bones piled haphazardly, baking in the heat of the sun. It assumed that the bones, or at least the general shape they composed, made up its body, but it wasn't entirely sure - the bones were there, just like it was, but whether they were an actual part, or just a necessary camouflage atop something else, it couldn't be certain.

It knew that some part of it contained knowledge; sentience, language, bits and pieces of information all in a jumble like the stack of bones that contained it. It had wisdom, skills, talents, even powers, but the one thing it lacked was context: a sense of what it was, who it was supposed to be, that would tie all those disparate fragments together.

And so it wandered, learning about the bones as it did; they were related, somehow, and moved wherever it did, but neither did they assist or impair its movement. It glided along the ground for a while, although it already seemed to know that traveling along it was merely a guide, rather than a constraint. When it grew tired of the grass rustling around it and the trees providing their dense canopy above, it sank into the earth; the bones, for all their supposedly corporeal form, collided not at all with the plane of the surface. Something about them meant that it could somehow sense, ever so slightly, the damp coolness of the soil that it slid through unmolested, but beyond that the substrate seemed no different than the air above. Certainly, it was no more interesting, just dense, dark brown, and devoid of light as far as its perception could reach, so it returned to the much more variegated surface.

It still wasn't sure what the complete composition of its form was, or whether even that particular detail mattered. It fiddled with the bones that made up its presence, shuffling them about, tossing them up above and watching them fall clatteringly back down atop the rest, skidding to the bottom of the pile but traveling no further, always returning to the general form. It tried sorting them, extending them, putting them together, making up what was supposed to be an arm, or a leg, from the various components. They seemed of little use, though, so it disassembled them and stuck them back on the pile to be reconstructed if it could find a reason for them.

The first emotion that the Boneheap was exposed to, even if it wasn't something that it actually experienced, was that of boredom, or rather the lack of the continued stimulation to provide it with any new or useful information - same trees, same grass, same air, same ground. And as far as the abstract concept of boredom went, the boneheap quickly decided that it hated the notion.

So it was that when some strange, small, furry creature poked its head out from behind a tuft of small grass and scuttled over, snuffling around its base, the boneheap for a moment did nothing but watch. Then, upon realizing that the creature probably had bones within it, the boneheap formed another haphazard appendage and brought it down on whatever the creature was, hearing the delicate, beautiful sound of its neck crunching, and hoping for some sort of other delightful reaction before it was rendered, some new feeling for its bones to experience. All the animal did, though, was go limp and lay still, and so the boneheap, disappointed, extended several more limbs and ripped away the thing's outer covering of flesh, carefully observing and cataloging the way the chunks of meat and their attendant juices arced through the air and landed with sodden thumps on the surrounding earth.

Once they fell, though, all they did was sit there, and the boneheap went back to the business of stripping the rest away, pulling each of the bones apart from the flesh and using the edges of its own to polish them, over and over, until they were clean and white. In the intervening time, the light in the sky arced down below the trees, faded away, and appeared again from an entirely different angle, hardly noticed until it was bright overhead again, and the boneheap had created a much smaller pile of bones in front of it. Curious as to what would happen, it grabbed up the pile and tossed them onto itself, hearing them clatter against its own, but when it moved smoothly away in a different direction, the bones it had created were left behind, scattered between tufts of grass. So, then, its bones were its own, neither adding nor subtracting, and as for the small, fluffy things, all rendering them into bones did was make them still, quiet, and therefore providing no further sensation or behavior, so there was no point in doing any of that again.

Instead, the boneheap continued to explore, vibrating with boredom as forest turned into more forest turned into yet more pointless forest, all the same. There were a few other fluffy things, some a bit larger, some a bit smaller, some that skittered in a different pattern, some the spread wings and flew away up into the trees, chittering noisily. The boneheap followed a few up to their perches, but when all they did was sit around chittering to no discernible end, it went back down and moved on. The forest, it knew, wasn't enough - it needed something more, something to keep it engaged, even though it didn't yet know what.

And so it searched, the light in the sky going down and up and down and up again, although it saw as easily in the dark as it did in the light. Regardless, the thing must have had some purpose, as when it went away, so did most of the animals, save for a few slightly larger ones. One even tried to gnaw at its bones, before freezing when it moved to regard the fuzzy form, a shivering spasm wracking the creature's spine as it took in the entirety of the boneheap's form. It was... fear, the boneheap realized, another emotion that it did not quite understand, as it was incapable of such an experience itself; it could feel the creature's own trembling fear, though, and quickly concluded that it was a far more interesting reaction than the usual, uninterestingly prowling behavior. Instead of stalking along, the creature was suddenly fleeing full-out, tucking its tail and yipping in terror as the boneheap chased effortlessly after it. No, fear was... better, in that way; dismantling creatures only made them quiet and still, unable to provide further interest or stimulation, but fear... fear provided a much more enduring reward.

Still, even fear became one-dimensional, at least in such simple creatures, and the boneheap wandered searchingly on... until, one day, in the middle of a clearing it came across something different. The dirt there wasn't just a random patchwork of soil and grass; instead, it had been shaped intentionally, forming a pair of lines that moved in parallel and stretched off into the distance. If they were made for a purpose, than they had to lead to the creatures capable of creating them, creatures who would surely be more interesting that the four-legged shufflers it had encountered thus far. It set off, gliding along the track, anticipating the fascination that it would surely come upon.

And, sure enough, the trail took a jog through a dense stand of trees, and it was at the edge of these the the boneheap halted - as past that point, not only did the forest open up into an extensive clearing, but one that was wholly unlike any that the boneheap had experienced before.

For within that clearing were sure signs of civilization, or at least far more of it than the feral creatures it had encountered before had managed to muster. True, it wasn't a whole lot: a good-sized collection of structures that were more shacks or huts than anything else, built up of solid, round mud walls interspersed with thick, robust plant fibers, and roofs composed alternately from densely enmeshed plant fronds and rusted, angular sheets of corrugated metal. In the center was a large pit lined with sand and stone, containing chunks of charcoal that still sizzled and sputtered, and an apparatus that suspended a long, spearlike spit and a dented metal cooking pot above it. Off to the side, a hand-pumped spigot occasionally loosed a stray droplet of water to splash onto the dusty soil below. Around the perimeter, carefully corralled stands of different-looking plants swayed orderly in the breeze, and a handful of four-legged feral ungulates nibbled on the sparse grass that coated the rest of the clearing in anemic clumps.

Most fascinating of all, though, were the various creatures that walked upright among their isolated patch of limited development. They were covered in worn clothing, although even that was abbreviated enough to see the fur underneath, patched colors crammed together, creamy white enmeshed with auburn, mottled black against tawny brown. The jumble of knowledge that was crammed into the boneheap's consciousness let it be known that such coloration meant that the... people in question were ascended from the wild dogs that had once roamed similar areas, not really all that removed from the snarling four-legged things the boneheap had chased earlier.

These ones, though, it could instantly tell had far more involved behavior patterns. Four-legged things, after all, couldn't have even built those rudimentary structures, and their long, low cries couldn't contain nearly the bandwidth of information as the continual syllables that seemed to spill forth from the people's mouths.

There was an initial impulse to move forward into the community, to let them all behold it, to see if their fear tasted any more complex or nuanced than that of the ferals - but the more it observed from its mostly-concealed perch, the more it became fascinated with simply watching the behaviors play out in front of it.

But then again, if what it wanted was to observe unseen, why bother to rely on the surrounding nature for a status it could surely manage on its own? While it was sure it did not know everything, it knew for sure that it had the power to do just about whatever it liked. It simply decided that it would become invisible, and was shortly thereafter, light bending effortlessly around instead of being reflected by its presence, the slight sounds of its motion muffled. So concealed, then, it could easily move closer towards the center of the village, and sure enough, none of the people milling about were at all the wiser of its presence.

And so it stayed there, watching the people do any number of mundane things, words always flowing from their muzzles. The words were easy enough to comprehend, as the boneheap had a more than large enough reservoir of languages to place the words into their proper contexts had it desired to do so. The words, though, seemed as mundane as their tasks: almost certainly talk about the chores they were doing, the chores they would have to do, and other such thoroughly unintriguing things. More complex than animal howls, to be sure, but not much more inspiring or informative. Once again, the boneheap's intentions were frustrated, and as it watched the sun go down and the people gather around the fire to cram food down their gullets, it seriously considered moving on.

Before it did, though, it noticed the people splitting up, going back to their huts, but with a different look in their eyes, a different sense between them, something that made the boneheap's interest instantly perk up. Something, it knew, was about to happen, something far more compelling than then mundane shuffling and rambling from before.

It simply went up to the edges of the shacks, or huts, or whatever they were, and looked inside: the obstruction of mundane physical walls did nothing to impede its particular form of sight, and it was trivial to tweak its own perceptions to counteract the absence of light. True, it could have simply hidden itself away inside, but for the moment, it wanted to observe, rather than participate. If it got close, it considered, it might be tempted to reveal itself and act in some way, but if it did that, the likely result would be more flayed flesh and fur, screams, and what it imagined would be a contagious sort of fear. Then all of the creatures there would have that fear, that single, uniform emotion, and while there was admittedly a certain appeal to that, it would also mean that any other intriguing behaviors would likely be washed away. No, better to wait and reap the rewards of what it could discover, for now.

In the first hut, though, the observation was more disappointing than anything else: the larger creatures inside disrobing only slightly, tucking the smaller ones in where they rested atop a makeshift-looking mattress made from some sort of compressed plant fronds wrapped in rough cloth. Then they laid down to rest on a similar mattress, and that was the point the boneheap, bored beyond belief, glided away from the wall to examine one of the other huts in search of something better.

The next hut was technically more active, at least among the adults of the species: with the children snoozing away, the adults had disrobed more completely, running their hands through each other's fur and pressing their muzzles pointlessly against one another in an obviously amorous ritual display. It was clear enough what they would soon be doing: looking past what remaining clothing they still wore, the male had become erect, the oddly exaggerated digit between his legs throbbing thick and red, and the internal pocket on the female swelling open and flushing itself with lubrication. As it watched, the proper words for the things began to swim upwards through its awareness: penis, vagina, intercourse, all slotting into the proper context that its observations were providing. It was new, and different, and worth watching until the two disparate parts interposed themselves through physical penetration, but at the same time, the actual content of the act left the boneheap just as thoroughly uninterested as it had been before. True, the act seemed to have conjured up a new set of emotions, but they were just as one-note as other emotions it had felt: a static form of pleasure, shared equally between them, the trajectory proceeding in thoroughly predictable form. Even fear was better, as it was something the boneheap had an intrinsic connection to - this... mutualism, however, felt so ploddingly typical that all it could do was look down on the intertwined forms with indifference before backing away from the pathetically boring tableau and moving on.

As soon as the boneheap peeked through the wall of the third ramshackle structure, though, it froze, its attention suddenly focusing intently on a rather different display. True, it had instantly categorized the two children tucked away fast asleep in the near corner, and the handful of cooking supplies and other possessions scattered around, but they were all totally irrelevant compared to what was happening behind them.

The two adults were still interacting with each other, but this time there was a clear dissonance in the emotions each of them was bleeding off: instead of the thoroughly uninteresting mutualism from before, both of them had a strange sense of annoyance. The man kept pawing at the woman, as the one before had done, but this time the woman was having none of it, slapping his hands away and growling softly in his direction, not enough to wake the children, but her tooth-baring snarls were surely enough to get the message across. She, of course, seemed to be annoyed at his attentions, and he annoyed at her refusal of them, but underneath that, the boneheap's keen perception could detect something else bubbling up towards the surface. For the man, already balancing annoyance and a burgeoning arousal, the emotions were beginning to flash over into rage... but for the woman, the emerging emotion was fear. Only, it wasn't a fear like anything the boneheap had felt before: not that desperate, instinctual sense of life and death, but something else. Something tinged with dread, tinged with the knowledge of a certain horrible and unavoidable inevitability.

The boneheap watched, raptly taking in the fascinating new emotions, as the man reached over to push a hand under the woman's ragged, abbreviated shirt, rage and lust rolling off his back for the boneheap to explore in equal measure. This time, when she reached up to push him back, to slap at his face, his hand pulled back and latched on around her wrist, stopping it in the middle of her motion and using it to twist her around, forcing it down in the small of her back. Anger flashed in her eyes, but it quickly ebbed back to fear - fear, and a strange sense of concern, her suddenly panicked eyes darting back over towards the children sleeping nearby as she forced a furious bark back down her throat unvoiced.

The man shoved the woman down on her abdomen onto the rough, woven mattress, not seeming to care as her snarling face bounced against the fronds. One hand casually tugged down on his pants, revealing an erection hardened by the impending notion of... conquest was the word that was conjured up, although the boneheap still couldn't quite put it into context. It was clearly related, though, to the sense of power flooding through him, and that sense of dread, of inevitability, taking over the woman beneath him. Even so, it drove her to struggle, legs flailing to futile effect as the man trapped her other arm against the first, a hand shoving them down against her back with a force that the woman obviously couldn't counteract.

There was no mutualism here, only a power dynamic that the boneheap could instantly connect to: the thrill of the one in power, and the fear of the one without it. The boneheap could even feel a certain shiver of thrill itself, flowing through its clattering bones, a vicarious enjoyment that it hadn't even known until that moment that it desired. And yet, it wanted to see it happen, more than anything it had experienced so far, and so it made its first interaction: not much, not enough to tempt involvement and wreck the tableau. No, exactly the opposite: it reached forward just enough to affect the minds of the children on the other side of the wall, sending their light slumber down into the dreamless depths of sleep where even the loudest sounds would not cause them to stir, providing no chance for their cries of awakening to interrupt what was playing out across the room.

Now, the man's rage and passion were at a peak, the caring he might otherwise have felt for his partner fading away as the instincts of lust took over. He shoved the woman's skirt roughly aside, pushing it up and tangling it in the short bob of her terrified, twitching tail, revealing the sleek, mottled fur of her thighs, and the thin, grey fabric snugged tightly around her posterior and genitalia. The boneheap looked through it, and what it observed suddenly made the situation both more puzzling and far more intriguing: despite her terror, despite her refusal and struggle, her inner passage was in the same state that the other woman's had been: not as far along, perhaps, but swelling outward and desperately spreading a slick coat of wetness along its internal ridges.

Puzzling, for sure. As the man reached down, tugging the fabric away from the woman's crotch and revealing the puffy crimson flesh of the strange exterior structure - the spade - that lay beneath, another word socketed itself into the boneheap's vocabulary.

Rape. A fascinating concept, and the ultimate exercise of power within the realm of sexuality. Someone forcing themselves into another, using them for their own gratification against their will. An inextricable combination of lust and fear, and the boneheap was drawn to it powerfully, far more so than it had been to the instinctive fear of chasing small, irrelevant creatures.

It knew, as it watched, that for its own physical form to participate in such a thing would be impossible: its bones, at least, had no feeling, and the component of lust required could never be inspired within them. To watch it happen, though, to take in every sensation and feeling from those involved, was the most compelling experience that had occurred within its current awareness. Nothing would be allowed to stop it from transpiring, and when the man hesitated for a moment as his penile tip nudged against the entrance of the woman's exposed, shivering spade, when the slightest pang of caring and conscience gave him pause, the boneheap let its own power bleed forward just a bit, flowing outward from an outstretched, hastily constructed bony arm. It let the power slip through the man's skull and graze through the brain beneath: not the upper parts, the stuff of intelligence, but the part lower down, near the brainstem, the part that held instincts and impulses. It nudged those forward, enhancing them just enough, encouraging that unreasoned lust and sense of instinctive, dominating power over a mate, and it was more than enough - the hesitation evaporated, and the boneheap's entertainment would continue.

The man thrust in, the imposition of his body shoving her legs apart as his hips pinned her down beneath him, a dozen things all interacting simultaneously as the boneheap opened its awareness to take everything in at once. It looked inside, watching the shaft shoving her inner walls apart, forcing the flesh to conform around his intruding presence, desperately flushing more moisture between them. It watched his muzzle, twisting into a snarling, satisfied grin, and her eyes, widening with a sudden and instinctual panic, as she felt him force his way inside her. Most of all, though, it took in the complex and powerful feelings, swirling and intertwining themselves with each other in the same way that their bodies were forced together, playing off of each other in an unwanted reverie as the man began to move, forcing his shaft into the woman over and over, groaning and panting and grinning at each little whimper of the woman pinned heavily and inescapably beneath him.

His lust and rage tied themselves together, pouring forward as they intermixed with his pride of power and petty but inspired sense of revenge. The boneheap could even follow visual snapshots of his surface intentions, as simple and banal as they were: that the woman was his property, that she could not refuse him, that he was taking what was his and that she should be grateful for the attention that he was roughly forcing upon her. To the boneheap, such justifications were wholly irrelevant, as to it morality was simply an abstract concept that those without power applied to keep themselves in check around those that did. And really, as the act played out, the man's emotions were hardly the most interesting feature of it, as they followed a clear trajectory: the enjoyment of power and domination giving way to purely instinctual lust in a predictable, exponential arc - so predictable, in fact, that the boneheap had already calculated the precise moment when the stimulation from the rapid sexual friction would become sufficient to trigger the autonomic response of ejaculation within him.

No, it was the emotion coming off the woman that was far more fascinating. Despite the fact that a significant part of her insides were being intruded upon in violent and relentless fashion, there was little in the way of pain shooting through her, and the sense of terror had already dulled into a permeating sense of dread that settled through her as the pitiful struggles she could manage to get her trapped body to exert did nothing to even alter the rhythm of the man thrusting on top of her. No, it was the sense of powerlessness, the feeling of frustrated humiliation, that was forming the tears beginning to trickled down from the edges of her eyes.

And yet... even that wasn't quite it, the boneheap realized, letting its observation plunge deeper into the woman's tangle of emotions. A moment of examination, though, and there it was: through everything else, the woman was actually aroused, unable to ignore the feelings being pounded into her vulnerable insides. And she hated herself for it, absolutely loathed the fact that her body was responding to the unwanted attentions, hating that her hips wanted to buck in time with the rhythm hammering rapidly against them instead of trying in vain to squirm out from under him. Feeling her body giving in to the sensations, rage turning into crushing humiliation as she realized, once again, that she could do nothing to stop his domination of her, to the point that her own sexual response could even be forced to mirror his lustful desire.

That dissonance, that hatred and disgust of an arousal that continued to respond unabated, locked the boneheap into a strange but palpable thrill, feeling something within itself resonate with such a pristine cocktail of emotions. This was what it had been looking for, what it had been waiting to experience. The stupid, fearful creatures in the woods could go fuck themselves, for all they'd done for it in comparison - and even if they had fucked, it wouldn't have come close. Instinct alone couldn't possibly create such a fascinating combination - no, something had to be self-aware, aware of what it was experiencing and how it was being humiliated, to create such a delicious combination. All the boneheap wanted to do was watch, watch and let the feelings flow through it, watch as the woman squirmed and struggled and succumbed bit by bit against the power and force being brought to bear on her thoroughly dominated body.

Somehow, beyond that pristine moment, the rest of it was basically an anticlimax: there was another burst of humiliation and intense powerlessness that accompanied the woman's forced climax, but by that point the timing of it had been just as predictable as the male's. Although, when he began to spurt inside her a few moments later, when an inner passage made even more sensitive with climax could clearly feel each wet, forceful impact of the stuff, the whimpering humiliation was especially enjoyable for the few moments that it lasted. From there, though, the intensity seemed to ebb: the man pulled out, rolled over, and moments afterward was snoring and insensate, and the woman, after having a good, quiet cry and mopping up between her legs, just sort of lay there, looking at the ceiling, her emotions more drained and blank than anything else. The entertainment was over, and for the boneheap, boredom was creeping in around the edges once again.

It pulled away, leaving the couple made suddenly irrelevant by inactivity, and looked around through the other remaining huts. Everyone else, though, had finished whatever they might have been doing and were now asleep, so the boneheap faded back into the forest as the moon slid its way slowly across the sky. It found a few small forest creatures to torment, not even bothering with another attempt at flaying, but their unsophisticated, instinctual fear was now little more than a pale, pathetic shadow of the emotional excitement from before. So it finally just sat there, halfway interposed with a tall, boring tree, until the sun went through its motions and the huts were occupied as night once again fell.

It knew precisely which hut to go to now, but this time there was far less interest than before: after the stunning humiliation of the previous night, the woman saw little interest in struggling, and when the man started pawing at her, she resignedly stripped off her underwear, lay down, spread her legs, and let the man pound into her. There was still a little sense of that powerlessness and humiliated arousal from before, but every part of it was muted: no squirming or struggle, her body just rocking limply in response to each thrust. At least, through it all, the boneheap could detect the slightest bit of defiance, that annoyance and anger building slowly back up from within, and it knew that it wouldn't be long before the delicious emotional scene of the previous night would replay once again.

In the interim, though, it was bored, and it didn't even wait for the man to splash his stuff inside her before heading back out to the woods to sulk. As the sun came up, though, and trailed through the sky, something was different enough to cause the boneheap to perk up from its dormancy. It was a sound that it hadn't heard before, but that its stash of unreferenced knowledge was quick enough to comprehend: the sound of engines, several of them, snaking slowly through the surrounding area, growing louder and louder as they steadily drew closer to the village.

The boneheap slid back to the village, not bothering to stop at the edge of the forest this time - fully confident in its capabilities, it went straight to the center, confident that it was well-concealed from view and capable of observing whatever the new source of intrigue might be.

It came in the form of several vehicles, metal things with an enclosed front and flat back kicking up dust with their fat black tires. It examined them as they approached, blasting between the huts before stopping sharply just before the fire pit in a sort of arrayed semicircle. More words popped into place: the vehicles were trucks, manufactured in a different place entirely, and the strange, mechanically-encrusted metal tubes pointing out on tripods in the back were devices known as belt-fed machineguns. The people clustered around in the trucks' cabs and beds, then, were likely soldiers, with uniforms mottled almost like the fur of the villagers was - although their own fur, when it poked through, was instead a mostly uniform grey. Most of them carried smaller versions of the tubes, Automatic Kalashnikovs being the appropriate term, and some had still smaller ones clipped to belts. None of those things, though, were particularly interesting - the only different bit, really, was that the villagers didn't seem to have any of it: no tubes, no pickup trucks, not even clothing, like the uniforms, in decent repair.

The villagers, upon hearing the noises, began to poke their heads out from the doorways of their huts - apparently, they'd all scampered inside when they'd heard the noises. One of the soldiers was standing near their communal fire pit, seemingly barking something at those concealed, although the boneheap couldn't be bothered to actually parse the words and figure out what they meant. It was clear enough that the soldiers wanted something, and whatever it was the boneheap didn't really care.

One by one, people stepped forward reluctantly, although for the most part it was the adults who did so, the children remaining inside. It was an interesting development, although the boneheap didn't yet have the context for it, and only wondered a little. No, it was more interesting to feel the emotions of the villagers: this time, with rage and fear intermixed, embodied by one of them who held a stick in his hand like he wanted to use it, even if the thing was trembling uncontrollably in his grasp. Still, he was determined enough to take a step forward, and say something in a meaningfully intense tone. In response, the one who'd been shouting turned towards him, shrugged his shoulders, removed the tube - a handgun, an old-style army 1911A1 - from his belt. In a single, casual motion, he lifted it up, touched the end of it against the man's chest, and squeezed his finger closed around one of the thing's metal bits.

There was a loud, popping sound, the pressure from atmosphere being compressed and expanded in an instant enough to be sensed somehow by the boneheap's presence, though its nerveless bones and whatever apparatus it used to sense sound were wholly unaffected by the sudden pressure wave. The man with the stick, though, bucked as though he'd been slammed in the chest, and as the tube came back up, trailing wisps of smoke as a little brass-coated shell tumbled away from it through the air, the man doubled over as the stick fell from his fingers. Then he tipped back, sprawling onto the ground, a savage tear to the front of his shirt wicking bright red liquid up around its edges. And just like that, one of the more intense wellsprings of emotion, of that fear and anger, ceased.

Somehow, the boneheap sensed that it should have been a dramatic moment, at least from the feelings suddenly spilling forth from the other people, but it really hadn't been all that interesting. All the one man had done was make something go bang, and all the other man had done was fallen over and stopped feeling things. Like the animals the boneheap had flayed, once these had taken damage significant enough to make them lie still, any entertainment they could provide was immediately used up, and so they served no purpose. Not that the boneheap particularly cared either way, although if the only thing the new arrivals could muster was that sort of non-entertainment, there wasn't much reason for the boneheap to stick around and watch. What could possibly be learned from people who fell over and stayed there, anyway?

Still, the boneheap stood around for a few moments more, even as the soldiers went around, grabbing up the men from their huts, lining them up in front of the food pit, and shoving them down onto their knees. Then the soldiers stood aside, one of them got back up onto one of the truck beds and brought the machinegun around, and with a sudden spike of desperate fear and a rhythmic series of concussive pressure waves, the thing spat in a line across the group of them. In search of anything interesting to find, the boneheap narrowed its perception, speeding it up to the point that it could watch every chain link on the ammunition belt clank through, each burst of gas slowly expanding within the firing chamber, each tapered teardrop of metal-jacketed lead hurry down the tube and fly through the air, kicking up divots of fur and blood and bone as they impacted along down the line. And one by one, each one culminated a little burst of fear and of pain, and the boneheap watched as each figure in turn crumpled into the dirt, broken and useless to it. A few of them, though, gave some momentarily lingering impressions, of fear for their... families? Interesting, almost worth contemplating, but over all too soon, as the one with the handgun walked by and popped the heads of the ones still moving at all. A lot of emotion, wasted, gone, leaving only the fear of the women and children still huddled together in the houses, and the feelings of the soldiers... all of whom were men. And with that, suddenly, the boneheap was more intrigued.

Or, at least, it was at first. When the soldiers split up, dragging women and children out of the houses, grinning and licking their muzzles as groups of them grabbed one or another of the women, shoving them down into the dirt. They undid their uniform pants, erect in complete indifference to the carnage all around them, as the women gazed with surging emotion at the shredded bodies of their former partners. It was like what the boneheap had experienced before, only at a vastly higher level of intensity. They were afraid, horrified, shocked, knowing what was coming, sensing the power that would soon be brought to bear. It was to be a fantastic display, and the boneheap settled in, ready to enjoy it playing out all around him - until one of the soldiers, a horrible grin on his face, grabbed one of the boys watching nearby in horror and buried a machete in his shoulder.

The boy let out a keening cry, sharper than anything the boneheap had experienced before, sharper even than the compression waves that had exploded the bullets outward. The boneheap, being what it was, could hardly have cared if the man had bothered finishing the child's dismemberment - to the boneheap, the action wasn't judged to be wrong, or cruel, but simply something that was happening to someone else and so was largely irrelevant. But the cry, and the crushing pain pouring out from the child, went on, and on, and on, as the boneheap quickly realized that the emotion was one that it could not readily resonate with. Instead, it was dissonant, jarring, jangling something within its bones in a way that was supremely annoying - enough that the boneheap grated its finer bones together and lashed out petulantly with the power that it possessed.

One bit of it struck the boy in the head, causing blood to burst forth from his nose, mouth and ears, but the sound and the pain ceased as the child slumped forward to join the ranks of the unmoving. Another bit struck the soldier in the chest, his ribs almost seeming to melt in, and he collapsed as well. And a stray bit of it found its way over to the box full of ammunition attached to the machinegun mounted on the truck bed, cooking it off at random in a violent, ragged burst.

Suddenly, the scene was absolute chaos. As the boneheap was still invisible, there was no notion that it could have been behind the sudden violence - instead, the soldiers assumed that they must be under attack by snipers or a patrol from the opposing side. Suddenly, everyone was running, running, firing their tubes every which way, villagers sprinting aimlessly for some sort of cover as the soldiers practically tripped over them. Some of the soldiers lit glass bottles filled with liquid and bits of cloth at their tips, hurling them into the huts and causing them to sporadically catch fire. All around, the situation spiraled into craziness, and the boneheap just watched it play out, taking in the unbridled intensity. Now, every one of them was scared, but there was enough variation and adrenaline to the fear to make it palatable to explore.

After a while, though, when it was clear enough that no other attacks were coming, things began to calm down. The soldiers, split up and scattered throughout the village, went back to their normal behavior: taking stuff from whatever huts weren't burning, shooting at the villagers trying to escape into the woods, grabbing what women were still around. This time, there was nothing to stand in their way, and the women were soon barking with surprise and fear as the soldiers hurriedly stripped them down and forced their way inside them, doing them unceremoniously in the dirt. It was something the boneheap should have enjoyed, except... compared to the massed intensity that had flooded it only moments ago, the new fear and humiliation was somehow lacking. The women were afraid, but... they weren't afraid enough, not as crushed or humiliated as it had expected. Now that the other violence was over, it was almost like they were expecting their fate, and when the boneheap focused closer, some of them were even accepting it, were even grateful that the soldiers were inside them - because it meant that, for the moment at least, their children weren't being harmed. And while that was an... emotion, true, it wasn't anything that much held the boneheap's interest, as compassion and self-sacrifice were feelings that for it hardly even required examining.

No, it needed, hungered, for something more, for an intensity that wouldn't be diluted by such extraneous feelings, by such learned resignation. What, though? It could try to coax the situation back into chaos, but with everyone already spread out, it would be hard to kick something off as powerfully. And it probably couldn't spike the hate or lust in the soldiers any more, or the fear in the women, without it being obvious. What, then? What could it do that would create those feelings it wanted so badly?

It cast about, looking over the situation. A brother and sister, hiding under one of the trucks, trembling in each other's arms? No. Two soldiers double-teaming a dirt-and-blood-encrusted woman? No, although for a moment the boneheap wondered if it would be interesting to force the woman's jaw down around the penis lodged inside of it - that would probably just lead to another gunshot and one less set of emotions, though. A soldier and his buddy turning over one of the unmoving bodies, trying to find anything worth looting? Hardly. And yet... over a ways, towards the edge of the village, there was one solitary soldier, crouched behind one of the huts, using a scrap of cloth ripped from one of the bodies to wipe the thick sheen of blood off of his combat knife. All alone, completely out of sight from his fellow soldiers, where no one would notice if something, if anything, happened to him. And seeing him there, seeing him in juxtaposition with everything else that was going on, the boneheap had an idea.

The first part was easy enough. It sidled up next to the soldier, still unseen, using its bones to assemble another makeshift appendage. This one swung forward, phasing seamlessly through the soldier's skull, and coalescing only when its bony fingers reached the primary motor functions. A quick jolt in just the right place, and the soldier was all but paralyzed, every essential function shut down save for breathing and heartbeat. Both of those, however, began to increase rapidly as the soldier realized something was going wrong, powerless or not to express it. A few additional modifications, to deaden nerves and limit sensations - what it had in mind was ambitious, and as anatomical information flooded into its contextual knowledge, it knew that it made sense to ensure that the soldier wouldn't die of shock and pain. After all, for its idea to work, the soldier had to be alive to experience it.

Still, to do what it wanted, it would have to use its powers in a far more delicate way than it had thus far attempted - not that it doubted its ability, but it knew that keen concentration would be required. It blotted out most of its awareness, only paying attention to the nearby surroundings to ensure that no others came close, and focused inward, its hand phasing back out and moving lower.

At least, thanks to the nature of the species' sexual dimorphism, the boneheap already had everything that it needed to work with. It was the same tissues, after all, that ultimately made things up either way: the penile glans, concentrated, formed the internal bulb of sexual sensitivity that the female possessed, and the slabs of vasocongestive tissue that allowed for a male erection, divided and redistributed, were the same things that made the inner walls of a female passage swell and pull apart during her initial stages of arousal. Even the skin on the shaft was ultimately the same sort of stuff that made up those stretchy interior folds and ridges, and while they'd need to be studded with the glands that provided the lubrication, everything the boneheap needed was basically there, waiting to be massaged and manipulated into the intended form.

It went to work, using its power to make the parts it needed to use mobile and malleable, sensing the paralyzed soldier trying to strain, trying to sort out the bizarre muted sensations taking place within him, but able to do little more than vaguely sense as the parts changed and shifted within him. Testicles were plucked up inside and massaged into ovaries, seminal ducts transformed into fallopian tubes, to connect to... the first stumbling block, then: the lack of a uterus to tie everything together. With that dimorphism, though, the boneheap knew that there had to be something, and suddenly, there it was, as the last bit of anatomical knowledge slipped into place: dormant bits here and there, scattered throughout the abdomen, that could be reassembled and properly formed into what it needed. It took longer than the boneheap wanted, but it sped up the motions of its hand in response, and soon enough the tricky little organ was nestled properly into place. The rest was easy, as everything was already there: the lower abdominal cavity, empty enough that the re-formed vaginal canal was easy to settle perfectly into place, connected by the last dormant bit of tissue, the peculiar canine cervix that was designed to be penetrated by the penile tip and provide direct access to an easily-flooded womb. The prostate musculature was stretched and spread along the exterior of the passage, providing the platform that would shiver and throb and squeeze the passage in tight around anything within when sufficient stimulation took hold. All that was left was to slot the other few parts into place, tucking the loose, empty scrotal tissue, denuded of fur, in to form the three pads that protruded around the passage's opening, filling them with just the right amount of spongy, squishy remaining bits of vasocongestive tissue underneath to stretch the skin nice and sensitively taut around it. And that was that: every vestige of male genitalia wiped away, transformed into a basically perfect feminine version.

The boneheap ran a finger along the exterior of the pads, admiring its handiwork, but it still wasn't quite finished. The body itself still looked too male, and the hand quickly went back to work, painting along the flesh and shaping it, sculpting it, into the proper form. Smoothly tapered thighs, properly angled hips, arm and chest muscles slimmed and toned to diminutive female equivalents. Breasts, of course, had to be extended, and while the boneheap wasn't sure whether the resulting mammaries would actually produce milk if called upon, the end result at least looked promising: natural globes in proper proportion to the rest of the body, with thick, puffy nipples that could easily be made sensitive and erect.

With that complete, it was time for the finishing touches - the ones that would be especially crucial for the plan that it had in mind. The weapons, of course, the guns and knives, were hastily cast off into the woods. The grey fur was made to come to life, picking up a plethora of light and dark splotches to mirror the villagers' particular coloration. The uniform was recolored too, shrunken to appropriate lengths and dyed to match what would have been expected, muted and worn just enough to be believable. Even the soldier's loose boxers were repurposed, the fabric more than sufficient to form both a basic bra and a nice, snug pair of panties, cut in such a way that the crotch of them was eminently easy to move aside. For an additional touch, it then wore each item down just enough, not quite threadbare, but to the point that the clothes could be easily ripped away, in the style that the soldier's compatriots were apparently fond of. Then, all that was left to do was a little bit of tricky, but still manageable editing, plucking through the soldier's memories and scrambling up a few pertinent ones: his rank, his unit, the army he was fighting for, the names of his fellow soldiers.

Once that was done, he - or, rather, she - was the perfect candidate for the boneheap's search for entertainment. It reached back, removing the neural and movement blocks, and then settled back a few paces to watch what happened.

The boneheap wasn't entirely sure how much the soldier had been aware of as he'd undergone its manipulations, but enough had apparently registered that the soldier spent the first few moments in a state of shock, doubled over in response to the strange feeling of her abdomen being rearranged. Then the initial parts of it started to sink in, as that shock wore off and full awareness returned, when the soldier looked down and noticed the obvious protrusions on her chest. Then it was time to for her to notice the civilian clothes, the different fur, the absence of weapons - feelings of confusion and disbelief building all the while.

After that, just as the boneheap had anticipated, the soldier began pawing down along the skirt, reaching between her legs, searching for the male genitalia that should have been obvious beneath her hand. It was the sensation that emerged as she failed to do so, though, a fascinating mix of panic and complete befuddlement as the situation just began to sink in, that sent a truly fascinating jolt through the boneheap, enough to send its bones clattering softly in a minor flurry of anticipation.

For the boneheap, at that moment, it would have been enough simply to watch the soldier come to terms with her new reality, to feel her emotions flow from one to the next as she tried to wrap her comparatively primitive mind around the impossibility that she was experiencing. The boneheap, though, was so raptly focused on observing its handiwork that it paid no heed to managing the course of events unfolding around its invisible form. That wasn't to say, of course, that it was necessarily surprised when a trio of soldiers wandered into the vicinity, rifles slung and a hungry look in their eyes. Irked for a moment, perhaps, that its focus was interrupted, but such an impulse quickly passed - after all, the woman's eventual encounter with her previous comrades had been an integral part of its notion from the start.

It took a moment, though, to quickly rifle through the soldiers' initial impressions before their erstwhile compatriot came fully into view. Whatever the ultimate limits of its powers, the boneheap had figured out that it couldn't read thoughts per se, and even if it were able to, it knew that it couldn't be bothered to spend time putting the language in context for what were sure to be things that it could largely predict beforehand. No, it was the emotional, visual impressions and memories that were far more interesting, and much more easily parsed, sitting on the surface and shouting far louder than the language-parsed thoughts seemed to.

For these soldiers, at least, the fear from the nonexistent battle had long since passed, though their blood was still up, and adrenaline flowed through their veins, making their actions both quicker and more impulsive. Unlike some of the other groups in the aftermath, they hadn't happened upon anyone interesting yet to vent their adrenaline on, but hearing the success of their comrades had sent that adrenaline in a rather pointed direction. Lust was practically boiling off of them, and one had even gotten a head start, his uniform pants unzipped to reveal a tapered erection, crimson flushing to purple with eagerness as the knot below swelled enough to lock it into place.

And yet, intermingled with those powerful forces, the undercurrents were clear enough: not hatred of the villagers, so much as complete and utter contempt: that they were on the wrong side, and therefore inferior, pathetic, deserving of every indignity that the soldiers decided to inflict upon them. That, in and of itself, was fascinating to the boneheap, as unlike fear or lust, it was something that had been completely absent in the earlier forms of life it had come across.

In some other context, in fact, it might have even been worth focusing on, but the boneheap was far more interested in the soldiers' building lust, coiling tightly within them like a spring just waiting for its potential to be released - born slightly of frustration, as it had experienced before, but even more from a sense of predatory anticipation. There was no question that the boneheap thrilled to that strange and powerful combination, in some particular way... but even that suddenly paled in comparison to the spike it detected in the newly converted woman, who had finally looked up just in time to see the soldiers come around the corner of a nearby hut and fully into view. It was their presence, then, that finally made the impact of the changes reverberate in her mind, and as the emotions washed over it, the boneheap realized what they meant.

This wasn't the soldier's first time in the field. No, the boneheap was certain, the soldier had seen plenty of other villages just like this one. Smelled the smoke and the blood, heard the thump of rifles and the thud of bodies and the screams of children, felt their mothers cringe beneath him as their bodies tightened and throbbed in mute horror around his intimate intrusion. Used women without mercy or care, used them as vessels to sate his lust, and in doing so, in experiencing their every reaction so closely as he fucked the lingering vestiges of resistance out of them, the soldier knew. The soldier knew, beat by beat, every single thing that happened to the women who'd been subjected to his whims.

And now, inevitably, the soldier was finally making the connection between what she knew and her own precariously female state. It had to be the moment where the two intersected, as such a sense of deep, panicked dread could surely come from nowhere else. And it was amazing: a feeling far superior to the resignation or even the resistance exhibited by the woman from before, a deep form of terror made even more exulting by the twinge of confusion twisted through it. For all that the soldier knew about what she'd done, she still had no experience to draw upon about what actually transpired in the female body, and in fact wanted to ignore and deny that state as much as she possibly could; which was why it was so fascinating to see her completely puzzled by the strange, liquid warmth of her body's instinctual, anticipatory preparation stirring deep in her belly.

At the same time, though, the soldier still had military training, and some part of it managed to bleed through the panic and try to focus her mind. Her body tensed for movement, her eyes quickly cast about for any reasonable area of cover or avenue of escape, and arms guided by practice reached along her body for weapons that were no longer there.

There was nowhere to reasonably run to, though, and no time to escape, as the trio of other soldiers had already spotted her. They changed direction, walking over but in no real hurry, a confident swagger in their steps and teeth-baring grins on display as they headed towards their prize.

For the transformed soldier, the panic overtook the training as she saw the men zeroing in on her, laced with something even more fascinating: recognition. The soldier, of course, had been from the same unit as the others, but... no, it was more than that. The boneheap focused in closer, and was able to pull out enough of an impression to figure out what it was. It wasn't that the soldiers had been close, exactly, but they'd gone on the same assignments, and on more than enough occasions they'd been partners in crime, sharing in the same sins and the same women. The soldier had watched them take their turns, time and time again, one after the other - had cheered them on, even, had enjoyed watching them make the women yelp and buck under them as they confidently took what they wanted. They'd even competed, it seemed, to see which of them could push through a woman's resistance faster, whose thrusts could most readily quiet a woman's desperate attempts to squirm out from under them and replace them with the forced barks and moans as their bodies were overwhelmed into quiescent, submissive response. It had been a strange bond, forged through that violent, forceful dominance, but a bond nonetheless; and seeing those faces, while locked into a feminine body with an opponent's fur, brought forth a new sense of cringing desperation. The soldier knew, absolutely, that she was supposed to be on the other side, among the ones dominating, the ones high-fiving over some woman's stunned, spread-eagled, cum-dripping form. She wasn't supposed to be staring down the barrel of that anonymous woman's fate, wasn't supposed to be crouched there, pathetic and vulnerable, spade already flushing taut against the thin fabric surrounding it, knowing the fate that surely awaited.

And yet, somehow, she got to her feet, remembering the slightest bit of her training: back flush against the hut's wall, arms out to face her assailants, mind churning desperately for some solution to her imminent peril. Another few moments, though, and the trio surrounded her, far too close for comfort, and just like that, her resolve broke down. Even though an attempt to fight surely would have lost, as even an unarmed man would have been at a loss against three with guns... but there she was, shrinking into herself, words pouring out, their tone desperately begging and pleading. The words still weren't worth parsing individually, but the impressions were enough to guess at what she was saying: pleading for their mercy, begging them to recognize her, claiming that she was a fellow soldier and knew them all personally.

They, in turn, just laughed derisively as, thanks to the boneheap's hasty editing, she couldn't even remember their names. Of course, she did remember other things about them: shared experiences, things about their anatomy that weren't normally revealed, things the boneheap hadn't bothered to muddle, and for a moment it idly wondered whether the soldier would manage to capitalize on its oversight. Not that it really mattered: even if the soldier could convince the others what had happened to her, the boneheap would not be denied its entertainment. After all, now that it had practiced, it knew all the steps it needed to take to do a transformation, and could certainly do so much more efficiently the second - and the third, and the fourth - time around. Plus, the next time through, it would be more careful about how it edited away their memories. While it would be harder to focus, perhaps, there was something to be said for it, watching the interplay of a quartet in transformed desperation as the rest of the soldiers set upon them.

More work, though, with unknown reward, and not something the boneheap really wanted to bother with. No, far easier to just nudge the instinct of one of them just a little bit, and as wound up as they were, the slightest of taps was all it took: The one with his cock already out was more than ready to let his hand lash across the woman's chest, claws out just enough, shredding the tattered cloth open and exposing her bra and cleavage. It was enough to set even more action into motion, and his hand quickly swung back, grabbing the front of the bra and ripping it straight off of her with reasonably impressive strength. All it took was a few seconds of flashing motion, and the soldier's breasts were exposed, bouncing free on her chest as the bizarre sensation of motion took the words right out of the soldier's mouth. Her desperate plans for convincing them were dashed, just like that, and the arm she brought up to stop the other soldier was easily and casually brushed aside as he reached in to fondle her, wrapping a meaty hand around her breast and squeezing hard, the boneheap carefully considering both the squeal that it elicited and the alien emotions that it caused the soldier to generate, as a part that had before been easy to ignore was suddenly and inexplicably bursting with sensation.

That soldier, then, would clearly be going first, the others even shifting to the sides and taking a half-step back to watch as he moved in closer, tongue sliding out to flick languidly across his muzzle, and then across hers, lingering meaningfully as his hand maintained its grip. The man was practically boiling over with lust and confidence, but what was coming off of the transformed soldier was almost sublimely fascinating and delightfully intermixed: the palpable disgust of the man's slimy tongue matting the fur around her muzzle, the strangely combined pain of the man's grip and the confounding thrill of his palm mashing against a deeply sensitive and responsive female nipple, the horrible, trapped feeling of the man pushing his body up against hers and the incomprehensible sensation of the man's erection pushing her skirt in between her legs to nudge at her crotch.

That last, in fact, was doubly interesting, because not only did it draw the soldier's attention back to what was missing between her legs, the way that something could nudge in past the protrusion that was no longer there, it suddenly made what had replaced it seem even more real, to the point that it could no longer be denied. The impossible feeling, of spongy, fleshy pads that shouldn't have existed squishing inward as something hard nudged against them, was enough to leave the soldier actually stunned as her unprepared, ostensibly male brain tried to parse the novel sensation. Her body, though, knew how to react more than well enough, and there were hardly better signals than a bare, manhandled breast and something prodding hard against her spade to indicate that sex, wanted or not, was both imminent and inevitable.

The man had pressed in for only a short while, just long enough for a few more lingering licks and dominant, sharply whispered words directed into her ears, but when he pulled back for a moment, the boneheap could palpably sense the shock and humiliation as the transformed soldier realized that the crotch of her panties were already soaked through, disgusted by the sodden way they felt against her spade. Disgusted, in fact, by her lack of resistance, by her body's pathetic capitulation to the circumstances. Disgusted even more that it had soaked through the fabric of her skirt, too, and the way the man was grinning down at her, grinning at the slick splotch of wetness that her pathetic, panicked body had left on the head of his cock... no, that was more like fear, terror even. Mixed with the strange, impossible arousal, and... anger, definitely anger, some part of the soldier's masculinity breaking through. Enough that she even lashed a hand out, claws flaring, trying for a slash across his face. All that got her, though, was more laughter, a quick block that her diminished muscles had no chance of overcoming, and a hand that slammed into her side and shoved her forcefully off balance, sending her tumbling to the ground.

The boneheap exulted as the soldier's mind flailed, desperately trying to remember her downed combat training, but it didn't even matter. As soon as she toppled over and hit the ground, the other soldier pounced down on top of her, one hand catching her shoulder, rolling her all the way over and down onto her back. In the time it took her to recover from the breath being knocked out of her, to even make a decent attempt at flailing underneath him, he'd already spread her legs wide apart, shoved the front of her loose skirt up around her waist, and tugged the crotch of her panties to the side, the wet fabric bunching up against the edge of a spade that had been easily and effortlessly exposed. By the time she was able to react, to realize what that meant, he was already lowering himself down on top of her, teeth nipping at one of her breasts. When the woman gasped, though, it wasn't from an attempt to catch her breath, or the feel of his incisors digging in against her nipple; no, it was the sensation of his tip, hard and hot and undeniable, sinking in between the easily yielding pads of her spade.

To the boneheap it was electrifying: a spark of panic and terror unlike any it had ever felt before, accompanied by a bizarre surge of feminine arousal. Having never experienced it before, the soldier had no idea how to react to the sensation of imminent and inevitable penetration, no experience in muting the perception of the sensation and suffering through it as the previous woman had. The soldier, then, couldn't react in any way except the one her body instinctually told her to expect - penetration and sex were supposed to happen when aroused, so her physiological arousal would flow as it had been designed to. Still, the soldier struggled, trying despite the unfamiliar equipment between her legs to do something, anything, to prevent it from progressing. The boneheap sensed her trying to squeeze every muscle group in the vicinity that she knew of, trying to squeeze them shut to delay the penetration, even as she knew that nothing would work, even as memories flooded back of pushing past dozens of spades, of hilting his knot against them, without a single one offering even token resistance.

The horrible realization was that her spade, her insides, had no defense at all against what was happening to them. It was that despair, that perfect, delectable sense of despair, that set the boneheap's bones thrumming as the shaft spread her spade wide open around it and pushed inside with a dominant thrust, forcing the sensation of his full length indelibly through her abdomen and mashing the stretched, squishy pads of her spade halfway flat against the pressing bulge of his knot.

The boneheap shifted back a little, finding a comfortable position to settle its bones into, raptly focused on the scene playing out in front of it. Not so much the man, completely overtaken by lust now, casually raping her into the dirt as his movements devolved into an instinctual, rapidly pounding canine rhythm. No, the object of its focus was solely on the woman under him, desperate, squirming, panicking, flooded with the unknown sensations of a man humping her down, kneading the stretchy, yielding flesh inside her, rubbing inevitably and repeatedly up against the clitoral nub that the remnants of her maleness had been concentrated into. The way it all flowed together into a complex emotional maelstrom, fear and humiliation and disgust and weakness, coupled with the memories that played out in tandem and presaged it all. How, just like all the women she had seen, she was desperately trying to squirm her hips out from under him, trying to pull her spade away from the thrusting impalement, pushing against the man's shoulders in some attempt to lift him off of her, even as each stretching thrust, each pounding shock against her hips, forced that resistance further and further down within her. Felt her hips stop trying to fight it, felt them doing nothing but being forcefully bucked back in response to each thrust against them, felt her arms going weak and falling back down to her sides, felt her abbreviated tail twitching from where it was pinned beneath her back every time a thrust bottomed out inside her. Felt her whole body trembling weakly, heard the weird little moans bubbling up through her throat unbidden, realizing that every single thing she'd done, she'd witnessed, was being revisited upon her.

And yet... even that wasn't the most fascinating part. No, that came when she looked up, when she saw the face of the man violating her, the face that she knew so well, twisted with contempt and lust; the person who had respected her, who'd fought and fucked right beside her, using her so mercilessly. Every glance at his face reminded her of who she was supposed to be, how they were supposed to interact... and who she was now, how fundamentally humiliating it was to have him being the one penetrating her body, the one forcing her to submit and conform to his lust. The boneheap could feel her hating him, hating herself, loathing the situation... and coming to the terrifying realization that no matter how much she hated it, no matter how much she wanted to bear it, to fight back, to be a man, her body was still responding, every thrust stimulating parts of her, and she couldn't stop it. No, she couldn't pull away from it at all, couldn't even pull back enough to take away the overwhelming feeling being forced through her, couldn't do anything but let thrust after relentless thrust rub each sensitive spot raw with electric stimulation, feeling the intensity shuddering through her pelvis as an aftershock to each pounding thrust. She had no frame of reference to deal with any of it, no way to parse or deflect the stimulation, only to experience it as pure emotion, a hated arousal that she was forced, to the boneheap's delight, to experience in every ache and throb.

The soldier atop her could somehow sense it too, perhaps noting a particular look on her face, or the way her tongue was panting out from her muzzle. He was more than happy to help things along, the sight of the woman succumbing despite her best efforts spurring him on to thrust faster and faster, harder and harder, the knot nearly but not quite pounding her spade apart enough to slip inside. The boneheap could feel the woman processing each bit of it, though, from the pounding reverberations against her spade to the rapid strokes stretching her tensed flesh, from the weight pressing down against her fur and ramming her pelvis into the dirt to the near-constant shocks of stimulation as the shaft ground relentlessly back and forth against her internal clit.

The boneheap focused in even tighter, watching with fascination as each disparate impulse shot up through her nervous system, zagging instantaneously up her spine and detonating in nerve clusters of the brain that no man would ever expect to see activated, much less all at once - and the resulting emotion was the most fascinating of all, overriding all the rest, forcing them aside even as the act of doing so brought with it its own personal sense of horror: not only raped and humiliated, not only trapped by the man pinning her to the ground, but trapped by her own body and inbuilt instincts as the man turned them against her, trapped by the simple fact of being a woman who couldn't control the feelings being stoked inside her. It was positively delectable to watch the feminine form the boneheap had created give in exactly as it was supposed to, feeling the exact moment when her quivering internal flesh was fully held in thrall, when that last bit of resistance slipped away into a weird, fluttering sense of horribly feminine inevitability, and the way that her insides, finally, completely surrendered to the grinding thrusts that held her taxed flesh on the boundary of inescapable orgasm for a moment of exquisite agony.

The boneheap, incapable of directly expressing emotion itself, only understood the concept of climax from a theoretical perspective. Visually, it wasn't really all that interesting, just something that made her cry out in a shocked, wavering voice and squirm violently under him, each extremity spasming seemingly randomly as the man exulted in triumph. The emotion that poured forth from the soldier, though, was rapturous, and not even from the nature of its overwhelmed sense of stimulation; rather, it was the woman's reaction to it, to the fact that she'd just come as a girl, come from being brutally raped, like she was enjoying it; how humiliating it was that such a thing could be forced through her, that such a complete and utter one-sided domination could leave her breathless and trembling like a weak, pathetic bitch around his cock. In a matter of a few short minutes, the contrast was made complete: from a swaggering, rape-minded soldier to a woman raped into a fully submissive climax with barely a hint of resistance, pouring out the emotions of her experience the entire way.

All that was left was for the man to make one more thrust, let out a short, growling grunt, and bleed off his own climactic energy, an orgasm that was barely even there compared to what the woman had managed to elicit. No, it made much more sense to focus on the final stage of humiliation and dread settling in the woman's psyche as she felt the man's semen flood into her, pulsing hot as it infiltrated her ravaged flesh, pooling up against her cervix and dripping deeper. As it did, the significance of the stuff brought up an entirely new and fascinating sort of fear, as the former man contemplated something he'd never even dreamed of: whether she was now going to have the result of being brutally violated growing within her. She struggled again, but the man just ground his hips in harder, keeping her firmly impaled as he made sure every last drop was deposited inside her before he even thought about pulling back.

Fascinatingly, every sensation of wetness splashing and oozing against her inner walls made the fear of pregnancy more prominent - apparently, the soldier was so clueless about even that one fundamental aspect of femaleness, as another piece of information into context. Even with the boneheap's creation of the proper environment, the species required a state of estrus before the man's sperm would do anything useful within her. Somehow, having that knowledge, and knowing how pointlessly ironic the soldier's fears were, made the emotion that much more enthralling.

As the man got up off of her, admiring his handiwork, the boneheap caught one more sense of deep, permeating humiliation, pushing through to her very core, as some part of her gnawed with desperation: willing her to find the strength to get up, to cover herself, to try and crawl away, to do literally anything to preserve some last little shred of dignity. All she could muster, though, was a low, muted groan, and a futile twitch of her arm, able to do little more than look up at the soldiers as she lay there in the dirt, legs still splayed wide open, and red, swollen spade oozing a gout of thick semen that clung to its pads as a reminder of just how thoroughly she'd been claimed.

It was in that moment, then, that she effectively broke, the combined experience far too much for her unprepared male psyche to take. As she collapsed into resignation, her emotions disappointingly dulled, losing the deep vividness of their drama as they hollowed out and leaving nothing left but a steady, boring note of despair.

Still, the boneheap hung around for a while, watching as the other soldiers, made even more eager by what they'd just witnessed, shed their uniform pants and each took a turn with her - not even bothering to shift her from her blank, spread-eagled position on the ground, just lying down on top of her and cementing her complete submission with their thrusts, spending several minutes humping her back into unescapable climax before adding to the mess inside her. True, there was something still thrilling about that part at least, enough to keep the boneheap from becoming entirely uninterested, holding its vicarious interest as the alien femininity twisted the woman's mind and emotions into a progressively more incomprehensible muddle.

Then they were done, dragging the woman to her feet and spending a minute just holding her up, watching her legs tremble and buckle weakly as gouts of cum poured down from a spade still spread halfway open by their combined attention. The woman was so humiliated that even the additional display didn't seem to elicit anything new, and just like that, the boneheap was bored again. For a moment, it considered stepping in again, freezing the four in place while it set things back to normal and watch how the men reacted when they realized they'd somehow actually ended up fucking their erstwhile rape-buddy, but such a scenario paled in comparison to what it had just been able to witness.

That, and the fact that the boneheap, unburdened by morals, hardly cared one bit about what happened to any of them. No, the entertainment was over, and there would be no point in expending further energy on any of them, so it was more than content to slide back to the center of the village and watch from a distance as they carried on the fate that it had set in motion.

The boneheap felt no remorse for what it had done, and similarly leveled no judgment against the soldiers for their actions. Everything, really, had gone as the boneheap had anticipated, and while certain aspects of it had been predictable from the start, its informed guess had been correct - its experiment had paid off, and through its actions, it had managed to conjure up a wonderful combination of emotions that it could more than easily resonate with.

It watched, impassive, as the soldiers around the village mopped up. The more annoying and possibly rebellious male children that had for some reason remained were lined up in a crouch and dispatched, the glorified metal tubes sending projectiles forward to transect their skulls. It was pointless, a waste, but nonetheless didn't conjure up the unfortunate kind of suffering that the boneheap disliked, so it passively watched as they were made unmoving. Perhaps, it reflected, it should have chased them down and changed them too, to shift them over to its newly preferred brand of suffering, but now that it was done, the boneheap had no reason to further consider it. Nor did it consider the fate of the remaining women, watching as the soldiers ripped the last few shreds of remaining clothing off of their ravaged bodies, using some of the tattered strips to tie their hands behind their backs before roughly loading them up onto one of the truck beds. The soldiers climbing up to ride with them casually groped at their breasts and laughed as the trucks started up and drove off, leaving the half-burned village and its various corpses to their bloody, silent requiem.

As they faded into the distance, the boneheap caught a few lingering impressions from the soldiers, glimpses and imaginings regarding what would be done to the captives once they were delivered to the rest of the soldiers at their base in a nearby occupied town, and the faint spike of fear and sensation as one of the soldiers, still horny, apparently pressed one of the captives down and used her on the spot. And somehow, mixed in with all of it, was a single snapshot from the boneheap's own perception: of the soldier that it had transformed, sitting there amidst all of the other captured women, her breasts bouncing and swaying in time to the truck's jolting ride as her eyes seemed to stare back, past the boneheap and off into the distance, blank with devastation.

The boneheap, perhaps, would have smiled, if the bones it were composed of were capable of such a thing, and if it could generate emotions on its own. Nevertheless, it was... satisfied, in some fundamental way. It had emerged before, whole, with knowledge but without purpose, but now it had... something. Maybe not complete, maybe not refined, but now there was a real, coherent focus. It knew, for sure, that it was done with lesser creatures, done with its own brutality, instead pointed towards a much more fascinating kind of intrigue.

No, what it wanted was to watch, and meddle, to twist and tweak a person's reality in some fundamental way, letting their emotions feed through it somehow as they were wrenched and torn by their new role. It had found itself a very particular type of suffering, and as long as it changed things up enough, it knew that such a thing, in combination with the species that it had found, could provide the fascination it desired for a long, long time.

The boneheap melted back into the woods, gliding along with no corporeal impediments to stand in its way; but now it traveled fast, with a purpose. Not to the base of the soldiers - that scenario had played itself out more than enough for now, and at that point in its new existence, the boneheap had yet to discover the particular fascination of watching someone's suffering evolve over time. From the soldiers, though, it had gleaned enough memories to put more words into context: beyond villages, beyond huts, to larger towns... and beyond even that, to cities. Cities, filled with towering, shining buildings and glittering lights, but more importantly with thousands and thousands of people, of intelligences interacting in close quarters in innumerable ways, endless opportunities for its particular brand of insinuation. And so it traveled on, crossing desert and ocean, until the city of the recollections flowed into view over the horizon.

As it moved closer, as it prepared to settle in and have its own particular way with all the life bustling around it, it neglected to notice the other thing hovering on the edge of perception, the entity that watched it with a cold, calculating intensity. It had no notion that there could be anything else like it, or that it could even dwell in a territory under something else's control, nor had it fully awakened to the timelessness and near-omnipresent knowledge that would reveal the others with whom it would inevitably find itself in conflict.

And so, as it watched, another watched it, waiting to see how it acted. And when the boneheap finally reached into a suitable target, whether it realized or not, that was the point in time - if that could even be considered a useful reference point for those involved - when the first in a series of deeply interrelated and strictly structured games was set into motion...