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Massacre.

Nothing better befit the sight greeting Strella and her seven comrades. All of them arrived on the mine's edge atop armored raptors, geared for patrolling the roads around Qhaneva.

She didn't hesitate.

"Search for survivors!" Her head jerked at a few of her number, "You three. Ride back to Qhaneva and warn the town!"

The halfdragons rolled their shoulders and tightened their grips. Nobody wanted to be the dumbass who lost their pike on the way down. They split off into their respective groups. Three to hightail back to town, and four to follow the sergeant in.

Everywhere they looked, only carnage greeted them. The greenscaled reptiles weren't new to the sight of slaughter: plenty time to get used to that, tangling with the lizardfolk roaming their countryside.

What stood out to sergeant Strella...was the lack of any noticable attempt to devour the dead. If lizardfolk struck here, most of the bodies wouldn't remain. Just signs of a feast. Bone fragments and discarded clothes, maybe a few skulls--for those rare occasions the lizardfolk didn't take 'em as keepsakes.

But this...

She grimaced.

This just looked like frothing hate. Every body, mangled beyond recognition. Shards of rock splintered about...fragmented furniture and walls torn apart like paper, huts of the kobold serfdom torn through like they hardly mattered.

Strella stopped, stunned, by a sight nearest the mine's bottom.

"Sergeant!" one of her compatriots called out from above. She didn't immediately turn away, but steeled herself with a long breath, and made her way back up. Away from field of mangled cattle. She wanted answers. Anybody so driven by a need for death as to kill...animals...

Justice and far more demanded answers. Answers and more.

"This wasn't a raid, this wasn't conquest, this wasn't anything even SUGGESTIVE OF reasonable!" she hissed and spat on her climb up, not caring who heard.

"We...found a survivor. I think."

Strella snapped her attention on the speaker. One easy glance where her comrades already gathered, and she knew where to go. She slipped off her raptor and trudged into the shaft. The others followed in behind her.

A quivering ball of kobold. That's their survivor.

Coated in more blood than clothes, and trying to hide inside their tunic, the sergeant's face showed her every misgiving.

She thinned her yellow eyes...reached her foot forward..and prodded the kobold.

In an instant, the small creature shrieked out a bloodcurdling "YEEE!" and launched herself at Strella's face--limbs flailing everywhere and eyes wide.

Strella bitchslapped the kobold out of the air with her shield.

After hitting the ground with a grunt, the kobold blinked several times. Rapid. Its chest still rising and falling just as fast, it looked around at them. "Is...", a timid voice squeaked free as though unwilling to trust her eyes, "Is over?"

Neither Strella nor her comrades reacted.

Not at first.

The sergeant broke their silence. "Seize her."

Two of their number just...scooped the kobold up under her arms and carried her out of the shaft. Strella lingered. She let her eyes surf the dark. Inexplicable apprehension gripped her heart.

She froze in place, her feet pressing firm to the ground. Ready to spring.

A sickliness clung to the dark.

No halfdragon climbed rank by freezing in the face of danger. Such of her kind often died early. And Strella's reputation gave even higher ranked draconians pause.

But that darkness...

It shook her fucking blood.

She backed away, glancing once more to the...obliterated bodies painting the shaft's walls and ceiling...then finally turned away.

When she stepped outside to rejoin her waiting companions--the kobold already caged up and tied to the back of a raptor, just behind the saddle--it suddenly dawned on her. No matter how old the slaughter, all death attracted those who...capitalized...on sitting meat. But just silence--and a perfect stillness--hung upon the air.

"Where are the crows?" she mumbled to herself.

"Sergeant?"

"Nothing," she shook her head and waved them on, "Let's return to Qhaneva. And start asking questions." She glowered at the kobold, who looked relieved. Deep loathing welled up in the sergeant's chest. "Coward," she spat and set her focus back on the journey ahead of them.

---

The trek through the hilly forests of Nophek went...as smoothly as could be anticipated. Jagged boulders, gripped by grand roots and dwarfed by ancient trees...sloping paths and a rocky brook or stream around every bend. A thousand hiding places.

Strella's eyes tracked 'em all.

She could decry no signs of armies making motion. No trampled saplings or flattened brush...no sight of refuse, or the occasional abandoned piece of equipment--deigned too far gone to justify carrying around. All the typical markings of large numbers. The kinds of numbers needed for pulling off a total slaughter of thousands.

What but an army could eradicate thousands?

And quickly enough, at that, to go unnoticed by patrols or Qhaneva's towers?

Her gaze returned, after every question posed herself, to the kobold. It all stunk to Vahal of a sabotage. But that didn't do much to justify the creature's horrified state.

Unless she felt tremendous guilt.

She rode closer, determined. "Serf!"

The kobold blinked and turned her head to Strella.

"Your name!"

"Kir is called Kir," the kobold answered, so quiet Strella had to strain to hear her over the scratching sounds of raptor feet in dirt.

"What attacked the mine?"

Kir dipped her head. "...Monster."

"How many?"

The kobold didn't answer. So Strella backhanded the cage, startling the raptor and its mount. Kir jerked. "One! Was one monster!"

"Impossible!" Strella snarled. "One monster killed thousands? Before a patrol saw anything? With power and speed enough to attract no attention, but somehow...just somehow didn't use magic that would've been sensed the world over?"

"...yes."

Strella shook her head, growled, and spurred her raptor further up the path. It snarled its own displeasure.

Just as dawn dyed the horizon, the patrol arrived within sight of the mountain-like walls of Qhaneva; half carved into the forest slopes and half built of mossy boulders and masonry. Towers crowned the cliff overhangs and flanked either side of the fortress-like gatehouse, the entrance of which dipped briefly below ground.

A troop of greenscale guards waited by the gates. One of them rushed forward. "Sergeant!"

Strella stopped. Her companions did likewise.

"Lord Naghanth wants an immediate report."

She nodded. "We found a survivor."

"A survivor?"

Annoyance roused. She exhaled and rolled her neck. "Yes. A. Survivor. Just one." Her words emerged with a hiss of scorn and disgust. "A broken little survivor, who thinks just one monster killed thousands of her kind. Serfs!" she spat.

"Don't tarry, Sergeant," the guard suggested, bowing his head in respect before hurrying aside to let them by.

The riders picked up their pace and raced into the blaze-lit depths of the gatehouse. A short trip later, they emerged into the sloping streets. Stonework with log frames composed most of the buildings in Qhaneva, winding together wall-to-wall with a series of carved arches and supports linking with those not outright sharing walls. Together, the streets and buildings just about formed a forest of their own kind.

Draconian inhabitants hugged the edges of the street to permit their returning warriors easy passage. Kobold servants darted this way and that in small groups, trying to avoid slowing in their duties--or making the odious, dire mistake of proving a hindrance to their betters.

Following the network of winding streets, always higher and higher, the party at last arrived in the mossy courtyard of Castle Qhaneva--built upon the highest point of town. Its walls and structures seemed to sprout from the ground, a manufactured mountain and a monument to the domination of dragons over the domain they claimed.

Strella dismounted.

A gaggle of kobolds hurried forward to lead away the raptors, seeing them fed and cleaned.

Kir's cage was lifted free, then carried by two of Strella's men. They fell in behind her as the trio entered the narrow, tall halls of the castle. In like manner to the streets, the halls sloped upward--splintering off in varying directions, but the central path always climbing higher.

At its end, the hall opened into a yawning chamber of treasure. Tributes and...conquests. No sooner had they entered, and Strella's subordinates set the cage on a tremendous altar in the chamber's center, when a winged figure swept down from above.

All three soldiers kneeled.

"A mine is erased, and you bring me a kobold?" the dragon hissed. The glows of his golden eyes flared brightly with an inner fire. Three times her size, Naghanth made Strella seem like Kir did to her.

"She is the only survivor, Lord Naghanth."

On all fours, the dragon tromped toward his altar. He loomed before a cowering Kir. "You alone survived?" he repeated aloud, in disbelief, "One among a thousand, un. HARMED?!"

Lunging his head forward, he roared into the cage! "SPEAK QUICKLY, INSECT!"

"Wh-what does Master wish Kir to say?"

Infuriated, Naghanth reared his head. His eyes flashed bright. He spread out his wings to fill the chamber. Corrosive, glowing green mist fumed from his nostrils and mouth. "I WANT ANSWERS, INSECT!"

"Kir is sorry, Master!" Kir wailed, folding her arms about her head and holding it flat to the bottom of the cage. Her tail and legs quivered.

It's then Strella realized...Why isn't she wearing trousers? She blinked and straightened. Alarmed. Was she...?

Naghanth's questions each intoned greater, and greater anger. Every word emerged with more fury. And Kir's answers, in return, grew squeakier. More pathetic.

Before long, the kobold sobbed. Her weeping angered the dragon further. "Worthless!" His interrogation of her ended with backhanding the cage across the room--sending it sailing off the altar and crashing into a pile of gold.

"This pathetic worm is a disgrace to our kind!" he growled, turning toward Strella--who stiffened in professional attentiveness. "Remove her from my sight. From my domain. My forests! She is an exile, now. Since she can provide nothing of worth to us, yet survived alone, then her life will be spent--forever more--alone and in exile." His lips curled, "Unless it should be ended swift by hungry lizards."

Strella bowed.

"And I want to know how much damage is done to my mine!" Naghanth snarled, turning his head and thinning his eyes, the fumes still welling out. "The Sovereign will not accept extermination as a reason for failing to deliver tribute." The oozing self-pity in his words betrayed exactly how he felt about the...new circumstances he faced.

The sergeant remained bowed.

Naghanth turned his head toward her.

His eyes thinned once more.

"YOU WERE COMMANDED, HALFDRAGON!" he roared at her.

"Yes, Master!" Strella squeaked, turning tail to run out of the chamber. One of her men managed to be more mindful. He grabbed Kir's cage and pulled her out with them.

As they took their leave, the dragon turned about. He threw his wings outward, then launched out of the chamber.

His displeased roars echoed the morning.

---

Strella and her forces crowded the barracks. Gear fetched, orders hissed, weapons sharpened; the usual symphonies of preparation echoed its walls. Huddled up in a corner, Kir remained curled into a ball, quivering and holding her head. Tiny sobs choked through, every now and then.

The sergeant looked at her, unable to decide if she felt pity for the creature...or perpetual loathing. To be the bearer of Naghanth's ire...she could but imagine the churning feelings in the whimpering kobold's heart.

Or maybe the thought of exile haunted her?

Strella shook it off and sheathed her falchion.

"Sergeant!" a guard shrieked for her, bumbling into the barracks. Breathless. And wide-eyed.

The sergeant turned to him. "What in Angald's got your tail?"

"We're--" the guard wheezed, "We're under--we're under attack! At the--"

"What?" Strella demanded, wearing an incredulous expression. Who the hell could... She shoved past him, making her way out into the barracks courtyard. "If we're under attack, why has no one--"

She stopped.

Her eyes grew.

"No...fucking way..." she muttered.

Nothing remained of the gatehouse. Several towers lay collapsed. Walls crumbled. The faces of buildings torn open. Streets in chaos.

Draconians of every kind were fleeing. At least...trying to.

Among them, a horror danced. Appearing and disappearing in explosions of liquid darkness. Manifesting, one moment, in a whirlwind of black and crimson--dicing through everyone. And in the next, gone.

Shadows ripped their way out of buildings, impaling kobold, halfdragon, and even dragonborn into the air.

Strella stumbled.

"T-TO ARMS!" she howled out.

Just as she did, an explosion of shadow manifested in the barracks courtyard. The instant it did, the materializing figure--engulfed in obsidian fog--twisted in the air. Blackened hands clutched the chain-coiled handles of two...massive cleaver-like swords, each five-feet in length--ending in square-edged tips, which hooked back into fang-like shapes.

Those blades sang through six of Strella's men as if they were just grass. The tidal waves of force behind their swings unleashed bloody cyclones, throwing the butchered soldiers across the courtyard.

Strella went for her falchion. At her hip. No further. No great effort needed to snatch and draw it.

The same time...their attacker landed on its feet.

As soon as the dark figure crouched from the weight of landing, another explosion burst. This time, a volley of black chains speared out of the shadows enveloping him.

They serpentined the air. Darting and weaving. Like irate vipers made of a lustreless metal. Their spearblade-like tips impaled everything in the courtyard.

"GHNNNH-HNH!" Strella choked out, her leg pierced. She fell to a knee, still grasping her falchion. "FFFUUCK!" she hissed, barking orders best she could, "ARCHERS!"

She managed scarcely to get the order out...and the...monster already vanished again. Windows shattered above her, telling her exactly where he reappeared.

Her lieutenant stood motionless beside her.

"What the fuck are standing there for?!" she hissed to him. Her head lifted, eyes traveling up his armored form.

Oh.

Oh...

Her heart sank.

One of the chains pierced through his eye, straight out his skull, and buried its blade into the wall behind him. He stood, but only because the chain didn't grant him permission to do otherwise.

"Fffuck," Strella huffed. She looked down at her impaled leg. Then around at everyone else. There weren't any survivors in the barracks. Those who stood, only did so because--like her lieutenant--the chains kept 'em there.

If she didn't get moving...and soon...

Steeling herself, her gaze returned to the chain in her leg. She yanked out her falchion. Raised it. And swung it with all her might. A halfdragon's strength was nothing to shake tail at.

The impact of metal rang throughout the courtyard. Again. And then again. Each time, Strella loaned more of her strength to the swing. Each time, the chain quivered. Fresh pain shot through her.

But it didn't break.

"Fuck!"

She looked at her falchion. Three swings, and no effect on the chain. Three swings...and three places on her blade were already mangled. A long crack sprawled the blade. It'd just break on another swing.

Strella hurried it along, smashing it on the barracks archway. Fragments flicked everywhere, and the blade broke. The end result left her with a short little meat cleaver.

She drew a harsh breath through her nostrils. Plan already in her head.

Her eyes went to her leg.

She tightened her grasp around the falchion.

One more breath.

And her arm lifted.

She howled out.

But before she began her swing, the chain yanked her up. It jerked her leg out from under her. And...reacquainted her with the agony of its existence. Fresh blood spilled up her leg, and she yowled--dropping her broken falchion.

As the breath left her mouth, a hand clutched her skull...and two feet of flesh plunged into her gullet. Choking her short.

The sergeant gagged.

Fine, she thought acidly. Want to stick a dick in her mouth? Then she'll bite it the fuck o--

...

Her defiler seemed to catch on to her plan, even before she made the attempt. He twisted her leg, every time he pumped her mouth. The mounting agony coaxed her into gagged screams of pain.

To worsen everything, talons plunged into her flesh--just behind her jaw. They pierced into muscle, then twisted.

A sick crack...and Strella whined around his cock. Jaw dislocated.

He picked his pace up, spurred on by her mounting agony. Ferocity beyond ferocity met her face. The girth of his arousal flattened her windpipe inside her throat. Every thrust sent a tidal wave through her form, coaxing muffled choking noises out of her.

More chains wrapped her waist. Another coiled her arm, jerking it behind her. Together, they rattled with every impact of her oppressor's hips against her snout.

She tried to kick him with her unrestrained leg.

Of course...he caught it. And punished her. A violent twist. Bone croaked inside flesh, and new pain flooded through Strella.

Without warning, a deluge of hot fluid filled her throat.

The monster tore himself from her face, still climaxing. Her mouth filled in no time. Unable to swallow, react, or even shut her face--cum oozed out of her mouth.

He dropped her to the ground. She grunted.

Choking out his seed, crawling on her belly, Strella tried to turn. Do anything, really, to get away. To get a proper look at her defiler. Instead, she found herself distracted by a different sight.

Past his digitigrade, fire-blackened, almost...draconic feet and legs... Strella saw Kir. Cowering behind a corner, unable to look away. Just...watching.

"Huhk!" Strella gagged out, trying to call to her. A foot planted on her skull, pinning her jaw to the ground. She felt talons curl into the base of her gambeson. One powerful lurch, and the armor--alongside the halfplate over it--ripped loose. Up along her frame, at the same time, she felt a blade curl in against her backside. Then...begin tearing through her trousers.

On impulse, she tried to reach around for her garments. To do anything to stall what she knew came next. His intent couldn't be clearer.

But chains stopped her.

They speared through her forearms, piercing the flagstoned ground. She choked out another wet yowl of pain. Through teary yellow eyes, she glowered at the chains.

Dagger-like blades sprang out from the links, in like manner to flexing quills. Their sudden appearance elicited a gasp from Strella.

Yanked off the ground by her thighs, and held upside down, Strella looked back at the corner she saw Kir. And beheld it abandoned. Beheld...her last hope...simply gone. Run off to hide in...delusional safety, no doubt. The halfdragon couldn't imagine anything actually escaping the predator-among-predators preying on her.

Choking back the desire to weep, Strella yelled out. Her shriek emerged mangled, but clear enough. "COWWAARRRRRD!"

Her oppressor's tail stabbed into her back. A scythe-like blade pushed out through her ribs. She choked out blood...

...And a little more cum.

His entry into her depths came just as abrupt, just as violent, and just as fully as his attack on the city. She cried out, her toned torso taut around him and swelling just to contain his girth. Granted, had anyone given her the option for it be back in mouth...her throat swelled instead...she may've admitted the new place preferable.

When he began plowing her, she just whimpered. Let her chin rest against the ground, in a growing pool of cum...spittle...and blood; all constantly oozing from her mouth.

Whimpering, now and then.

Heaving.

Choking out, as every thrust wracked her body and forced her lungs to try drawing air. One drew air. The other merely bled.

She felt him holding her tail, wrapped up by one of his arms. Felt the thickness of his muscles. The power of them. If she didn't know better...she'd believe maybe an earth elemental fucked her.

Her body jerked, beyond her control, every time his iron-like hips smashed against her ass. Unable to do anything, she took it. All of it. All while cursing herself inward. For being a "good little fuck hole" for the...the demon savaging her.

Inside, she screamed at herself to fight. To struggle against the cock spearing her again and again. Her comrades...needed her! Qhaneva needed her! Lord...Lord Naghanth depended upon her to protect his domain while absent.

But she couldn't.

Some sergeant.

Hot tears ran down her reptilian face.

Little by little...she slipped into an anoetic stupor of pain...her mind...overwhelmed by too much happening at once.

He broke her free of it, when she felt her belly swell with the flood of seed into her depths.

Strella just grunted, when he dropped her, and didn't try to move.

The dagger-finned chains thinned again, and tore out of her limbs. Scarce any hint of reaction from her. A foot pressed to her skull, then the tail ripped out of her back--prompting her to vomit blood and be reduced to a coughing fit.

A too-familiar sound of rushing air, and the sudden...abrupt stop to the rattle chains...and she knew he left. She shut her eyes and wept through her choking. So defenseless. So worthless.

So helpless.

So useless.

In a town she called hers, among a people she named her own. A protector. A neighbor. A chosen of their lord, to fight for them and...

And...

Strella sobbed.

She knew death wouldn't be far, but almost welcomed it. Anything but the shame.

The rapid slap of feet drew close. Strella summoned what strength her body still possessed, to open her eyes and see little green legs slip on the blood and crash into the ground beside her alongside a little "yeep!"

Then. She felt something wet. Wet and...soothing...pour out onto her back.

Strength returned to her body. The pain began lessening. She drew a fuller breath than she thought she'd get to know again. Greedily, thereafter, she gasped and panted. Hungry for proper breath.

Her eyes opened fully, taking in sight of...Kir! Sweet, wonderful, stupid Kir.

Head bowed in shame, but expression the very essence of concern...around eyes filled with a glint of hope, Kir sat beside her. Still without trousers. Strella swore to herself, by every Goddess she knew name of, she'd get the kobold some pants. Her waifish arms held onto several corked vials of a churning, glimmering red liquid.

Without hesitation, Kir poured another onto Strella's right arm. Then her left. And quickly after, thrust the vials out to her.

Strella managed to sit up. She took several, tore the corks out of them, and poured them into her mouth. The halfdragon winced as her jaw popped back into place.

She guzzled down the rest. One after the next.

The pain all but gone, by then, and her wounds closed...Strella sat on her knees.

Kir, sweet little loathsome Kir, looked relieved.

And the sergeant bowed her head in shame, looking away from her.

"I'm sorry."