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_The play is done, the curtain is down. There are many more stories that could be told, but for now it is time to put this weary pen aside. I hope you have enjoyed the wild ride. When the story has fallen short of your expectations, the fault is not of the story itself, but of the writer. I'm nowhere near good enough to give this story full justice. But, hopefully, i've not done too bad either. _

Epilogue: Towards Eternity

It has taken years, but now the dust has truly settled, and life has moved on.

_Killer has brought back all the worlds that the Apocalypse had annihilated, and that was the easy part. It took him mere instants to rebuild Existence and, indeed, to expand and evolve it far beyond the limits of what it used to be. We all have our home worlds back, regenerated and full of new life and new energies. All the planets of old are back in their orbits, dancing around their Suns and gazing at the distant stars. But there are also many, many new stars, many new galaxies, and many new universes. Uncountable, unfathomable numbers of new realities. Killer did not just bring back Reality as it was, but enlarged it enormously. It is growing larger still, with every passing moment, as the immense blasts of his omnipotent semen tear through the nothingness and leave in their wake new universes, new realities, and new life. There is no telling how far Existence reaches now, and we don't know how much larger it will be come tomorrow, but the enormous loads of his hyperpotent, omnivirile semen continue to expand the limits of Reality, endlessly creating, endlessly generating life in their vast wakes. They show no sign of wanting to stop, so the expansion of Existence will last far into the future. Not even Azura can see far enough into the future to try and guess what the final result will be... and in any moment, anyway, Killer could add even more to his glorious new kingdom. _

Earth, and with it many other inhabited worlds which had suffered the same kind of pollution problems, is now cleansed and blessed. The damages of the industrial age, just like the scars left by the Endwar, are gone and forgotten. Earth is now a luscious, wonderful garden. If there ever was another age in which the Mortal Plane was so beautiful and full of life, I can't remember it. Even before the Mortals' machines spread their poison upon the world, I don't remember Earth being half as beautiful as it now is.

All of the worlds, in fact, are larger and richer, in Nature, in Life, in resources. If you look at Earth now, you can easily recognize the shape of the continents, unchanged from the past, but the planet is actually several far, far larger than it used to be. We don't know exactly how many times larger, but many. Killer's strength could not be satisfied with just rebuilding the tiny balls of dirt of the old Age. It has done far, far more. The entire galaxy is unfathomably larger than it used to be, and whichever universe we visit shows the exact same situation. I suppose that the previous Existence was really too small and paltry when compared to our God and Master, because he had never consciously intended to expand the universes by so much. It just happened when he wished them back in place: his overwhelming power refused to be contained within such pathetic limits, suited for the gods of the old Era, but certainly not good enough for Him.

At the moment, it means that we feel a lot smaller and punier as we live and work in his shadow. Everyone has been brought back to life, but that means that the same number of mortals, angels, demons and gods is now tentatively moving its first exploratory steps in a new Existence that dwarfs us all in ways the old one never could. We used to think of Space as a vast, immense thing, but it was really nothing in comparison to what surrounds us now. We walk on planets which are infinitely larger than before, and that seem to breathe and pulse with His power, full of Life and Evolution and chances for a greater future. The distances are immensely greater, the seas look as intimidating and vast as they must have looked to our ancestors in the Stone Age, and then even more than that. We have vast, endless regions to discover and immense oceans to cross: for the first time in centuries, the mortals are reminded of how truly weak and tiny they are, as their technology is pushed to the limit and found inadequate. Everything has to be enlarged, up-scaled, rethought, because the ships struggle to negotiate the vastness of the new oceans and the height of the new waves, and the airplanes do not have enough range to get from a continent to another. Enormous regions of the world are wild and untouched, and will have to be explored in the decades and centuries to come. The nations of the past are no more, reduced to little more than names, because all mortals now know their place, right beneath Killer's heel. The mortals now know that they are helpless toys in the titan's hands, and the awareness of their impotence makes them kinder and more accommodating towards each other. They seem to have realized, after so many centuries of struggles, that they are all helpless zeroes and that they can only pray and beg and worship their One, true Owner. So, instead of fighting uselessly between them, the mortals now work together to build immense temples with which they attempt to please their mighty god. They take turns filling said temples, offering an endless succession of chants, prayers, praise and sacrifices. Killer hasn't asked for any of these acts, but the mix of true adoration and of utter terror is a powerful one, and mortals are very eager to keep him happy, no matter what it takes.

Even with the colossal temples being given absolute priority, the reconstruction of the world has progressed relatively quickly, and continues to move at a good pace. God has given us all we need to live and prosper, but has refused to restore all the cities, the infrastructure, the bridges, the ports, the airports and every other thing that in the past we took for granted. He has ensured our survival, and put us all in front of our responsibilities: we all must contribute to the rebirth of the world, and we are supposed to treat our world better, this time around. In Heaven and Hell as on Earth, and on all the other planets across all of the universes, everyone is hard at work to build up better civilizations, greater towns, greater wonders. We are not just rebuilding the past, but also assembling a new future. The reconstruction has been going on for 10 years now, which is a far shorter timeframe than it might, at first, sound. For us, divinities projected towards Eternity, especially so.

It is surprising how far the reconstruction has gotten in this decade: the old technologies are back online, and many major towns have been rebuilt, restoring past glories and adding new ones. It is a stunning demonstration of what Mortals, Demons and Angels can achieve by working together, without squabbles and divisions, united by the fear and by the adoration for the Master of All. Part of the reason for the rapid progress, of course, is the fact that Killer helped the workers in first person, and we did the same. In these ten years we have lifted far more equipment and materials than any armada of cranes could have handled, and far faster to boot. We have made things easier for the mortals, to give them a solid base on which, from now on, they'll be able to work on their own. In this, Killer is going to perpetuate the ideas of Elelyon: he will grant large chances of auto-determination to the mortals, to all of the civilizations of Existence. For now, every last mortal and god, every angel and each demon, every monster and every hero, has full memory of the events of the recent past, which means, in practice, that everyone remembers the most terrifying of scenes and sensations from the Endwar, including their own deaths. Having full memory of the Demonic War, of the Horrors and of the Apocalypse itself is a heavy burden to carry, but one that is very instructive. It reminds us all of the mistakes of the past and of the actions of our God, who reversed the Apocalypse and gave us all a second and brighter chance. Every last one of us, including the newly born ones, have memory of Killer's triumph even though they weren't alive to experience it, and they are fully aware of his unfathomable, unrivalled power, which means that everyone is a full believer. There is no way anyone could ever doubt of Killer's power, especially not while Heaven and Hell circle slowly in the sky above, reminding us all of yet another display of our God's strength. Our Lord and Master has decided to keep both supernatural planes in their form as fully independent planets, and while we watched in awe, mortals, angels, demons and gods, he just effortlessly spaced out the three planets, putting them on different orbits to avoid dangerous interferences in the respective gravity fields. There is no way we will ever forget the spectacle of Killer's glorious, almighty body filling the sky from horizon to horizon as he effortlessly rearranged the shape of the galaxy with his bare hands, his immense muscles dwarfing the galaxy into insignificance. The image is impressed with fire into our minds, into our dreams, into our nightmares, and it makes us all obedient and humble. Moreover, the awareness that we have seen nothing but a mere, paltry hint of Killer's true strength ensures that not even the most creative and ambitious of us can even dream of a way to stand up to Killer's will. In truth, His strength is so terribly unprecedented, crushing and absolute that no one, not even I, is able to even just imagine it at play. Our minds literally can't even handle the little hints he gives us every day. We live in awe of his unfathomable strength and endless possibilities, knowing that every day we get to live is a gift he generously makes to us. Of course, some take to this truth with complete joy, and some others with despair. Many see Killer's absolute, unrivalled, limitless power as unfair, unjust, unacceptable, but that is their unsolvable problem. Their despair only poisons their own spirits and makes their lives miserable: no matter how often they stomp their feet and cry about it, they are not going to escape the reality of Killer's omnipotence. Not even suicide is an escape from the inexorable truth, and their helpless whining is nothing but a source of amusement for our Lord and Master.

There are those who live the new reality with the feeling of carrying an even heavier burden on their shoulders, though: Killer has brought back to life most, if not all, of the ambitious, power-hungry gods that once sided with Cerberus and formed the Swarm. They are aware of their past crimes, and know they are guilty of effectively setting the apocalypse into motion. They know that they are back between the living just because their immense debt has yet to be paid back, and they fear the punishment that they know will hit them. They now live in hiding, or at least so they pretend to believe. In truth, their attempts to make themselves look tiny and unimportant, hoping to appear paltry enough to be ignored by the immense dark Titan, are actually entirely useless. They are even more insignificant than they realize, but that won't save them. Nobody can hide from Killer, and He knows how to get to each and every one of them. There are two reasons why they are back on their home planets: on one hand, Killer wants to give them a chance of redemption. As he has granted a fresh start to almost everyone else, he has decided to be merciful with them too. Even in his mercy, however, Killer's supremacy is crushing and punishing: the resurrected gods know that they are back in no small parts because Killer does not want the game to end. He expects them to hide, to plot, to train, to try and grow into a realistic challenge to his supremacy, and he will let their unrealistic hopes build up right to the point when it will be most pleasing to annihilate them and show them that they are and always will be nothing but zeroes. They know they can't escape their fate. They know that, even if they behave, the punishment for their past mistakes will sooner or later come. Indeed, part of their punishment is the waiting: they don't know the day or the hour, but they are painfully aware that Killer will come for them and there is nothing that can be done about it. Their punishment is knowing that they are nothing but toys, that their lives are in Killer's hands, that whatever they build up is just a house of cards that can be blown away in one instant, in any moment. Their entire lives are terror and awe and envy: they spend their days admiring Killer's glory from afar, envying his omnipotence and cowering in terror whenever he so much as flexes a finger or looks in their general direction. They know that a mere, lazy thought on Killer's part would be enough to crush them like the gnats they are, and the fear has almost literally petrified several of them. They just tremble in a corner, cowering in terror and waiting for their time. Most of the others live like hobos, wandering sadly from a useless, indefensible hiding place to another, without daring to build themselves a home, without trying to find a mate, without trying to lord over worlds like they had in the past. They know that Killer owns everything, and that he would not allow them to enjoy any of those things for long.

Our Lord and Master doesn't actually think of them all that often at all, but that is part of the torment, of course. They cannot go one second without obsessing about him, while Killer is barely aware they exist. Only when he is bored, or when he feels playful, then he might remember to take a look. But that is all it takes, anyway. He only needs to think of them for a brief moment to destroy their lives and humiliate them in the worst of ways, crushing them underfoot like the dust they are. Even when he doesn't think about them at all, he fills their minds, populates their dreams, rules over their nightmares.

Cerberus Raja and Thanathos, just like Sikanjal, and even Atropos and Lachesis and the other monsters that are responsible of the Apocalypse, have also been brought back to life, but they are not granted that bit of false, tormenting freedom that the Swarm's gods "enjoy". No; their crimes are even more unforgivable, and their punishment is commensurate to the monstrosity of their actions. They have been dumped in the Dungeons, where they are used, abused and tormented in the ways they deserve. They are massacred and destroyed almost every day, and brought back to suffer even further. Their punishment will be long and terrible. Their slavery will be eternal.

Killer has recently decided to bring even Persephone back from the dead. He is giving her a chance to redeem herself, but it will be a long and tough path for her to walk. She'll probably never be able to truly change into a better person. Just like Lilith before her, she is turning into a Thrall, a mindless slave, a servant completely obsessed with Killer. Her arrogance and haughtiness, at least, are gone: she is now the lowest of the slaves, the dirtiest of the whores, the most broken of toys in his hands. A fitting fate.

Killer has chosen to live on Earth, in Kendrew, in his royal palace, rebuilt and enlarged, turned into an Eden and a fortress worthy of his glory. He lives his days among the mortals, restraining his endless power and keeping himself standing at sizes that, while astounding, are compatible with life on Earth. In many ways, he behaves like he would years ago. In fact, he has even resumed his porn career, and we are all too glad to take part in his games and streams, and involve as many mortals dare to partake. This, of course, is something that the gods of the past would utterly disapprove, but as Mistress Alexis said, this is the new Era, the Era of the Lion, and the opinion of the sheep which came before is meaningless.

Despite the crushing power and the overwhelming presence, Killer is surprisingly kind most of the time. Defeating Darkness has given him a much better control over his power and his hungers. On the other hand, when he needs to satiate his desires, he is more insatiable than ever. Countless worlds have been ravaged and destroyed in the moments when his blood boils, and many of those did not deserve the punishment they got. They have always been restored afterwards, and the inhabitants brought back to life with their memories "cleaned", but there are scars that cannot be erased: there are pieces of those lives that have been destroyed and stolen away, and that is damage that doesn't really heal. Those who have been Sacrificed are owned by God at a whole new level, and they instinctively feel it, even though they can't remember the ferocity of their Master unleashed on them. Killer regrets the massacres, but at the same time he can't go too long without satisfying his most savage needs. The gods of the Swarm and their worlds are a prime target, of course, but they just aren't enough... and in any case, even on their planets there are many innocents who do not deserve torment and destruction.

Ultimately, what we do or do not deserve is very relative, and not really important. In truth, there is nothing that we truly deserve. Even serving as toys, even being abused and destroyed just to give him a fleeting amusement, is far more than we deserve. To be at the center of his attention for even just a second is far more than we all deserve. We should feel nothing but gratitude, pride and honor whenever God comes for us. He owns us all, to the end, and it is only right that he uses us as he sees fit. All we are is dust under his toes, and whenever he moves a step we are crushed under his glorious body. That's how it is meant to be: dust gets stuck underfoot, it is only normal.

All we can do, and all we should want, is to be his. Some choose to fight the inevitable, but they only hurt themselves in the process. We must all reflect on how meaningless, how worthless we'd be without Him. Without Him, nothing and no one would be here today. He gave us all a second chance, when Lachesis would have mercilessly cancelled us all as insufficient, unsatisfactory examples of evolution. Without Him, we would have been cancelled like stains; that's how weak and helpless we are without Him.

And even when we serve him we can't change the truth: we are like insects, unworthy bugs crawling in the shadow of a behemoth, a Titan that goes beyond our understanding. We try to worship and praise Him, but he goes beyond our possibilities and beyond what our intelligence can handle. Even our praise falls pathetically short of what he truly deserves. In any moment he could destroy us utterly, like the vermin we are. He could just as easily replace us all with something more, with something greater and better. He could turn us all into stains on his immense cock, or dirt squished under his toes, or smegma trapped beneath his heavy foreskin. And all of those fates would still be generous, they would still be more than we deserve.

We should never forget to be thankful for the chances he gives us, and for how hard he tried not to step all over us, when it would be the easiest thing to do.

Luckily for us, and especially for those who can't seem to accept their role in the new Era; Killer has chosen to strive and do what is Right, not what is Easy, or even Pleasant. He could, in any moment, turn into a tyrant and take away the gift of freedom that he granted us. Nobody could stop him... but it wouldn't be Right, and so he does not. At least, not all the time. We should always be thankful for his Choice, and for the fact that he has the Will and the Discipline to stick by it. He fought back his demons in order to stick to the path he has chosen. He put his own Life on the line. He faced the ultimate trial, and came out on top.

_Killer knows what is Right and what is Wrong; what is Good and what is Evil. You will never hear him make up an excuse for his crimes and you will never hear him trying to shift the blade towards someone else. Not after defeating Darkness for good. _

He knows that every life is connected, and he knows the cycles of energy and existence better than everyone else. He is fully aware of the injustice and monstrosity of wanton destruction. He knows that, even though he brings back into the world all the innocents he massacres, there are wounds that will not heal. The destruction of an innocent life leaves a mark that cannot be deleted. It purges the life that was... and the one that is brought back will forever bear the scars. The soul will forever be stained, marked with the knowledge of the crime and the evil brutality of it.

This is Killer's crime, and He is fully aware of it: he never commits it lightly. Every time he destroys his toys, he takes full responsibility. On one hand, he does that because that deep awareness of the true, undeniable cruelty and monstrosity of his actions is the source of his pleasure. On the other, He takes full responsibility because so He knows when it is time to stop. He can decide when he has indulged enough, and protect the rest of Existence.

Killer has kept faith to his promises, and applied his own Law to himself, first of all. He laid down on the punishment altar, and allowed the new Inquisitors of Hell to punish him for his crimes. And like he had assured to her, he made sure that the first Inquisitor in the room was Boadicea. And he continues to order his own punishment, in tune with his crimes. This is the ultimate demonstration of his Justice, because nothing and nobody could ever restrain him and torture him, if he didn't want to collaborate. Nobody would be strong enough to so much as touch him without his consent. He could easily avoid himself the suffering, but he does not. Some will say that this is flawed, incomplete Justice. But it is His Justice. It is the Justice of the New Era, and it is far more than we deserve, and far more than we could ever try to obtain. Not everyone has accepted the truth yet, but over time they will.

He is idolized and feared, but above all he is loved. Those who see him from afar can't understand what it is really like to live with him and for him. He made me his High Queen of Heaven, and I'll forever be grateful for that honor and for the power he granted me, but what I'll truly, always adore him for is having me as lover, as mother of his children, as willing, eager sacrifice. He is capable of the most tender and caring affection, of the deepest love and of the greatest ferocity at the same time, and I'm proud to say that we have kept our own promise, much to Elelyon's horror. We have put our lives in his hands and looked up at him with love in our eyes, with adoration, even while he broke us, and ruined us, and fucked us into pieces, and choked us to death on his cock, smeared and caked with our own blood and viscera. We are His to play with, to use and abuse to His heart's desire... and nothing is more viciously rewarding than feeding Him, than offering Him bloody sacrifices to make Him even stronger, even though He is already beyond measure and imagination. Nothing is more delightful than carrying his seed, than feeling it growing into God-dwarfing babies, powerful and perfect beyond description...and then, when we are heavy and bulging with young, impale ourselves on his almighty godcock, working our bodies to exhaustion, to the breaking point, bouncing up and down on that glorious destroyer, that omnipotent abortion tower. To know how monstrous the act is, and to feel the immense amount of new energies flowing into him, making him even stronger... to listen together to the sick sounds of our babies being crushed, broken, squished, torn apart inside us. Many times I've shivered in guilty bliss while he licked the tears off my face and invaded my belly, pierced through my womb, stretched me out, then violently deflated me as he crunched the babies into nothing but chunky crimson lube around his ruinous godcock. And it is sick, and it is monstrous, but it makes me shiver in delight at least as much as birthing new females for him does. My girls, that grow up to be just like their mother. I teach them how to serve their God Daddy in the right way... I teach them how to properly lick and eat the remains of their dead babies off his blood-stained, dripping cock. I make sure they learn to slurp up every last piece of viscera, every last chunk of unrecognizable gore, every bit of filth from beneath his thick foreskin and from between his deadly, glorious barbs, and from around that massive, tremendous flare of his.

Yes, we are monsters. Lawful monsters, most of the time. We guard over the universes and administer swift and merciless justice, but we do not hesitate in sacrificing entire universes to our Master's lusts, as many times he wants. We know how horrendous it sounds, but this is how we roll. You'll better get used to it, and learn to enjoy it, because both Death and Hope are just two of Killer's many bitches, and for sure they won't come to your rescue. Elelyon and Lemuel are out there somewhere, in exile together, as little more than ghosts, and they are nowhere near strong enough to even dream about interfering. If they ever decided to come back into the physical word, they'd have to beg for Killer's help, because they do not have the strength to move through Time and Space in such a way.

When they begged not to be resurrected, but instead to be granted merciful oblivion, to be forgotten and left alone and in peace, Killer let them go, free and unrestrained. We genuinely hope they are happy, much as they probably won't believe it. We do not regret stripping away their power and putting an end to Elelyon's reign, but we really do consider them friends of sort, despite all. Even after all our disagreements and arguments, we do not forget all the help they have provided, and all that is good about them. We wish them good luck, even though they probably won't reciprocate the well wishes. I cannot possibly look at them with the respect of the past after what they did, but I don't hate them. I know they sincerely wanted to do the good thing, always, even when they screwed up so terribly, and I can at least appreciate that. They are good persons at heart, and that is something we can, in some way, admire. There is no reason for us to hate them. They are just spirits now, wandering through the dimensions, seeking a place where Killer can't see and touch them, and their attempt to escape from our Lord and Master only fills us with entertainment. There is no place, no dimension, no creek of Reality where Killer's power does not burn, indomitable and invincible, so their attempt to leave his kingdom by leaving their lives behind is doomed to failure. Their desperate escape is hopeless, and eventually they'll have to surrender to the truth. Their disapproval can, at most, fill us with amusement... and perhaps a tinge of regret, because their escape was not necessary: they could have lived into the world, surrounded by friends and admirers. Killer would have gladly allowed them to, but they just couldn't accept the reality.

Things, for now, are easy. Too easy, in fact: the mortals behave very nicely, but that is not really a proof of their new maturity, but just of their fear. As long as everyone is aware of the unrivalled strength of Killer, of his Reality-changing power, it is not surprising that no one dares to even build up real armies. Even crime is mostly unheard of, because everyone is afraid of the swift and terrible punishment that might strike them if they give God a single good reason to strip them of their rights, of their dignity of living beings.

This stifles true evolution... and, in truth, it interferes with Killer's entertainment. This are too easy and too perfect, in a way. There is no war, there is no one attempting to challenge him in any way, because everyone knows that there is no hope of ever standing up to his crushing power. On one side, this is a good thing. On the other, it is an annoyance. Killer is considering adopting the other tenant of Elelyon's reign: mystery. He is thinking of cancelling the memories of the mortals. He is considering cancelling their awareness of his omnipotence, to truly put them to the test. Their obedience, in absence of awareness and fear, would have to come out of faith and out of true recognition of what is Right.

It is an exam that mortals will have to go through. Killer is not obsessed by Evolution as Lachesis was; he is not impatient to find out what new and powerful forms Life might or might not take in the future, perhaps also because he is aware that, whatever might emerge will never be on par with him. He is the Apex, the Alpha, and the source of all Evolution. In that, with some regret, he knows he will never be surprised. But he is fascinated by the idea that living beings can learn, adapt and become wiser. He wants to see if the wars and crimes and monstrosities of the past can be avoided in this new Era, and not just because of fear of him. He wants the mortals to get wise and take the right decisions out of wisdom, not out of fear.

Part of him, admittedly, is convinced that the mortals will again fail their exam. Part of him, it is fair to say, hopes that they will, because that would entertain him. There would be new petty dictators stupidly challenging his supremacy. There would be new Cerberus Raja, desperately determined to climb the pyramid and get to the very top. There would be new armies that he could play with. Part of him misses the fun that came from the world being too stupid not to try and resist and challenge him. He visits all universes, and hopes that, somewhere, someday, something will again be able to provide him with a bit of a work out. With a bit of a challenge. With his power it's all too easy, too quick. That is why He plays kind, and weak, and simple at times. Why He favors living amongst the mortals, the weakest of all his slaves. He wants the bugs to think they have a chance. He wants them to try, to dream, to scheme, to put up a fight.

_ That way it's so much more fun when they break. The more power they have... the more He enjoys breaking them, revealing what He truly is._

He has already altered the flow of Time, many times. He has temporarily changed Reality to make the mortals forget about him, just so he could truly crush them under his feet, slowly, cruelly, letting them realize, bit by bit, that he is beyond their very imagination. He wants his victims to understand that He is killing entire civilizations and that he can't be stopped. He wants to have that thrill, of watching them die before Him...He takes it slow, to enjoy every moment of it. His newborn children could effortlessly wipe out entire universes, but without realizing what it means. He, instead, takes his pleasure from full realization of his cruelty. He realizes it, feels it... enjoys it. And He wants to experience the pain He make every one of them endure. He wants to understand that He is killing entire civilizations, breeding out of existence entire races. He wants to have all of those thrills, of watching them die before Him. And so, while He is ultimate Protector of the security and sanctity of Life, He is also the ultimate tormentor and Destroyer. He is the Source and the End.

For now, he has only experimented. It has been little more than a game, played only when his hunger for tears and shrieks and despair demands urgent satisfaction... but He is more and more convinced that true auto-determination can only be achieved if the mortals have reduced awareness, and so, soon enough, he will probably cancel their memories of the Endwar, and he will observe how that changes their behavior. He will pretend to be a mortal. It will be like a return to his youth, when he was prince and general, incredibly huge and unbelievably strong but, for all intents and purposes, mortal. He will give the mortals the impression that he can be taken down. That they can, in fact, resist him and challenge his rule. And he will judge their behavior in that scenario. The ultimate test.

His son, Anubis, will be the guide and advocate for the peoples of Existence. In his kindness, he will look after the worlds and provide advice. And Killer, the Father, the Almighty, will be ready to punish those who fail to listen and learn.

Maybe he just wants them to fail, admittedly. Maybe the true reason is that he wants to be entertained in a better way. This holy book is your warning, bugs. Your guide and your admonishment. You have been told the rules of the game, and you will be given a fair chance. Just don't expect mercy and help if you steer away from the path. Not even Anubis can or wants to help you, once Killer has sentenced, and don't appeal to us, Goddesses of his Pride, Slaves of his Throne, Servants in his Harem. Ultimately, He decides all of our fates, and His will shall be done. We will ensure that his command reshapes Reality in whatever way he wishes. This is the Age of the Lion, and the opinion of sheep is meaningless. Killer is in charge, and His reign will never end.

At the end of the day, there is one single unbreakable Law: Killer always wins; and His will must be done.

"Get a move on, Vesta! They are about to depart!" Elaine urged, banging one fist lightly against the closed door. It was enough to rattle the whole building, and the countless weapons hanging from the wall all trembled and swayed, bumping audibly against the marble, gold and ivory covering the wall. Vesta, High Queen of Heaven and sovereign of the Seraphims, looked down at the long parchment and smiled slightly, giving a tiny nod of satisfaction. The chronicle of the Endwar was finally finished. She had been working on and off on it even while the conflict was still raging, and she had spent a fair bit of her free time, between a pregnancy and another, working on that endless and amazing story, trying to tell the whole story and explain what Killer's reign was all about. It wasn't easy. Killer was no hero in shining armor, and he was never going to be. He was capable of flawless justice and of great kindness, but he was also a creature of monstrous, ferocious hungers. He was a fair and caring God and a protector most of the time, but when the mood struck him, he turned into a savage monster that hammered his toys with the full, crushing immensity of his strength, taking pleasure from the terrifying damage it caused.

Was his triumph something to be happy about...? For Vesta, there was absolutely no doubt that it was, but she was fully aware that many others would vehemently disagree. The chronicle was going to be the new and only Sacred Text of the new Era, and it was going to tell the story as it had happened, showing the full extent of Killer's heroic deeds as well as the full depth of his monstrous ferocity. There was no need to pretend: she told the story as it was, and pulled no punches. Killer was not afraid of judgment: he already knew that much of what he liked doing could not be described in words other than "monstrous", "sick" and "criminal", but he also knew that he was not going to change. He was never going to fully drive those hungers out of his system. Darkness's presence had made them worse and more urgent, but even without him, Killer was always Killer. He liked to abuse of his power, and the pleasure came exactly from the unfairness and monstrosity of the acts, from the fact that he owned everything and everyone, that his desires reshaped, warped, shattered, brutalized reality without anything and anyone being able to resist in any way. He had accepted that it was his nature and that he could not blame anyone else for it.

Only reading the whole story, it became possible to understand, at least in part, the conflicting nature of the God and of all the Goddesses that served him and acted as his Harbingers. Even the defeat of Darkness and his definitive subjugation had not satiated Killer's hungers, simply because they were His, and not Darkness's. There was no doubt that a victory of Black or of Lachesis, would have led to a far worse outcome for Existence, but it was equally clear that none of the future was up to them anymore: all that mattered was Killer's decision. He could do whatever he desired, while their place was in the dirt, lost and helpless. All any of them were, was meat. Mortals, angels, demons, gods... different names, but same function: they were toys in his hands, slaves to his will. Elelyon had found it unbearable and had begged not to be brought back to life, and Killer, in his generosity, had granted him his wish.

Elelyon, like many others, was tormented by the new reality because he hadn't yet learned to accept it. He uselessly tried to fight it, to deny it, to find an escape route that did not exist and never would. Vesta, on the other hand, was at home in the new Era. She was so happy that she understood so clearly her place in the world, and that she could not only bear witness to Killer's glory, to the omnipotence of the one true God, but also call him friend, and lover, and husband. He loved her, and that was what truly set her apart from the other beings in Existence. Not her power, no... her strength came from Him, and He could dwarf her just as completely as he dwarfed the weakest of the mortals. He could take her power away in any moment, or he could make her a million times stronger and still utterly dominate her. That wasn't what mattered. The fact that he loved her, that he called her wife, and even daughter. That he allowed her to be at his side, always. That was the difference. That was the true blessing.

It was hard to explain. Everything about Killer was impossible to properly put into words, no matter how hard she tried. And she was fully aware that Killer's Justice would never be truly accepted as fair. She knew, and He knew, that even though he allowed the Inquisitors to cut into him and inflict agony on him, the damage he caused couldn't be properly balanced, and less than ever adequately repaid. It was an unfair system, by definition... and that was made it so exciting. The truth of the matter remained: Killer was invincible, invulnerable, and unfathomable. He was beyond limitless, beyond infinite, impossible to describe or measure. He could do whatever he pleased, and reshape Reality in any way he liked, and there was nothing they could do about it. When they considered that truth, it was impossible to deny that Killer was a very generous Master, and that they had to be thankful for the restraint he showed.

The quill, after so many years of work, finally floated away from the parchment and slowly laid down to rest on Vesta's desk. The goddess gazed at it with a mix of fondness and hate for a moment, thinking with a mix of many different feelings at all the time and focus that the monumental project had requested out of her, and then she sighed. Happily. It was good to have completed that enormous enterprise. Much as people struggled to believe it after getting to know her or just seeing her antics, she was a true scholar and had written an enormous amount of very serious books, but this one, for obvious reasons, was unlike all others. This was her masterpiece, her joy and her torment at the same time: a torment because she could never be truly satisfied of it. Every word was too paltry to describe Him, every phrase unable to truly explain the immensity of the events of the Endwar. She was probably going to get back to that chronicle for all of Eternity, trying to correct, to improve, to adjust, vainly trying to depict the true might and glory of her Master. But for the moment, at least, it was done... and copies of the chronicle would soon appear in all of the Temples erected to honor the almighty God, so that his worshippers would have a chance to revive the extraordinary, legendary story of how the Old Era had closed, and the new, Eternal Era had begun.

She turned slightly, looking at the heavy cover of black leather and gold that rested on her desk, ready to be used to protect the pages she had just written. The earlier chapters had already been enclosed, forming several other books that were stacked in perfect order on a shelf, but there was still no title on the thick spines, nor on the broad covers. She had thought long and hard about a suitable name for the chronicle, but none had felt good enough. In the end, however, she had made a choice, realizing that, whatever the words she used, there just wasn't a way to get the message across powerfully enough.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, and then gave a little nod. Golden energy exploded out of the covers and spines, and the intense light rapidly drew large and elaborate, elegant letters which glowed over the dark leather like Suns in the darkness of space. When the light finally faded away, all books were marked with the title: The Legend of a Warrior.

She snapped closed the massive auto-shotgun on which she had been working on. She liked to keep her hands busy while her mind guided the quill, and she had discovered that doing something that she considered relaxing while putting order in her thoughts was of considerable help. Building or cleaning huge pieces of weaponry probably wasn't considered relaxing by most people, but it sure worked nicely for her.

She put the titanic weapon down on the table while the countless sheets of precious parchment slid silently to the side, slipping into the open cover waiting for them. A silvery needle rapidly sewed the pages into place, using a golden thread, and Vesta smiled and reached instead for an empty glass on the desk. As soon as her fingers touched it, it filled up with whisky that she eagerly drank down. She clicked her lips, then slowly licked them, tasting the excellent liquor and trying to decide how she felt about finishing Legend. She was delighted, of course, but there was also a familiar emptiness to contend with. She felt it every time she completed a big project, one that had been part of her daily life for a long time. It was a curious mix of regret and irrational fear that she would never again be able to complete another project of similar scale, or even to begin another one. It was a weird feeling of guilt at being done. She felt like she needed to sit down and write-write-write. It would take a while to truly realize that the work was done, and that she could try and relax. She snorted a bit, standing up and lazily stretching... and a look at her own body, at the way her perfect muscles bulged with power on her spectacular form, was enough to cancel most of her worries and sadness. She loved her body, and she especially loved the fact that Killer loved it. She felt in perfect shape, and ready to wow and please him, and that filled her with pure joy. Amazingly, he seemed unaware of the fact that Legend existed, and she was glad of it, because so she'd be able to properly surprise him with her gift. It was hard to properly surprise someone who was omniscient and could be omnipresent, after all... although Killer himself used to complain about how boring it was to know everything in advance. Those were just two of the infinite abilities that he very rarely used. Especially in the family, he deliberately shut down his omniscience... but normally it was still almost impossible to truly surprise him, since he could read minds with even the idlest of gazes. Thankfully, he had taught himself how not to pay attention to the infinite amount of information that his mind picked up literally every second.

In truth, Killer was still living almost like a Mortal, despite his absolute omnipotence. Or, at least, he was living not very differently from how he used to during the Endwar, when he was already above-godlike and yet... simple. In part it was a form of kindness towards the people around him, because his presence was already crushingly powerful even when he so completely restrained himself. If he allowed himself to be omnipresent he ended up freaking out the mortals to no end, Killer had found... and, in truth, he could easily see why. He had chosen to spend most of his time on Earth, as if his Ascension had never happened, in part exactly because of the terrible frailty of the mortals: it was an accelerated course he put himself though, to quickly learn how to rein in his omnipotence and avoid destroying entire universes every time he inspired, and creating even more when he expired. He had had to learn very quickly, but that was the wonder of having ascended to true omnipotence: whatever he tried to do, he succeeded in.

The strongest of his motivations had nothing to do with kindness, though: he just didn't want things to be so damn easy, so annoyingly quick. He could change reality with the laziest of thoughts, but that was way too easy. It ended up being boring. Destroying everything at once, changing everything in one go, it was all unsatisfactory. No, he liked to take it slow, to pretend he was (almost) normal, and to walk among the microbes around him. The bugs, the toys, the pieces of meat that he utterly owned and that existed for his enjoyment. He wanted to take his enjoyment slowly, day by day, however, wherever and whenever he pleased. He had all of Eternity ahead of him, after all, so there was no rush. In fact, the key was to stay creative, and enjoy the small as well as the big things. That was why he had resumed the little old games of his youth: live-streams, live shows, porn movies... idle entertainment that, while cruel in how it shattered marriages and destroyed families, was at least far more innocent than rampaging over entire worlds.

Even with his restraint fully in play, it was a miracle that they had somehow managed to keep the secret of Legend's existence. All of the Disciples knew, as Vesta had wanted to extensively "interview" them and get their feelings right in her descriptions. She intended to do the same with Killer, eventually, to get his own thoughts just right. It would take some extra time and work, but all that mattered at that point was surprising him. She wanted to see his face when she offered him the book... and when he started turning the pages, too, since Vicky had illustrated the story with a ton of spectacular drawings that just seemed on the verge of leaping out of the paper. Vesta opened the thick, heavy cover, and a wonderful image of Killer in full armour and riding on the back of Ruin seemed to charge right at her, so alive and real and beautiful to send a warm shiver down her spine. That was just the first of many, many images... so many, in fact, counting also the preparatory sketches, that they had formed an additional book with the other drawings and the countless preparatory sketches. Vesta reverently stroked the picture of her beloved Master with one finger, smiling a little. Vicky's talent for drawing has always been extraordinary, and Killer had been stunned by it right from the beginning, at their very first meeting, in Orion. Ever since he had turned the little doe into his Goddess of Arts, naturally, her talents had only expanded even further. Her hands possessed simply miraculous abilities, and her drawings were better than any photograph. Vesta couldn't help but feel a stint of envy for that otherworldly talent, and she worried that Killer would appreciate the pictures more than the story... but she took comfort from the awareness that, on the other hand, Vicky was convinced that her drawings were not good enough, and that Vesta's ability to put even the most complex of events into words was the actual wonder. The thought made her snort in entertainment while she quickly paged through the book until she reached a picture that clearly hadn't been drawn by Vicky. Or at least, not entirely... Vesta had wanted to draw some of the figures by herself, but the comparison with the work of the Mistress of Arts had been a constant source of frustration, and she had eventually asked for suggestions, direction, and help with some of the most complex parts. Her drawings were still spectacular, but definitely not on part with Vicky's... and not on part with those of Alexis, either. The Mistress of All had wanted to illustrate a few pages herself, and unsurprisingly had delivered some true masterpieces. She had realized the only drawings, in fact, which had an edge even on Vicky's own works. "Of course, she always has to come out on the fucking top..." Vesta muttered, but she was smiling: of course the Empress always won; she was the second most powerful being, right after Killer, and there was pretty literally nothing that she could not do: her abilities knew no bounds. Several other Disciples had insisted to produce at least one picture, since they knew how much Killer would appreciate a gift like that, so he book with the drawings had actually grown rapidly, almost rivaling the dimensions of one of the hundred of books that composed Legend. She was happy of it, because she knew that Killer would love such a gift, and she couldn't wait for the chance to hand it to him.

She closed the book and put it up on the shelf with the others, and then gently pushed the shelf upwards until it tilted over and vanished from sight, folding into the heavy, chiseled wood structure of her immense library, which covered the entire wall on that side of her room. Her desk was encased between two towering bookcases, and it faced a tall, arched window that gave her a beautiful view over the vast lake that surrounded the royal castle, and on the stunning gardens beyond. The opposite wall, behind her, was covered in other monumental bookcases, but also in large display cabinets filled with weapons and armors of all kinds and dimensions. That was her style: books and guns. And liquors, too, in a smaller, dedicated display cabinet of their own, of course. She had apartments in Heaven and Hell as well, and the rooms were set up in much the same way. In all three rooms, the desk was invariably covered in books she was reading and studying; other books she was writing, weapons half-dismantled and various related tools and bits and pieces. The rest of the room was mostly in perfect order, thanks also to the fact that she had a vast walk-in closet for all her clothes and for all the stuff she didn't feel like putting in order, but just throwing somewhere out of sight. There was a massive fireplace at the end of the room, not because she might ever truly suffer the cold but because it created the right atmosphere. One of Killer's simplest and kindest pleasures was to just cuddle in bed with his loved ones, with the fireplace on and with the cold world shut out of the window, and so she wanted to always be ready to welcome him when he was in that mood. The enormous couch in the den area of her room-apartment and the vast canopy bed were thought to welcome him, Alexis and even the others, at times. Generally, though, when Killer visited her apartments it was to spend some alone-time with her... or almost alone. Alexis almost always tagged along, and a few others could join, such as Ira, but if the whole family was to be involved they would usually use the vast common rooms of the royal palace, or Killer's own immense apartment. His bedroom had been rebuilt exactly as it had been, up in the tower, vast and circular, with the ship-shaped, town square-sized canopy bed right in the middle.

Vesta's room was for more personal meetings, and people would have been amazed to discover that not all of those meetings ended in sex. Sometimes it was just a matter of cuddling up together, sharing a drink and a laugh. Often he would just listen to her talking about the books she was writing or her ideas for new projects. She had often read stories for him, while in other occasions they had just turned on one of her consoles and played with some videogame or another. Even without getting to the sex, those were delightful moments, and even Killer at times preferred to just lazily spend some quiet time together.

In truth, it was the same for all of the Disciples: everyone had its private apartment, where it was nice to sometimes retreat, and when Killer decided to spend some time with one of them in particular, he visited them "at home".

Vesta had been waiting for the knock at the door, and so she was immediately ready. She just picked up a leather jacket from the backrest of her chair and snagged her sunglasses, shamelessly clipping them on to the sturdy leather strap of her bra. Technically she was wearing a black tank top, but it was so open at the front and so short that it was almost like it wasn't there: her glorious cleavage was on proud display and her powerful, perfect abs were bare, showing off both the perfection of her musculature and the tattoos she had added over time to further glorify her Master. She was wearing black leather pants that clung tightly to her muscular legs, underscoring the size and perfection of her quads and her calves, as well as showing off the amazing curves of her hips and of her firm buttocks, and she wore open-toe high heeled boots that only added to her beauty and stature. She threw the jacket up onto her muscular shoulder and finally opened the door, smirking at the sight of an impatient-looking Elaine, who looked simply heart-stoppingly beautiful, clad in one of her favored form-fitting leather suits. The sturdy fabric tightly hugged her curves, showing off every hard muscle and every feminine shape, while inserts of silvery metal further evidenced the mighty packs of her abs. The dragoness was wearing sunglasses of her own, but she tilted her head slightly forwards to gaze at Vesta from over the black lenses, teasingly asking: "Still working at your pornographic bible?"

"For your information, the bible always was pornographic." Vesta pointedly remarked, holding up one finger as she often did while delivering a lesson. "It contained sex, just not much of it and, especially, all of it of the boring and mundane kind. Elelyon provided zero contribution on that front, and the other guys really can't hold a candle to Killer, either. So the content is kind of pathetic and there is nowhere near as much cock involved, but my chronicle is not the first holy book with rated content."

"I'm not sure whether that reassures me or creeps me out." Elaine honestly replied, but then grinned widely and tilted her head back a little, adding: "But anything about Dad which is graphic, detailed and uncensored has my vote. Indeed, I hope you will be writing more chapters about Daddy ramming his cock into me and fucking me senseless."

"Slut." Vesta amusedly remarked, closing the heavy wooden door behind her back. There was no traditional lock: the door was enchanted in such a way that only her hand, Killer's or Alexis's would cause it to open. "For your information, I've finished the story. The baseline one, at least... once we have handed it to him and enjoyed his surprised face, I will be going back over the whole story with him, to make sure I've gotten his thoughts and feelings right."

"That is fantastic!" Elaine exclaimed, smiling brightly, and she was being serious now. The "pornographic bible" was actually something she cared deeply about, and she had enthusiastically taken part, answering all of Vesta's question, telling her part of the story and even putting together a few drawings of her own. They weren't on par with Vicky's ones, but on the other hand they were particularly inspired in terms of theme and composition: they were some of the most steamy hot sex pictures in the whole opera, and Vesta could appreciate the amazing care she had used when drawing Killer's titanic cock ripping out of her ruined, prolapsed, bleeding sex. It looked like she had drawn every last vein of his colossal shaft, and Vesta knew all too well that there were a lot of those... "Just in time, too. It'll be the perfect gift."

"That's the idea, at least." Vesta easily replied, but she couldn't quite bottle away the little bit of lingering anxiousness in here. She wanted everything to be perfect, and truly hoped he would enjoy their creation.

Mriya stepped out of her room, tall and stunning, looking even more like her mother now that she had her golden mane combed up in an aggressive cut. She didn't copy Alexis's Mohawk, but went with fiery curls that stood up tall on her head, while the rest of her hair was cut short, on her temples, or collected into long braids that fell down the back of her neck and reached all the way down between her shoulders. It was a cut that looked great on her, and even more so in moments like that, in which her beautiful eyes were hidden behind black sunglasses. Then again, Mriya looked stunning no matter how she dressed or combed her hair: she had the same proud, sensual grace of her mother and her body was, well. Godlike, of course, but that word couldn't really get the idea across. It was insufficient.

She was wearing only an exercise top that struggled to contain her glorious breasts, causing them to bulge tantalizingly out of her cleavage, and her little smirk made it clear that she was pleased by all the desperately needy and aroused gazes she got everywhere she went. Her abs were bare, perfect and glorious, and the low waist of her form-fitting shorts put on full display the tattoo "Daddy's Evil Girl", just beneath the jewel that hang from her navel: a captive universe dangling like a trinket from a short chain made of stars. Another collection of helpless, captive universes formed the large "diamond" trapped between her great breasts, just beneath the collar that she wore with so much pride, and her almighty, left arm was decorated with a monstrous dragon-like creature, powerful and massive and jutting with spikes, with an endless, powerful snake-body. It seemed to move every time that her muscles flexed and bulged, looking like they would tear through his coils... and Vesta grinned in entertainment, knowing that she was staring at no dragon: that was actually a very realistic depiction of one of Killer's omnipotent sperms, which were far more imposing and powerful to witness in action.

Her long, spectacular legs were bare as well, showing off the large KO tattoo on her right thigh as well as the chain of barbed wire and skulls that wrapped around the huge quads of her left leg. Whenever she walked and her thigh flexed, it looked like the barbed wire would snap apart and the skulls would fall away.

Her boots reached up to just beneath the demonic skulls tattooed on the front of her legs, beneath the knees, and the sturdy leather-and-steel straps groaned audibly whenever her quads bulged. The high heels added even more to her height and natural grace, and the sight of the RA warships-turned-jewels dangling from the edge of her boots was almost hypnotic. The mortals were always left staring in awe at those little golden toys, which dangled helplessly at the end of chains made of UCWs. Somehow, even though she wore several universes and stars with same terrifying ease, those were the items that most captured the imagination and fear of the people groveling whenever she passed by. Maybe it was because they all had memories of the RA fleet of super-warships and of how it had appeared unstoppable as it sailed along the coasts of the world and pounded entire nations into unconditional surrender, or alternatively into dust and ashes. They had been so afraid of those immense warships... and yet there they were, powerless and humiliated, their armors, weapons and even the crew inside them all turned into solid light, more precious and luminous than any gold. Her shorts hugged her perfect buttocks in a way that was just stunning to admire, and the ripped fabric of her jeans added to her fiery aura, as did the thick, heavy belt, semi-loose around her narrow waist, resting on her wide, beautiful hips. She carried a light jacket with her, with the sleeves pulled around her hips and knotted together at the front, and she needed nothing else to look simply stunning as she walked forwards with a smirk of amusement and anticipation, cheerfully asking: "Are we ready...?"

Vesta and Elaine nodded, and they walked together down the long and immense corridor, the metallic sole of their boots making almost no sound over the precious carpets that covered most of the colored marble. In that moment the royal palace was peaceful, almost excessively so: those same corridors were often filled up with groveling servants and worshippers who lived to glorify the Goddesses and praise their every step on the unworthy earth. In other moments, when the moods were more savage, even greater number of slaves would lay down on the marble, shoulder to shoulder, forming a soft, living carpet for the almighty goddesses to step upon. Countless eager Sacrifices had been crushed into ugly stains on that marble floor, only to be licked off it by other servants... but today there were no screams, no praises, and no prayers. It was a special day, not quite like the others, and the slaves had been instructed to keep out of the way. Their services were not required, and would have only been a distraction. All of the goddesses were waiting for the same thing, and all of them had prepared for it: as they made their way towards the great hall, Vesta, Mriya and Elaine were joined by all the other Disciples and wives of Killer. Clotho waited for them with her shoulders against the door to her room, her head slightly tilted, one leg pulled up, and her eyes hidden behind black sunglasses. Her muscular arms were mostly bare, and covered in new tattoos of barbed wire over her biceps and piles of skulls on her forearms. She was wearing a simple while shirt stretched out by her glorious breasts, and cut short to expose her perfect abs. Tight, form-fitting jeans wrapped around her long, mighty legs like gloves, and her muscles and tattoos showed through great lacerations in the tough fabric. Both of her thighs were proudly marked with great KO tattoos.

Her feet were clad in open-toe, ankle-high boots with high platform-stiletto heels, and the silvery steel platforms of her shoes were actually cages in which Lachesis and Atropos, shriveled down to weak husks, languished in terror. The Primordial goddess was still wonderfully shy in her dealing with the other members of the family, but she had otherwise changed quite a lot. She was no longer the inexperienced, nervous virgin she had been, but a confident goddess who loved wrestling and kick-boxing and spent much of her time on the ring with Savannah. She was always ready for a brawl and for adventure, and there seemed to be very few things and places she did not like: after spending so many Eons locked up in a dark, lonely castle in the Cloister, she was eager to learn, experiment and try everything. Despite her slow and shy start, she had grown into a true sexual predator, who had eagerly learned everything that Mriya, Elaine and the others had to teach.

She gave them a grin as they approached, and traded high-fives with Mriya and Elaine, her favorite accomplices, and easily followed them down the corridor. "Nice shoes." Elaine playfully remarked, and Clotho grinned widely and gave a little nod, tilting one foot sideways to look down at her mother. Lachesis. "Yeah, they come with good... accessories. Dad likes to have those little toys in easy reach, so I thought I'd bring them along."

"I'm sure he'll appreciate." Mriya commented, grinning in predatory amusement.

Gaia walked out of her room with a bright smile, looking delighted, with her watery hair flowing peacefully down to her shoulders. Like always, she had chosen a thick, sturdy corset of black leather, lace and metal. It left her powerful shoulder bare, fully showing off the tattoos that signaled her devotion and Disciplehood, and her spectacular cleavage was on proud display, her breasts bulging out of the tight garment that perfectly replicated the shape of the mighty muscle beneath it. The corset was short, leaving her lower abs and waist bare, so her other tattoos were in full evidence, and a short skirt completed her outfit: it was a garment with sturdy bands of leather, like that of a gladiatrix, but beneath those it was made of elaborate, beautiful dark lace, semi-transparent. It didn't reveal much, yet it inexorably drew all eyes.

Her muscular, beautiful legs were clad in dark stockings that only underlined even further the perfection of her thighs and calves, and she stood tall and proud on her high-heels, while her fingerless gloves perpetuated that mixture of lingerie and combat equipment that her skirt suggested.

Savannah looked just as stunning even though she had chosen to wear tight, form-hugging ripped jeans and an exercise top that wonderfully exalted her perfect breasts. With her fingerless gloves, the black sunglasses on her muzzle and her tattoos reminding everyone of her flawless record on the ring, she looked every bit like the fighter she was. Vicky came out of her room wearing a leather corset which hugged her perfect shapes and was squeezed even tighter by a number of sturdy belts that went all around her torso, with another pair crossing over her otherwise widely exposed cleavage. With her hair combed up in a fiery mane and with her gladiator skirt having a long tail of leather that went all the way down to the floor, she truly rocked. Her muscular legs were wrapped into fishnet stockings, while her high-heels were decorated with captured warships and with gold pendants, a K and an O, to make things all the clearer in case anyone failed to notice the tattoos on her thighs and shoulders. Vesta walked quickly up to the doe and hugged her tightly, easily hefting her off the ground and spinning once, making Vicky wince in surprise, her eyes opening wide before slipping closed as Vesta hungrily kissed her, and her tongue pushed forwards into her mouth. Vicky parted her black-glossed lips slightly, letting the thick, forked tongue in and meeting it with her own, and she wrapped her strong arms around the queen of Heaven, squeezing into her solid muscles with affection and lust. They kissed passionately for a few moments, so much so that Vicky instinctively half-wrapped her long, powerful legs around Vesta's waist, but then the queen of Heaven finally pulled back and grinned widely, eyes sparkling with happiness. "You know what's new, Arts...? Can you figure it out...?" She happily asked, using the usual nickname to address her friend and mate in the long and demanding enterprise of writing and illustrating the chronicle. Vicky's expression beamed as she realized what was coming, but before she could reply, Vesta exclaimed: "That's right! I've finished it! It's ready, we can hand it to Daddy at the first good chance!"

"That is fantastic!" Vicky exclaimed, leaning forwards and wrapping her arms around Vesta's neck as the seraphim spun once more on the spot, laughing. "We made it! We made it!"

"That's great! Perfect timing, too!" Another well known voice commented, and Vesta smiled widely, slowly putting Vicky back down on her feet and turning around to look at Ira as she walked out of her quarters. The cobra, High Queen of Hell in Killer's name, was wearing yet another variant of leathers, which were still her favorite garment. Her dress was more or less entirely composed of belts and straps wrapped tightly around her powerful form, as if to contain the tremendous power of her muscles. The open space between a belt and another showed off plenty of her black and crimson scales, which contrasted beautifully with the ivory of the leathers, and they allowed even part of her large black areolas to show, as well as an epic amount of perfect underboob that kept even Vesta helplessly staring for a moment. The cobra noticed, and winked teasingly at her, striking a little pose and flexing her mighty form, showing off the perfection of her musculature, and especially of her long legs: the thick belts wrapped around her quads groaned audibly as they were strained and stretched out, and Vesta licked her lips, following the noise and looking over those phenomenal thighs. They all put special attention on showing off their legs, admittedly, since it was no secret that Killer had a particular veneration for them.

The next door down the corridor also opened, and another pair of high heels clicked against the marble as Azura stepped out of her apartment, her proud stroll putting her muscular legs in full evidence, her quads straining the ivory stockings wrapped around them. Her boots were made of solidified light and polished, ivory bones that had been chiseled and modeled into overlapping plates and elaborate decorations. Demonic skulls protected her knees, and her hips and the flank of her long, mighty legs were covered in a form-fitting armor made of multiple bones. A white, elaborate garter belt with another skull as clasp completed a bikini bottom covering her groin and suspenders connected to her stockings. Her splendidly chiseled abs were bare and on full display, while metal and ivory bone combined to form the elaborate cups of her top, as well as two pauldrons on her shoulders. Together with her large, heavy collar, those components seemed to merge together and form an upper armor of sort, even though her cleavage was proudly on display.

Her forearms were clad into gloves that were almost gauntlets, complete of elaborate, overlapping plates of gold and bone. Her outfit was complex and beautiful, but also suitably intimidating, especially considering that the huge blade of Requiem Aeternam rested horizontally at the base of her back, just above her perfect buttocks. The pole of the scythe had retracted and almost entirely vanished, turning into a curved, short handle that made Requiem look more like a sword, but in any moment she could morph the mighty weapon back into its original shape. Her crimson hair was combed up in an aggressive almost-mohawk completed by a number of tiny braids, and she still had the crest of curved, semi-loose scales as well, which seemed to kind of crown her.

She looked absolutely splendid, the new black color of her scales making her look all the more imposing, while the golden hide on the center of her body, including breasts, abs and inner thighs, made her look a bit like Alcana. The goddess of Death adored her new body, and the power it gave her: she felt confident like never before, and proud: her new musculature made her feel truly godlike, and with the perfection of her curves and the length of her legs she knew that she could easily make even Killer stop in his tracks to stare. It was not a case that her quarters were right next to Ira's, considering that there had been a time in which she had been like a mother for the cobra. Azura had rescued Ira when she was still a child: Ira had been condemned to death by the judges of Hell after she had killed her abusive father, one of Hell's most powerful nobles. For some reason, Azura had been unable to even contemplate reaping the soul of the young and beautiful cobra: it would have been just too unfair. Ira, after all, had acted in self-defence, showing not only a great deal of courage but also a strength that was absolutely extraordinary: at her age she should not have been able to take on a massive, powerful demon of Wrath like her father. Yet, she had.

Azura had swept down into Hell and had literally stolen Ira away from the bloodstained altar of the sacrifices, just before the executioner could swing the heavy axe down against her neck.

For a happy but short period after all, Azura and Ira had lived together, and the goddess had been like a mother for the cobra... a loving, caring mother that she had never had before, since her true mother, down in hell, had never had the courage to stand up to her abusive, violent husband and protect their daughter. Ira's mother had been an opportunistic and cowardly whore who was all too glad to accept the most painful of compromises, including regular beatings and abuse, just to hang on to the privileges that her husband's name and riches could assure her.

Ira sometimes wondered about whether she was, in some ways, just like her mother. Killer, after all, was undoubtedly describable as violent and abusive, at least when the right kind of mood struck him. In fact, whenever Killer felt like punching her, his blows were a trillion times more terrible than anything her father could have ever dreamt of doing. Killer's tremendous strength meant that when he started playing with her life and death she was utterly helpless, far more than she had been as a child... and Killer's ferocity extended to breeding, with the brutality ranging from pumping her full of a cripplingly enormous number of children to him fucking her unborn children into nothing but chunky, bloody filth smeared on his cock. He was far more monstrous than her father had been, in many ways... yet she utterly loved him. Had it been the same for her mother...? Ira had reflected on the matter and had realized that, even though most people would never understand it or believe to it, the two things were completely different. She could and did trust Killer completely, even when he was in his most extreme and monstrous of moods. Even when he savaged her in unspeakable ways, she loved and trusted him and knew that he loved and trusted her in return. Even when he hungrily licked up her tears and her blood, he cared about her. Yes, it sounded absurd and insane, but it was true. As monstrous as it got, between them it was only ever a game. Even when he inflicted the worst possible suffering, he never wanted her to Suffer. And it showed when all was over and they cuddled, moving from the most terrifying savagery to tender lovemaking. Everything was shared, everything was part of their crazy but wonderful love. With her father, nothing had been shared. Nothing had given her any pleasure. Nothing had contained love. She could never trust him and she could never know when and how it would end. The pain he hadn't inflicted on her was only due to him being nothing but a wimp in comparison to Killer's monstrous strength. Had he been stronger, she wouldn't have survived, she was certain of it.

Once she had opened up about her doubts with Elelyon, telling him the story and seeking his opinion, but he hadn't been able to see the difference and appreciate it. He had treated her with kindness, as he did everyone, but his words had displeased her deeply. He had been very diplomatic about it, but the unspoken truth behind his exaggerated kindness was that he considered her insane and he thought that her love for Killer was a toxic addiction, not a form of affection. He could not bring himself to consider "love" what she and Killer shared. She had never talked to Elelyon again after that last confession. Apart from the few words they had traded during the battle around and into the Cloister, at the apex of the Endwar, she had basically ignored him. Ultimately, she did not care whether he understood her or not. His thoughts were not important, and his judgment even less so. She was happy, and that was all what mattered. Ira felt complete and confident and blissful, and every day was special. Every morning she woke up happy, especially now that Killer had brought Azura back to life and she felt like she had the family she had always dreamt of.

Ira and Azura had been happy together, and had loved each other dearly, but they had been separated way too soon, when Thanathos, the most capable and promising of Azura's pupils, had betrayed her and stabbed Requiem into her back. Now that they were together again, they had all of eternity to do everything they wanted. They had shared Killer's bed together; they had worked together during the reconstruction, they had studied together, and Azura had helped Ira run Hell. The two females traded a smile as they walked into the corridor, and Azura reached over and wrapped one powerful arm around Ira's shoulders, squeezing her into her side and whispering a few words in her ear, just to remind her how proud she was of everything she had accomplished in the years of their separation.

"So, are we really doing this?" Azura asked, looking at the faces of the other goddesses and letting go of Ira to trade a gaze with her. "Do you think we should?"

"Of course we should!" Vesta immediately remarked, rolling her eyes a bit, exasperated because of how many times she had already had to answer to questions like that. "We are not going to ruin anything, and I'm sure it's exactly what they want."

"Probably it's true." Ira agreed, giving a little nod up at her mother, but then shrugged a bit and added: "But Killer hasn't asked for it, nor has Alexis. They have... just dropped hints. I don't know if they are making fun of us by leaving us in the doubt, or what."

Azura nodded wisely, but she hadn't anything to add. Even though she was a formidable prophetess and could see events far away into the future, she couldn't be sure at all about what the Emperor and Empress truly wanted. The royal couple had been deliberately... vague.

The group moved further down the corridor, and in that very moment Desire walked out of her room with her Smartphone in one hand, and she grinned widely as she immediately took a photo of Ira, commenting: "Hey, Sis, you rock!"

"Of course I do." The High Queen of Hell easily commented, before wrapping one arm around Vesta's shoulders, dragging her into her side, until their huge, glorious breasts pressed together. The cobra pointedly tried to gain the upper hand in that clash of prodigious boobs, trying to get hers to crush and hide Vesta's, but the Seraphim snorted in entertainment and easily pushed back.

"Demonesses rule. Angels are boring. Everyone knows that." Ira playfully taunted, companionably squeezing around Vesta's shoulders, but the Seraphim only grinned and snorted in derision of her comment. There had a time in which Ira had been emarginated for being a demoness exiled in Heaven. From demoness of lust she had turned into a Seraphim, proving that her critics and the crowd of outraged "righteous" angels was wrong... but that had only caused their hostility to grow worse still. Killer and Vesta had been, for a while, her only true friends in Heaven, and together they had reminded her that she had to be proud of everything she was and of everything she had accomplished, no matter what Heaven said.

Now, as the High Queen of Hell in Killer's name, she was happier than she had ever been, and all hesitations and worries of the old days were well and truly gone.

"You are live on the internet, Queens... say hi to the cucks!" Desire announced, smirking as she held up her phone to shoot a video of the two goddesses, and Vesta immediately leaned closer to the camera and grinned, whispering in a sensual but mocking voice: "Hello, paypigs and cucks. I've just been challenged by Ira here, who claims demonesses are hotter than angels. I might even be willing to let it pass if she was talking of the angels of old, all haughty and frigid and unable to take a laugh. But me...?" Vesta grinned and flexed her muscular thigh, causing her own belts to groan loudly, her quads bulging explosively and putting on full display both her KO mark and her "Bad Angel" tattoo. "Remind her of how wrong she is, sissy boys!"

"You are so gonna lose the contest." Ira amusedly countered, pushing her out of the frame and leaning forwards, her eyes glowing solid emerald as she slowly, sensually licked her muzzle with her long, dexterous, forked tongue. Her huge breasts filled up the screen, her cleavage looking simply prodigious with how the huge boobs were squished together, and she softly said: "Come on fans, let's show her that Hell rules, and Heaven drools. Vote for your favorite demoness, little cucks."

"I'm gonna eat you tonight, and make you cum so hard that even the Hell of Lust blushes!" Vesta announced, grabbing the cobra from behind, her hands grabbing her huge breasts and rolling them slowly together, pushing the great swells up and sliding her fingers under the thick leather belts, teasing her large black nipples and teasingly pulling at the golden rings pierced through them.

"Challenge accepted." Ira sensually replied, flexing slightly and arching her back to push back into her. "Very unwise to challenge a demoness of lust at scissoring and eating out and fucking in general. We are the best at it."

"You fucking wish." Vesta teasingly growled, leaning down to kiss her cheek and look sideways into the camera, her sapphire eye glowing with such lust and eagerness that the thousands, the millions of mortals watching from the other side undoubtedly went rigid, in more ways than one. She then studied Desire from head to toe, and snorted in entertainment: Desire was not yet eleven years old, technically, and while age worked very differently for the tigers, and even more so for gods and goddesses born out of Killer's semen, she liked to fill the mortals with scandal by being horrendously underage for their vision of the world and for their laws. She loved messing with them, filling the mortals with guilty, irresistible desire, just like her name suggested. She had been baptized in Killer's almighty dark cocksludge and had been squeezed between his colossal tentacles when she was still a toddler, so it was, pretty literally, into her nature. Not yet eleven, she had already given her Daddy other daughters of her own, and she had sacrificed her life to him more times than could be counted. She had been everything from his toy to his chewing gum, his food and his cock-warmer. When she was still a toddler, Daddy had allowed a thick, massive rope of his precum to flood her cradle, and his colossal sperms, literally much bigger than her whole body, had brutally gang-raped her until she was just scum and unrecognizable pulp in the middle of the dark semen overflowing out of the cradle. She was gloriously savage and capable of unspeakable cruelty, and her adoration for her God Daddy was not just total. It was something worse, something more, that couldn't even be described. Her dedication, her obsession, were terrifying... and at the same time incredibly, sickeningly arousing. She was beautiful beyond description and she loved to put her adoring fans in front of all that beauty, tormenting them with the awareness that all of it was Killer's property and forever out of their reach. She was a merciless Mistress and a savage Dominatrix who spent most of her time livestreaming in a way or another, like she was doing in that moment. Hers was not quite vanity, but something else, that spaced from playfulness, like in that moment, to full-out cruelty towards the endless crowd helplessly admiring the show, from Earth, from Hell, from Heaven, from distant worlds she hadn't even visited yet.

As she often did, she had dressed up to play with her age: her outrageous miniskirt, the white stockings hugging her long, muscular legs and the white shirt with a small black tie were supposed to represent a schoolgirl uniform, although no school would have ever allowed the shirt to be so short to show off her perfect underboobs and leave her mighty abs bare and the universe trapped in her navel in full display. The shirt was kept together by a knot at the front and all it did was push up her already spectacularly firm breasts, making them a sight that could stop hearts. The black tie went looked kind of lost between the two great boobs, and it only served to lead the eyes all the way up to the thick, heavy black collar that clamped on her throat. She resembled her mother, Savannah, and she was a wonderful mix of zebra and liger, but she had the sapphire eyes of her beloved Daddy. She kept her hair relatively short, with great and fiery curls on top of her head but otherwise cut very short at the sides, with multiple tiny braids collecting the rest. "Show yourself to the cucks, you little jail-bait slut." Vesta teasingly said, and Desire smirked and did just that, easily switching camera on her phone and giving the vast public a first view of her spectacular cleavage and of her collar, with the roaring lion head seemingly looking down at them all, mocking them.

"Hello, tender morsels." The young goddess teased, winking down at her adoring, helpless fans, and she smirked at the comments that kept piling up, interspersed with an immense number of donations. She didn't need money, for obvious reasons, but what use were cucks and paypigs if not to give up what they had to make their goddess's life even better...? She angled the phone to give them a better view of her whole body, striking a lazy pose and half-flexing one thigh, and she let out a throaty purr that undoubtedly had all the cucks helplessly cumming in their pants. "Keep your donations flowing in, sissies, and I might just take part in Vesta and Ira's little game tonight... What side should I be on, huh...?"

"What's going on? A new episode of Heaven wannabe-sluts versus proper Hell of Lust goddesses...?" Boadicea playfully asked, stepping out of her room with sunglasses on and wearing an open, sleeveless leather jacket over a corset of black leather with cups and abs made of semi-transparent lace. She wore a miniskirt of leather bands with a tail that went down to just above her muscular calves, and dark stockings, with her feet in high-heeled boots. The sharkess strolled up to Ira and pushed into her side, their huge breasts pressing gloriously together as they traded a hungry kiss, before the Princess of Hell announced: "Obviously I'm siding with my High Queen. Team Demoness all the way; you know it. You always bet on black."

"You literally were still a virgin when Daddy came for you. He had to teach you how you are supposed to suck his cock, and you still start suffocating two feet up compared to where I deepthroat him." Manticora shamelessly reminded, snorting steam out of her nostrils as she smirked and walked up towards Vesta, pushing into her side and pulling up one muscular leg to grind into the Queen's own thigh. She wore fishnet stockings to fully display her muscles and her tattoos, and a leather top with plates of chiseled, finely decorated gold that made it look almost like a tactical vest.

"Team Angels leads the way, little cucks. We will win again." The mighty zebra said, grinning to the camera, even as Boadicea glared at her through bangs of her crimson hair, shoving lightly into her shoulder.

"My dear sister forgets that I regularly still have to show her how it is done." Kimera objected, leaning into the frame as Boadicea took a step back, smirking as the allowed the second Zebra to push shoulder-to-shoulder with Manticora. Kimera was slightly taller and her shoulders even more imposing, bulging with great chords of muscle, and her huge breasts strained the thick black leather of her top. Belts and straps of leather connected into large rings of silvery steel, wrapped around her magnificent bosom and crossing over her powerful back. The muscular goddess had her abs bare and on full display, and her "skirt" was really little more than a thick, heavy belt work on top of a leather bikini bottom. Sturdy strips of black leather connected the belt to her bra, and suspenders held up her fishnet stockings, ripped in multiple places and strained by the massive quads and hamstrings and calves. Just like Manticora, Kimera wore heavy manacles of black steel and gold at her wrists and at her ankles, all of them with short length of broken chain dangling from thick, sturdy metal rings. The two zebras were two of Killer's favorite Executioners, and Desire grinned widely as she took a step back to let the camera pick up the details of both goddesses, including the skulls tattooed on their almighty legs. Their golden, spiked hooves were true weapons of mass destruction, and the piles of skulls tattooed on the sisters' calves were a clear statement of intent. Manticora had added other tattoos, even more explicit, saying "Death" and "Hell" and pointing at her hooves, with the letters drawn as if they had crudely been traced by a bloodied finger. And that was more or less exactly how the idea had been born, in fact. Right above the two hooves were other "bloody" writings: "Watch my hoof" and "not sorry", which made pretty clear that she loved being set loose by her Master. Her hooves had trampled countless enemies into nothing but ugly stains, and they had often crunched entire worlds into dust and gravel. Kimera wasn't any less proud of her role, and one of her tattoos proudly identified her as "Crusher". Manticora had a "Punisher" one.

The sisters' features were almost undistinguishable, and both sported amazing sapphire eyes burning with the energies of their Master and God, and both had heads proudly topped by huge Mohawks that alternated black and white bands. Kimera had two rather than one pair of great golden horns, but the sisters also normally kept part of their hair arranged in a braid that fell down the opposite sides of their faces: Manticora to the left, Kimera to the right. "Besides, I'm the only one who can properly suck him off even when he has both cocks out..." Kimera teasingly reminded, half-turning around to show off her living tail, a huge cobra with scales in the colors of the desert. The beast stared into the camera with flaming eyes, then opened its jaws, amazingly wide, showing off terrible fangs... which folded back after a brief moment. The dislocated jaws of the serpent and its ability to "stow" the fangs away, together with its long and flexible body, made it a truly formidable cocksock. Putting one's cock in that deadly mouth was a terrifying prospect for most, but Killer was never afraid of anything, and certainly not of Kimera's eager-to-please companion. "So, sis, as you know all too well, Team Demoness is going to win big time." The zebra teased, smirking as she leaned forwards and gave her sister a teasing nuzzle. Before Manticora could retort, Kathy came charging between the two sisters, gaining the front spot and companionably wrapping one strong arm around either goddess, squeezing them into her sides, fearlessly trapping her breasts between theirs, only causing her swells to push up higher, making her cleavage even more breath-taking. The roaring lion-head of white gold, flanked by great angel wings inserted with countless tiny but incredibly luminous diamonds, seemed to stare right into the camera as the cat smiled widely and winked to the boys and girls watching. Both Manticora and Kimera let out matching little grunts of pain at the squeeze, and that only made Kathy grin wider. She was more than a full head shorter than the two zebras, and her musculature was nowhere near as bulky as theirs, but her toned, athletic, spectacular build packed an absolutely disproportionate strength, as if her hard, densely packed biceps were meant to be four or five times their size but had been compressed into a super-dense package. Becoming a Disciple first, then being chosen alongside Manticora to be Princess of Heaven had immensely changed Kathy's self-confidence. Her kindness was still there, but much of her shyness was gone and she was now supremely confident about her body and her force. She could grapple with the other goddesses and give all of them a run for their money, and arm-wrestle most of them into defeat. Kathy's growth since she had become a Disciple had been absolutely surprising, and the young goddess, as a consequence, had felt encouraged to train all the harder and devote even more of her time to her physique and combat prowess. With Mriya's and Elaine's lessons she had turned into a formidable fighter, and she had then completed without issues the training to officially become a Praetorian, sacred and ceremonial guardian and servant of the Master. Her build had steadily improved, but her musculature never got particularly bulky: it had been one of her Choices already when the energies of her father had changed, evolved and made her ascend: she had deliberately decided to remain his "little" girl. Whenever Killer had turned one of them into Disciples, he had given shape not just to his selfish desires, but to their deepest wishes as well, and her thoughts had been decisive for the changes to her body. She had perfected her proportions, growing taller and with such curves that calling them godlike was really an understatement, especially with how her breasts had grown larger and at the same time gloriously firm and youthful on her muscular chest. She had made herself more like her father, even taking his lion-like tail with the great tuft at the end, but at the same time she had kept herself "small". What kept growing at an amazing rate, on the other hand, was her strength: the training generated almost instantaneous increases in her raw strength and in her more divine powers as well. She was one of the strongest girls in the whole family, and even Sekhmeth struggled against her in arm-wrestling, which was definitely amazing to think about. Making her angry or excited in other ways was extremely dangerous, because the dark, cruel delights that she had started to reveal early on had taken root and had grown. She was ravenous when she started going, and her black, corrupted angel wings were a clear visualization of the fact that mercy was no longer her best attribute: despite all her love and adoration she felt for her mother, she had turned savagely even against her when the Benevolent had failed to embrace in full the new God. For a long while even after his ultimate ascension, in fact, Kathy's mother, Sylvia, had still attempted to resist, to deny the evidence, to still hold her grudge against Killer for how had raped her to death, so many years earlier. Even before his ascension, she had actually barely been able to sustain his gaze without soaking her panties, but she was stubborn and didn't want to admit it. She did not want him to always win, to always get everything he wanted, to always easily conquer all he wanted to use and ruin. Sylvia had already been forced to "lose" her darling little daughter, seeing her changing, becoming not just taller and stronger but also ravenous and increasingly bloodthirsty. Sylvia had tried to keep Kathy away from him, but she had failed miserably and Kathy's collar and tattoos were a clear reminder that Killer had won, once again. Sylvia had hoped to be able to at least keep him waiting a long time for her capitulation, which was in any case unavoidable... she wanted at least to annoy him, to... to... she didn't even know. It was really a torture for herself, not at all for the huge male. Sylvia had cried, a lot, helplessly, knowing that her "heroic resistance" was nothing but a lie, a make-believe exercise. She helplessly craved and adored him, dreaming of him every night and helplessly filling her eyes with his magnificence during the day... and she knew that, in any moment, he could give her just a lazy look and command her to lick his piss off a dirty floor, and she'd have to obey, with no chance of escape. For Killer it had been nothing more than a game... he had deliberately restrained his natural magnetism when around her, because overwhelming her mind would have been way too easy. No, he had decided he wanted to give her a chance, just to see how long she'd be able to hold up. In a state of helpless awe, Sylvia had started curling up in a corner, almost like a pet, whenever Killer fucked Kathy. Without him even needing to order it, Sylvia had helplessly started coming closer, until she had begun slurping up his thick cum from her daughter's ruined sex.

Killer had been perfectly fine with that little game that he was so utterly and easily winning, and he had had no hurry to get to the next phase. He had patiently waited for Sylvia to adjust and get past the rage and the hate she felt for him, which he readily admitted were both well justified. He had destroyed her mortal life, after all, and had fucked her family into pulp as well... he had taken everything away from her, back in the days, so she had every reason to hate him.

He was perfectly fine with the idea of waiting longer for her full breakdown, especially since he liked the sight of the tears on her cheeks and the streaks on her thighs as she watched on in a mix of awe and horror while he fucked their precious, angelic daughter into pieces. Oh, having her as public had really added spice to his savage fucking of Kathy... but Kathy herself had been the one to decide that Sylvia's pathetic crusade against the Almighty needed to be terminated swiftly and brutally. One memorable day, the young angel had turned against her mother and put a crude chain collar around her neck. She had dragged Sylvia in front of Killer, on all fours like an animal, and while he lazily looked at them from his throne, while concubines and wives and daughters tended to his glorious body and served as footrests, she had ripped her mother's clothes off. Sylvia had begged her daughter to stop, but Kathy had slammed her down and fingered her soaked sex to repeated, needy orgasms, sending the rich squirts of hot nectar splashing on the floor at the feet of the Emperor. Then, while he watched on with entertainment, Kathy had savagely beaten her down for refusing to properly serve the Master from the very first second; for daring to deny the evidence and challenge his supremacy. Kathy had finally pinned Sylvia to the floor, holding her down while Killer mounted her and raped her once again.

Sylvia had shrieked, howled, fought uselessly back against her incomparably stronger daughter, begging to be let go, but Kathy had been merciless, sitting on her face and forcing her to lick her sex while Killer bulldozed its way inside Sylvia's frail, too-small body. It had been nothing short of brutal, even when Killer fucked her with genuine kindness and restraint. At one point, Kathy had her mother's head trapped in a full-nelson and her bulging, grotesquely-swollen waist crushed between her muscular thighs, and Sylvia had cried and begged and prayed... and then worshipped, begged and prayed in a whole new way. She had never had any hope of resisting. All her rage, all her hate, were nothing but lies that Killer's cock pummeled into mush, together with her insides. Sylvia had known all along that she would end up once more sweating and trembling and spasming under Killer's glorious, muscular form, and all her rage was grown more out of frustration for how she couldn't deny that she craved and needed him than out of any true hate or resentment for what had been.

Killer had been nowhere near halfway inside her little, frail body when Sylvia had started begging for more, staring at him through her tears and shouting his name over and over again, trembling hands gripping into his incredible muscles as she cowered and bucked beneath him... and Killer had been all too happy to oblige, giving her more... far, far, far more than she could possibly handle. He had destroyed poor Sylvia one more time, far more brutally than even the first time, and after impaling her like a tender piece of meat he fucked Kathy as well, right there, in the gore, in the blood, in the ichors, in the shredded remains of the loving mother that she had happily sacrificed to him.

Killer had then created a new body for Sylvia, and had brought the poor female back to life, her mind forever scarred by the two brutal rapes and by the fact that Kathy, sweet, little Kathy, her beloved daughter, had been the one to betray her and violently force her submission to come out to the light. That was how far Kathy had gone for her Father, and there could not possibly be a more powerful promise of worship and loyalty. There could be no doubt that Kathy would have happily killed and destroyed anything and anyone just to make her daddy smirk, and even the two zebras couldn't help but shiver a little at that awareness. Sylvia herself had surrendered, and had finally converted into the eager servant that she had been born to be.

Kathy purred with great, irresistible sensuality as she half-hugged, half-strangled the two zebras, pulling them both forwards, forcing them to bend a little so their heads and breasts were roughly at the same height as she stated: "Everyone knows that the sexiest of things is seeing an Angel corrupted and turned into a whore. For a demoness of Lust, sluttery is as natural as breathing... but for an angel like me...? Or like her...?" Kathy turned slightly back, grinning, and she jerked her muzzle to point at her mother Sylvia, who stood right there, a couple of steps behind, smiling and happy and eager. She had been reborn as an angelic goddess, with six great black wings on her back: Killer had wanted to reward her, somehow, for all the agony he had put her through. Not even Heaven had shown such mercy for her: when her soul had been judged in Elelyon's Paradise, the judges had refused to let her become anything more than a simple, weak and imperfect Benevolent. The Inquisitors of Paradise had never been fooled by her "hate" for her rapist and destroyer, and they had punished her for how much she truly loved and craved him in the deep... and now she had gone full circle. In the Era of the Lion, craving Him was obviously not a crime, but rather a merit. She had been given a strong, perfectly chiseled body that rivaled with Kathy's own, and her eyes had taken on the same sapphire of Killer's own. She was beautiful, fertile, and corrupt. Every last bit of the "hate" of the past had turned into limitless, insane craving and worship for him, and now she was almost as helplessly deranged as the Thralls, as Lilith and Persephone. She was eager to serve her Overlord in any and all ways, and anything he desired was Law for her. She walked forwards, wearing a set of leather belts and nothing else: three belts squeezed into her large, perfect breasts, one of them covering her nipples but not quite the areolas and the large golden rings hanging from them. Other belts barely kept her eager sex hidden, and others only served to evidence the size and power of her mighty legs and arms. Her collar heavy and it glowed with energies, the eyes of the feral lion on the clasp seeming to burn like suns, and her body was covered in tattoos and KO marks. She wrapped her arms around Kathy's waist and shamelessly rubbed two fingers down her daughter's hot centre, leaning into her back and planting little kisses up the side of her neck, breathing: "Absolutely... we are fallen angels, proud and insatiable toys in his hands, corrupted and fertile and eager. We can make even you demonesses blush in shame, any time."

Vesta grinned widely and wrapped her arms around Diana's waist, effortlessly scooping her up off the ground and carrying her into the frame as well. Considering Kathy's changes and Vesta being... well, Vesta... she was probably the most angelic between them. She was, nonetheless, plenty able and willing to be terrible when the time was right, and her ruby eyes and unique black fur gave her a truly powerful appearance. She looked into the camera, clad in a white lace corset and with form-fitting pants of the same color, and her gaze petrified the spectators on the other end of the screen as she slowly, sensually licked her lips and nodded, confirming: "No one does it better than an angel with the hunger of a demoness."

Diana, much like Kathy, was not quite as imposing and muscular as some of the other goddesses, but she had nonetheless perfectly chiseled muscles and legs which could give a good squeeze even to Killer's solid frame. She was tall and beautiful, with large, firm breasts straining her sturdy corset and with phenomenal abs pushing outwards through the lace, and her biceps were tightly packed and incredibly powerful. She flexed lightly, grinning as she showed off the perfection of her build and hefted herself up to easily sit on Vesta's shoulder, balancing on it and primly crossing her long legs, offering her high heels to the camera as if to order the cucks on the other side to lick and suck them clean. "The features of an angel, the body of a goddess, the strength of an apocalypse and the moves of a freak... you better know that team angels has got it all."

Ira looked at Diana with a blink of surprise, and she couldn't help but snort in amusement. It was still surprising, at times, to see what attitude Diana could pull out when the time called for it.

"Huh, little cucks, this is turning steamy..." Desire teasingly commented, before Sekhmeth strolled right in front of the camera, wearing a crimson corset that did nothing to hide the perfection of her body: it pushed her glorious breasts together, and was cut in such a way to show off her mighty abs. As she moved past and Desire followed her with the phone, shooting a perfect view of her muscular back as the lioness lazily pulled her arms up and flexed, striking an easy bodybuilder pose, it became evident that the corset was almost completely open on the back: sturdy belts connected the two ends of it, groaning as the mighty muscles of her back pushed outwards with her flex. The great tattoo of the stormy clouds on her shoulder blades seemed to ripple, and the twin lightning bolts that were drawn reaching all the way down to her waist, seemed to move, to truly race downwards over her musculature to strike at unseen, helpless worlds.

"Doesn't fucking matter if Team Angels is better than Team Demonesses. Both teams can only beg to eat me." Sekhmeth teased, winking from over her muscular shoulder and shaking the heavy, long braid of crimson hair, weighted down at the extremity by the three cracked skulls, belonging to ancient monstrosities that had dared contend her the "scepter" of master of Destruction. "Team Sekhmeth is the way to fucking go." The goddess added, grinning widely as she showed off her mighty, spectacular form, spreading her long legs to show off the spectacular muscles and the tattoos that not only marked her as proud slave of Killer, but even provided a count of how many times she had carried his young. She was wearing outrageously short leather pants that merely served to underline even more the perfection of her buttocks, and thick red leather belts that groaned helplessly as her mighty thighs stretched them out of shape with each powerful flex.

Alcana snorted in entertainment at that, arms crossed on her chest, biceps bulging with power as her cleavage did the talking for her, the golden scales on her chest inexorably drawing the eyes towards the huge breasts that bulged up out of her bra of golden and crimson leather. The shoulder straps of her top crossed on her chest, and she had a small pauldron, more decorative than tactical, on her right shoulder. Her golden abs were completely bare, proudly facing the world and leading down to a bikini bottom of crimson leather which was almost criminally cut low to show off the "Property of Killer" tattoo on her groin. The bikini bottom split into a V on her buttocks, giving space to her long draconic tail and only exalting the firm perfection of her muscular buttocks. She had a heavy bracelet of gold and crimson metal at the right wrist, while the left arm was clad in a glove-gauntlet that reached halfway up her huge bicep. Her spectacular legs were glad in high-heeled boots of gold, crimson metal and leather, that went up past her knees. There were two thick inserts of gold, above and beneath the knee, with fangs that made them look a bit like open jaws. The boots were completed by fishnets on the right leg, and by a crimson stocking on the left, both reaching halfway up her glorious thighs. Her sapphire eyes glowed with amusement, surrounded by the golden scales of her muzzle and of the center of her body, in beautiful contrast with the black of the rest of her form. "Do I really have to remind you cucks who the Goddess of Love and Beauty is...?" The dragoness teased, winking and straightening in her full height, stretching one long, muscular leg slightly forwards. The other dragoness, Adrasthea, mocked Alcana by making a yapping gesture with her hand, then struck an easy flex to show off her war-hardened body, clad in an armor-like outfit made of leather and steel, completed by fishnets that struggled to contain her muscular legs.

At that point, though, they had walked up to the rooms of Samara, Vanessa and Nadia, and Vera strolled out of her quarters with a wide grin on her sharp muzzle, head tilted back as she spread her arms and pushed her chest out, teasing: "It's clear who has rivaled with the Empress from the start, here. You can't compete with me, babes. You are real nice an' cute, but I've got all the serious stuff." The Doberman smirked into the camera, her eyes hidden behind black sunglasses, her raven hair as usually collected in a lot ponytail behind her head, and she wore a loose, open leather jacket over a tank top straining to contain her prodigious breasts. Both sleeves had been ripped off, leaving her muscular arms bare, and her legs were clad in leather pants so tight that her bulging muscles had torn right through the sturdy fabric in multiple places. Her high heeled boots, open at the toe, made her look even taller as she strolled right up to Desire and winked into the camera. "Hey, cucks! Show these bitches who you really dig. And send some sugar my way: I'm about to go on a journey, so I'll be spending a lot of money. Show me you are not entirely worthless."

Vanessa and Nadia smirked, taking position on either side of Samara and crossing their arms, eyes hidden behind the sunglasses. Their trio was admittedly very popular on the internet, since they had truly it all: mother, daughters... whenever Killer played with them, everything from incest onwards was included in the show, and all three Doberman had the right kind of attitude and stamina and hunger galore. "Little" Nadia was wearing a camouflage top that barely contained her large breasts, even though it reproduced elements of a tactical vest, including some pouches for assault rifle magazines. Her abs were fully on display, and her only other garments were a pair of camo shorts with a thick belt and the high heel boots at her feet, plus some other tactical gear strapped to her mighty thighs with sturdy dark green belts: among them, a terrible, massive combat knife. Vanessa's outfit was almost literally lingerie: thick leather mixed with large parts of elaborate lace, semi-transparent over her hide, over the large cups of her breasts, over her abs. She had an elaborate garter belt holding up her fishnet stockings, so that all of her tattoos were on full display, showing all of her veneration for her god and all her contempt for all other boys, weak and useless, destined to never be anything more than pussy-free cuckolds. As goddess, she was an even more demanding mistress than she had been in the past, and her commands had the power of making all males quiver. "Send along every last buck, you worthless sissy boys. Then go out and make money for your goddesses, you little wastes of mass." She teasingly ordered, before laughing in dark amusement as she massaged her bulging quads, making the muscles of her thigh shift and flex and bulge, causing the KO mark to stand up all the clearer.

"Get a move on, you sluts!" Pamela finally snapped, crossing her powerful arms on her chest and seemingly looking down at all of them from between her fiery braids of crimson hair. She was clad in Praetorian armor, with a tiara-like helm of gold and black metal, obtained by solidifying Light and Darkness, and her mighty shoulders were covered by large pauldrons with golden lion-heads on top. Her breasts bulged in the tight embrace of her heavy chest-plate, and a leather loincloth and belts covered her groin, under abs left on glorious display. Her heavy boots of overlapping metal plate reached up to the knees, and black stockings went further up, almost to the top of her muscular thighs. Nikita was right beside her, smirking and wearing pieces of the Praetorian armor over an outfit that was no less extreme than Vanessa's: the mare's stockings terminated into a measuring-tape garter proudly declaring how much of a size queen she was. Kate wore a short chest-plate of dark metal, decorated as if it was made of lace, and a garter bell of metal and leather, holding up dark stockings that contrasted magnificently on her auburn hide. The vixen had her twin daggers sheathed and strapped to her thighs, held in place by thick, heavy belts that her bulging muscles stretched and strained audibly. Valery and Crystal stood on the other side of the corridor, the lioness grinning widely from between her crimson braids, wearing dark leathers and stockings as well as the roaring-lion pauldrons of her armor. Crystal wore fishnet stockings with the addition of transparent dark veils falling down her back and sides, hanging from her sturdy garter belt of leather, while her bosom was contained by a dark chest plate shaped almost like a corset, but open over the abs. "If you keep wasting time, Killer and Alexis will depart without waiting for us to show up." Pamela continued, and the other goddesses agreed. "We shouldn't keep Master waiting. Especially not to play around with you little cucks." Vesta commented, looking into the camera with a little grin. "We'll let you know when to come online to see team angels royally kicking butts. For now, you can go back to work, sissy boys."

"Exactly. And anyway, everyone knows that team Praetorians is the best." Pamela nonchalantly said, and Vesta threw her arms out and exclaimed: "What the fuck...?"

Ira snickered and walked right past, giving a V for victory to the camera, and then Desire abruptly interrupted her live stream and sprinted forwards, a spring of happiness in her stroll at the thought of meeting her father. She had only been away from him for a few hours, most of which had been of sleep, but it was already too much of a separation: she adored him and needed his mighty presence, always. Every moment spent near him was paradise; all other moments were just wasted.

The whole group moved eagerly forwards, and the air around them almost crackled with energy due to their excitement. Along the way, the Disciples passed by countless other rooms from which other splendid goddesses came out to follow them towards the entrance of the royal palace. Those girls were some of the uncountable daughters they had given to Killer, and many others were concubines that Killer had selected to form the permanent harem of the palace. And, of course, there were old and faithful servants and friends of the early days: Laura was one of the first to join them, wearing her own sunglasses and her tomboyish clothes, with coverall-like jeans and shirt. She was one of Alexis's dearest friends, and an extraordinary mechanic who was all too glad to get dirty to tend to the vast collection of supercars and superbikes that filled up the vast garages beneath the fortress. Then there was Rika, the Royal Marine from Argolis, one of the members of the Glacial resistance... and Kiara and Irene, the twins that had been some of the first friends and concubines of Killer in Kendrew. And, naturally, Athena and Joy, the girls who had sided with him from the very beginning, the ones who, in an almost miraculous way, had convinced him to interrupt his furious, aimless rampage over the world. They had somehow been able to put some sense back in his mind, which had been completely inebriated with his strength, that the world seemed entirely unable to contrast. Up to that fateful day, which now felt so distant in time to take on an almost mythological gleam, he had been guided purely by his hungers and his fury. He had punished the world, savagely and unfairly, for what had happened in Ire; for the bomb that had killed Vanessa, for the assault on his estate and the kidnapping of Samara and Nadia. Athena and Joy had somehow been able to convince him that it was time to move on from that chaotic, furious phase of his life and thanks to them he had finally settled down and started reasoning and acting like a king, like the kind of leader he had been born to be and educated to become. In a way, they had set everything else into motion... and Killer was endlessly grateful to them for it. He had gifted sparks of divinity to them too, and while they couldn't quite claim to be as close to him as his Wives, as his Disciples, they were certainly among his favorites.

Kaya joined them as well, wearing her collar with pride as if it was still the first day. Killer's sister was an eager and enthusiastic trainee-Praetorian, even if Killer had hesitated a bit at first. He had no problems fucking his beautiful sister and never had had any, but for some weird but not overly surprising reason he was hesitant to have her formally joining a group of warriors who also were proud sex slaves. There was something awkward in that, he had commented... but Kaya knew exactly what she wanted, and she had not relented. They walked together down the vast, luxurious corridor, right past large display cases filled with weapons and armors that came literally from every corner of Existence: they had once belonged to gods of the Swarm, or had been part of the massive Unmanned Combat Walkers of the RA. There were weapons that had belonged to Sikanjal and Regina, pieces from Taranis's arsenal, and the whip of Seth, and many other mementos of the victories of the past.

When they reached the corner, Vesta looked with longing down the perpendicular corridor, which ended with the heavy wooden doors of Killer's office. She stared at the other set of immense, majestic doors that led into Killer and Alexis's quarters, and she bit her lower lip a little. It was incredible to think that, for a while, there were not going to be big nightly "reunions" in the immense bedroom with the bed shaped like a ship. Many of her absolute best memories had been lived inside that room and into that immense bed...

But then a door near the entrance to Killer's office swung open, and a beautiful pantheress walked out, wearing a splendid white dress with such bold side slits, going all the way up to the crotch, that the long flap of cloth in the middle almost looked like a loincloth. The long legs of the beautiful female showed clearly through, caressed by the fabric at every step, and a heavy collar of white gold seemed to glow with its own light at her throat. Serene, the loyal and invaluable secretary that had always helped Killer with the bureaucratic aspects of being king, had naturally been given her own taste of divinity. Killer cared deeply about her and considered her part of the family, and she was definitely becoming part of the clan. Vesta wondered for a moment if the dramatic increase of her libido was something that Killer might have caused for selfish interest, but she quickly excluded it. It was enough to think of her own experience: Killer had not turned her into a creature of lust, but had just freed her and allowed her to reveal all hidden parts of her personality. The needs and interests and cravings that she had restrained and kept hidden for a whole life had finally been allowed to come to the surface, and it had been so wonderfully liberating and rewarding. She had no doubts that for Serene it was exactly the same experience. Turning into an immortal goddess, powerful beyond description and far, far above the opinion and judgment and laws of mortals, angels, demons and divinities alike, was truly a life-changing experience. All fears and worries vanished, replaced by confidence and by a craving, a need to enjoy everything that life had to offer. With endless possibilities came endless hungers... and with supreme self-confidence came the desire to show off and let the world stare in awe and envy.

"So...? Is everything in place?" Vesta asked, and Serene smiled and nodded in confirmation before explaining: "Ewan will help prince Anubis keep everything in order. Riaku is going to help them, as well, and Alexander, Siegfried and William have the security covered. The kingdom will be well looked after, even if we leave the post for a while."

Vesta nodded. There was certainly no shortage of talent, and Anubis could always count on his grandfather's help: Seth was on the throne up in the new Kesteven, and always glad to shoulder part of the load of responsibilities.

Ewan was the first son of Killer and Serene, and he had grown up with Mriya and Anubis at least until the events of the End War had broken up the family. Serene and Ewan had ended up being evacuated to Eaglenest, where they remained until the apocalypse struck and killed them both. They had awakened in the new Eaglenest after Killer had restored Existence... much as it still felt awkward to remember that. Serene still shivered every time she thought of the fact that she had died and then had been resurrected, and that everything around her had been pulverized and then created anew by Killer. It was a mind-blowing reality that would take a lot more time to be properly absorbed.

Ewan, who had grown up to resemble his father very closely, had one unique feature that always instantaneously set him apart from everyone else: his hide was black with a few white stripes, rather than the other way around. He had Killer's eyes and, in good measure, his tremendous physical strength as well. Fortunately for everyone, he had also inherited his mother's peaceful and calm nature, however, and unlike his father he didn't mind sitting through long meetings and briefings and dealing with the annoyances of bureaucracy. Serene had taught him what he needed to know about the job, and he was perfectly able to act as secretary in her absence. Besides, the amount of bureaucracy had dramatically reduced in comparison to the past: with no other nations on Earth other than Killer's kingdom and with the king's authority being not just absolute but literally divine, there was no need for much paperwork. Killer's laws were few and wide-ranging, and once they were properly communicated they needed no further enforcement: no one dared challenging the king's word, after all. The risk was that that his "glorious hooves" team would show up to trample the transgressors literally into pulp, and that was a very effective deterrent.

"Good boys. It's so nice to have a few good men that can be trusted to get the job done." Vesta replied, and her smile, while sincere and full of true affection, became a bit grin-like at the wide range of tasks that "job" implied. Vesta admittedly loved to tease the boys of the family and she was proud of the way she could make them drool and stare with the slightest of flexes and with the most apparently innocent of moves. She could get them to do everything she demanded, and that was pretty rewarding since the "boys" were actually enormous studs with the strength of a billion gods of the old era and virilities that she could only describe as "dramatically OP". There could be no doubts about Killer being Anubis's father, of example: the size of his monumental cock was a clear proof, and Riaku was not far behind. Vesta knew it all too well since, in a memorable occasion, she had convinced "the Huxleys" to fuck her brains out... and that was exactly what had happened when her poor body ended up crushed in the middle, between the sweaty, muscular, glorious bodies of Killer, Alexis, Alexander, Siegfried, Anubis and Riaku. The "historical event", known in the family as the "Vesta sandwich" was the one thing that could truly shut even Ira up and cement team angels' lead over the competitors...

As powerful and ravenous as they were, the boys were deliciously "vulnerable" to her charms: Riaku was full of worries pretty much about even looking at his father's goddesses, and he obviously had developed a special taste for being left out and forced to watch from the sidelines. Anubis's proverbial kindness bordered into shyness territory, so that it was delightful for Vesta to play around with him, teasing him until he couldn't take anymore. Especially because, when he had enough of her teasing, he knew how to "punish" her for it and fuck her into a blissful, exhausted mess. She licked her lips at the thought of his cheeks burning crimson as he embarrassedly tried to hide his urgent cravings, and she snickered and said: "Let's go say hi to the boys, while we are here."

They found Anubis and the others in the war room, unsurprisingly, already busy planning out the work ahead of them. Vesta knocked once, then pushed the heavy wooden door open and leaned in, grinning widely as the boys looked up from their papers and briefings with that mix of anticipation, desire and almost-fear that she loved so much. They loved seeing her, and they were always enchanted by her body and by the confidence she handled herself with... so much so, in fact, that they became wary and defensive around her, fearing the way she could easily leave them hard, erect and drooling, laughing of their blue balls as she walked away. Killer's brothers were at the table as well, as well as Riaku, William and Ewan, and there were also two rather less common guests: Gabriel, the chief Arkangel, that Killer had brought back to life much to Vesta's relief; and Lucifer, who shifted nervously in his seat as he gaped helplessly in front of her beauty. The poor demon was probably her favorite victim, as he had a clear veneration for her body and it was all too easy to lead him right to the edge and then leave him there, flushed and embarrassed. It was a bit cruel on her part, but Lucifer liked it. He had repeatedly begged Killer to let him watch while he fucked Vesta, and the god had "generously" allowed him. Lucifer was a little, eager cuckold who delighted in the humiliations that Vesta inflicted on him, and only ever begged for more. He had been invited at that briefing because he was going to take care of Hell while High Queen Ira and the Princesses were all away.

Similarly, Gabriel had come over from Heaven because he was going to hold the fortress while High Queen Vesta was away.

The Arkangel was Vesta's best friend, and completely reliable. In fact, she had told Killer many times that he would almost certainly make a better ruler for Heaven than she could ever hope to be, but the liger had not let her off the hook. Her role of queen was both an honor and a chore, and there were times in which she would have gladly given up the everyday business, which bored her to no end. There were other moments, however, in which being queen admittedly made her very happy.

Gabriel had sacrificed his life during the war in Heaven, making a desperate, doomed last stand at the Wall rather than ignore the orders he had been given. He was a flawless model of integrity, in every way: he and Vesta had been friends and colleagues in forever, but to that day she still couldn't tell whether he suffered her charms or not. He was, in a word, pious, but she wondered if he had "weaknesses" when she was around. It was really hard to tell, since he never showed up without his fully-enclosed, bulky golden armor with the conical helmet that completely hid his features. Who could tell if he blushed or not...? Who could tell what happened behind the heavy armor plate of his groin.

Anubis looked up from the booklet of reports he was reading, and his eyes traveled slowly along her spectacular body, causing his hulking form to instinctively flex, full of hunger. The prince was wearing the red, golden-buttoned tunic of the regiments of the Guard, with the long black cape on his left shoulder and a golden sash crossing his broad, powerful chest: that piece of the armor, together with the symbols on the tall, stiff neck of the jacket and on its buttons, identified the Prince's Own Brigade of the Guards, the elite unit that responded directly to him. Vesta, however, was more interested in his white pants, and she shamelessly bent down to look under the massive wooden table, letting out a teasing growl and licking her muzzle slowly when her eyes moved back up to meet his.

"Vesta...!" Anubis exclaimed, in what was supposed to sound like exasperation, but he couldn't quite trick her, and the slight flushing of his cheeks only amused her all the further. He wasn't quite as ginormous as his father, but he went pretty damn close and the way his white pants bulged was nothing short of spectacular, with his great shaft very evidently snaking down one leg, well past the knee, so much that the fat head could easily be guessed, close to the metallic edge of his heavy black boots, with the steel clasps so clean and lucid that she saw herself mirrored into them.

"What's wrong, stud...?" Vesta teased, with honey in her voice as she gave him her best "I'm completely innocent" look, knowing that it would make his cheeks burn red. And they did. The prince smiled, somewhat awkwardly, and then gently said: "Enjoy the vacation, Vesta, and try not to cause too much chaos. And come back soon, ok...?"

"Thank you, stud. And don't you worry, I'll take good care of you when I'm back." She teasingly replied, causing the prince to lightly cough in his fist, lowering his head a little to hide the glint in his eyes and the red on his cheeks. She turned her gaze on Lucifer and Riaku next, and both males visibly stiffened, staring at her with expressions that made her smirk and think of puppies begging for treats... and she winked at them, before teasing: "Do a good job while I'm away, and I'll let you watch as that big, bad stud mauls me."

Lucifer nearly let out a cry of bliss at that, shifting visibly in his seat. Riaku, who was sitting right next to him, visibly swallowed, salivating at the thought. Ewan was sitting with them at the same side of the great table, to the left of Anubis, with William, Alexander, Siegfried and Gabriel to his right. Alexander and Siegfried were wearing the high uniforms as well, colorful and magnificent, with sashes of different colors from Anubis's: Siegfried had the black sash of the Predators, while Alexander had an elaborate sash of gold and crimson that showed that he was the overall chief of staff of the army. Siegfried was not particularly enthusiastic about being able to wear the parade uniform, day after day. He missed the good old days in armor and combat clothing, when action and thrills abounded. There wasn't much work for him and his superbly trained Predators in the new Era, since everyone was way too scared of the power of the gods to even have any real interest in weaponry of any kind. The hopelessness of any attempt to stand up to Killer meant that, so far, the Empire's army was the only true army in the entire world: there were no enemies to fight. To be fair to Siegfried, he had no real desire to put the world and his comrades and not even himself through the rigors of another war of annihilation, but he really craved some sort of small but thrilling operation to plan and carry out. He was a man of action, after all, and no matter how realistic he could make training, it would never match real action. That was the pitfall of being so powerful: now that he and his troops were so incredibly, terribly strong, nobody wanted to give them any reason to lash out.

And Siegfried was definitely more powerful than ever: like Riaku, all the males around the table were wearing collars. Their shape was simple, with a small roaring lion-head as clasp on a bend of sturdy black leather, and their meaning was quite different from that of the goddessses's own chokers, but they too had given the boys a massive power boost. They were now divinities, far stronger than the gods of the old era, and they could effortlessly reshape whole planets, or worse, to root out any enemy of their Emperor and God. The armed forces were, effectively, no longer needed, but Killer had no intention of disbanding them and leave the warriors jobless and lost. When he was young he had fallen victim of the effects of sudden peace dawning too suddenly and too completely in the existence of a warrior that had spent all his life training for war or fighting one. When he had defeated Dark and destroyed the NWOA armada that had pushed deep into the Northlands, he had been lost. Leading the army had been the most exciting and rewarding of tasks, and it has absorbed all of his thoughts. When it all suddenly ended, his days began to feel empty and disappointing. He felt like he had no realistic usefulness away from the battlefield, since he had no intention of stealing Kesteven's throne from his father, and so he had headed straight back into the South again, to resume the desperate search for his lost daughters, Samara and Nadia... and, admittedly, to resume living like not just a prince, but a God. At home, in peacetime, under his father's severe laws, there was little he could do to vent his overwhelming power and satiate his terrible hungers. In the south, no one was even remotely near strong enough to forbid him from doing something, and there was no institution he respected. He would never break his father's law so blatantly, but the laws of the country that had stolen away his little girls...? Hell, those laws were made to be broken. Those bugs were meant to be squished. Those vermin species were meant to be his toys and victims. That was how his seven years of dishonorable and monstrous savagery had begun, and he did not want to risk putting other proud warriors in that kind of situation. He especially did not want them to get bold and start to test his resolve. He was thankful to all of them and considered them all brothers in arms, but he was not going to allow any crime to go unpunished. He did not want to be put in the uncomfortable necessity of taking such an unpleasant decision.

Military life was a noble undertaking and something that could not easily be left behind, and admiral Sandy was a demonstration of it. He had once more delayed the date of his retirement and he was serving as sea-going chief of the navy, with his flag flying from the aircraft carrier's Ark Royal. He frequently worked with Richard "Talon" West, David "Maverick" Arrow, Fenrir "Shadow" Wales and Harry "Eagle" McNay, embarked on the ship with their X-57 super-fighters. Richard and Fenrir, friends and rivals in the air, now more than ever, normally used their mother's surnames to attract as little attention as possible to the fact that they were sons of Killer and Riaku respectively even though, at least in Richard's case, it wasn't really necessary. The world was literally full of sons and daughters of Killer, so much so that most of the "wow factor" had faded away over the years.

Galen was in command of the Sentence, completely refurbished, and Sebastian served with him as sonar specialist. Ken carried on as a sniper in the Predators, while old colonel Murray, friend and mentor of Alexis in her youth, was in the new Glacial, taking care of that area of the kingdom. Killer had also resurrected Alexis's parents, and they took care of the eastern area of the world on their behalf, so there was no shortage of expertise to call upon to handle any potential problem.

Compared to Siegfried, Alexander was less concerned by the relative inactivity: he had collected more than enough emotions during the early phases of the Endwar, when he had de facto taken direct control of all armies of the world and had attempted to put mere mortals in condition to fight successfully back against hordes of demons. The sleepless nights had been countless, and terrifying lists of casualties had reached his command post without pause. He had been at the very center of it all, trying to build up and protect the Colonies, trying to deal with the most dangerous hordes, putting order in the chaos caused by the troops of dozens of different countries suddenly trying to coordinate and work together. The experience had drained him enough that he was perfectly fine with the peace dragging on for a good few years more.

William very much agreed: the XXX Legion of angels had been in the thick of the action for the whole duration of the war, and he had been in the very first row of the wall of shields... or, more accurately still, out in front of it, cutting down demons and horrors before they could get in contact with his soldiers. The losses had been terrifying, and few of the angels who made up the Legion at the start of the war had lived all the way to its conclusion. For them, the experience had been particularly cruel, since every tiger of the XXX Legion had been a Predator, or at least a soldier, in his mortal life. They had died a first time and gone to Heaven just to be trained into an even more dangerous and demanding form of warfare and had soon been thrown into the thick of the action a second time. William was perfectly fine with the peace stretching well into the future: Killer had brought his old comrades back to life and this time he hoped that the XXX Legion would last long and prosper. The warriors who had literally died twice deserved their chance to rest and enjoy their times, put up families and savor all the little and big pleasures that fate had denied them in their previous lives.

Even Ewan was in uniform, even though he wasn't quite as much of a warrior as the other men around that table. His interests and passions were rather more pacific in nature... but that was part of why he got along so well with Anubis. The Prince, despite being the son of Alexis and Killer and the brother of Mriya, was amazingly different from all of them when it came to his character. Where the rest of the family was quick to use overwhelming strength to fix an issue, he was always eager to use diplomacy and get to a solution that was, as much as possible, kind to both sides.

Killer was proud of him for that, because Anubis's kindness had nothing to do with weakness. Anubis was a formidable warrior and had overwhelming physical supremacy, as well as godlike powers that could alter and reshape reality far and wide, and he was all too able to use all of that might to destroy, punish and enforce, if it came to it. But he was never in a hurry to clench his fist, and that was something that Killer could only admire. More and more frequently, Killer was allowing Anubis to take the reins of the world, because he was a guarantee of peace. Perhaps there was a degree of selfishness in that decision, as Killer had little love of the day to day business of running a state and he was all too glad to delegate as much as he could... but he sincerely wanted his son to show the world a better route to the future. He wanted it even though it meant the frustration of his not-so-secret desire of seeing mortals and gods failing once more and getting bellicose, just so he had a chance to lash savagely out at them. A future of peace sounded remarkably boring for a creature like Killer, but it was the Right thing to pursue, so he was ready to sit back and be the dark, terrifying monster that everyone feared. Anubis would offer the carrot, Killer would be the big stick ready to strike those who developed weird ideas.

"Don't get too riled up for now, Nubi. I don't have time to take good care of you right now. You'll have to wait until I'm back, and it might take a while." Vesta teasingly admonished, winking at the prince, and the muscular male visibly swallowed, shifting a bit in his throne. Even William looked at her for a few long moments, taking in the glory of her looks, but the angel had irritatingly flawless self-control and he showed no visible sign of having fallen under her spell. It always took quite some effort to get him sweating and flushed. Alexander and Siegfried gazed at her with evident hunger, blushing a little as she smirked and winked in their direction and then pushed the door full open, standing tall and spectacular, framed by light on the threshold. "I wanted to say thanks to you boys, for playing along with my plan. You are precious."

"Not a problem. I'm happy to help." Riaku quickly replied, before his cheeks burned a deeper shade of red as Siegfried shot him a flat, entertained look.

"I don't anticipate it being any different from the other days." Siegfried said, pouting a bit and slumping forwards, crossing his huge arms on the table and lazily resting his chin on them. "Things are kind of boring. No bad guys to spank. They don't even dare to shoplift or come up with pranks anymore. My brother has scared everyone so much that they all behave like fuckin' nuns. In truth, Vesta, the world will probably not even notice that you and all the goddesses are gone from the royal palace."

"But you will, Cold." Vesta playfully replied, using the nickname that Alexis had slapped on Killer's younger brother pretty much at their first meeting. The huge male smirked a little, then closed his eyes and gave a little nod of agreement, before teasingly saying: "That's true. I'll miss having your legs and butt to ogle. It'll make my days even more boring."

"You have no difficulties coming up with crazy ideas, or throwing parties, or filling your bed with sluts to pass your time, so don't be all whiny. And anyway, it's your big brother that ogles my legs. You are more commonly lost somewhere between my breasts." Vesta easily replied, waving a hand dismissively. "Don't think I don't notice."

"Yeah, well, it's not like you don't want it." The young Huxley said, and his eyes opened to look up at her with a glint that was very Killer-like as he shamelessly suggested: "Perhaps when you return we can have a Vesta sandwich re-run."

The High Queen of Heaven let out a little hiss at the proposal, which was as once a sound of craving and one of fear. Killer had smashed and destroyed her many times and she treasured all of them, but being violated at once by all six of the Huxleys' titanic cocks had been truly unbelievable, truly overwhelming. She had truly felt like a helpless piece of meat being fought over by six colossal lions, ferocious and merciless and insatiable. She was eager to try again, but at the same time could feel her loins quiver in actual fear. She was not one to turn down a challenge, however, and she put up a brave smirk as she replied: "Sure. You choose the place and the hour, boy, and I'll be there."

Despite the brave face, though, her mind couldn't help but fill with memories of those six hulking gods looming over her, immense and unrivalled, with their utterly titanic cocks dangling ponderously in front of her, monstrously thick and thrumming, flexing, jumping up with enough power and vigor to make her feel tiny and helpless. Pearly juice leaked out of her and threatened to run down her muscular thighs, and Siegfried smirked, not missing her shuddering: for once, he had successfully reversed the table and put her in a difficult spot.

Vesta knew when it was time to cut a fight short, and she quickly saluted Siegfried and the others, including Gabriel, who only at that point turned around to warmly wave a hand at her. He had been motionless like a statue otherwise leaving her, as always, with the doubt. She looked for a moment at the simple collar around the Arkangel's neck, trying to read his mind past the enclosed helmet, but finally gave in with a huff and moved out. She closed the door slowly, to give them no reasons to believe they had "won" that round, but she then slumped against the heavy door for a brief moment, letting out a little sigh of relief. Damn Siegfried had landed a blow. For a moment she had thought that Cold and Alexander would stand up from their chairs and pull their monstrous cocks out to smack them down on the table... and if they did, she would find it really hard not to... reward them. She was good at teasing, but they were no less able to get her in the mood. Ira did not miss the signals, and smirked in entertainment as she walked past her, playfully enquiring: "From your face, I'd say they just demand another sandwich."

Vesta snorted a bit at that, but didn't even try to deny, instead gamely announcing: "Yeah, they said they want to try an Ira sandwich, next."

The cobra tilted her head to the side, eyes bulging for a moment before she took on a meditative look, clearly thinking of what it would be like and whether she could... well, not survive, no, that was impossible, and Killer would have to resurrect her. Multiple times, in fact. But she wondered whether she could go through the whole experience without losing herself entirely and becoming a mindless, drooling Thrall. She seemed to decide she was ready to run the risk, before she shrugged a bit and said: "I always wanted to try that out. If Killer asks for it, I'll have zero hesitations."

"Speaking of hesitations..." Diana quietly said, nervously rubbing her hands together. "Are we sure we are right to do this...? We have not been instructed to take part."

Vesta looked back at the angel with a wide, cheerful smile, spreading her legs wide and exclaiming: "Not all things must be ordered, Dia. You know what God Daddy says: a good slave doesn't need to be constantly directed. We must know by ourselves how best to serve him... and we must be able to surprise him, too."

Diana nodded, and tried to silence her doubts with those words. It was, indeed, something that Killer had truly said, and she really did not want to be left out of what Vesta planned to do. There was only one thing that she desired even more, though, and that was to not disappoint or displease her Master. She just did not want to overstep her bounds.

Vesta led them further down the gallery and smirked when two female warriors, Praetorians in training, pushed the heavy double doors open for them, revealing the massive common hall on the other side. That was a key location of the royal palace, a vast space where Killer and Alexis used to spend their days with the Disciples. As they walked through the open door, in fact, Vesta and the others emerged in a room that very much resembled the naïve of a cathedral, just far longer, wider and taller, with columns the size of towers and gothic arches that reached an amazing altitude up above them. The group split in two for a moment as they reverently walked around the "throne" that Killer and Alexis liked to share: it was actually a massive and comfortable chaise longue, where the Empress would lay, beautiful and unrivalled, long and muscular legs slightly crossed as she rested on her side and slowly, reverently stroked and pumped his titanic black cock, while terrified ambassadors and trembling "authorities" coming from all worlds and planets of Existence crawled over the cold marble of along the interminable red carpet that led straight up to the throne. There were two actual thrones as well, for more formal occasions, but Vesta did not quite remember them ever being used, since nothing was more majestic and mind-blowing that crawling through that miles-long room, staring at the imperial couple snuggling tightly together, Killer's cock ponderously hanging down past the edge of the chaise and literally resting heavily on the floor, like a huge anaconda tanning in the sun. Every day, new groups of females crawled along that red carpet to offer themselves as slaves and concubines: many were volunteers, others were sent by their villages, towns and worlds as a sacrifice to the God, to hopefully secure his benevolence.

Comfortable and enormous red cushions, large enough to serve as seats or even as beds, were arranged on either side of the carpet, and each one was surrounded by other, smaller seats as well as golden bowls and chalices and other tools and comforts. Each cushion belonged to a Disciple, and the smaller ones to some of their daughters or concubines or other servants, who were tasked with taking care of the needs of the Disciple as well as of the Emperor.

Vesta tossed an amused gaze in the direction of her own cushion, surrounded by several others on which some of her many daughters would sit when the king was on the throne. Her place was easily recognizable due to the many books and parchments, quills and weapons arranged around the cushion, in each reach for when she wanted to do some work, or just read. Sekhmeth's place was also very recognizable, in that case thanks in particular to a golden bowl with her name on it, like she was nothing but a pet. The bowl, however, was filled with helpless planets and stars waiting for the goddess of Destruction to terminate their existence and devour them like candy... or, more frequently, to feed them into Killer's and Alexis's mouths, like grapes.

They strolled right past all of that, reaching a first monumental staircase of marble that they easily descended, stepping into an even larger space, gloriously illuminated thanks not just to great arched windows on either side, looking out over the inner gardens of the palace, but also thanks to tall arches covered by transparent crystal which allowed them to look up at the sky and got much of the outside's natural light to filter in.

That immense common hall was still a mess from the night before, when things had gotten wild. They had celebrated the end of the reconstruction phase... or, better, the point in which they could take a step back and let the mortals, angels and demons truly walk on their own legs. Up to that point, with entire worlds to be rebuilt from literally zero, Killer had wanted to provide assistance: no miracles, but hard work. Their unrivalled strength meant that everything they did was a miracle anyway. They had leveled hills, dug tunnels for highways and railways, hefted trillions of tons of materials of all kinds and taken care of all the other oversized tasks, to ensure that the mortals could rebuild a functioning world in "just" ten years. There was still a lot to be done, and the mortals were going to be working on for centuries, but they had at least gotten to the point in which there were working towns, and a world that was back in motion.

It had been a long wait, but Killer did not want to just snap his fingers and get everything done and dusted: that would have been unfair, in its own way. There were lessons for the mortals to learn, and they had to play their part in the reconstruction. Rebuilding their world from the ground up would teach them to treasure it, or at least that was what Killer hoped. And as a form of justice, Killer had of course wanted to help the angels and the demons as well, and beyond their little corner of Existence there were countless other worlds and civilizations, of which he was now the king, owner and god. They had been visiting and helping a great number of different words, and while it had been an immensely interesting experience, it had been all about work. Between a reconstruction project and another, Killer and Alexis had been forced to delay again and again their project for a honeymoon together, which had been on their to-do list, amazingly, for over two thousand years, considering the periods spent in Hell and Heaven, where the Time flow used to be so dramatically different. Their meeting, and their marriage immediately afterwards, had been like an island in the middle of a stormy ocean, and they had not been given a single chance to just go on a journey together without having to fight some kind of enemy, or help someone recovery from some sort of disaster. They could have taken some time for themselves immediately after the apocalypse, in theory, but they had decided not to delay the new Creation in any way... and after that they had devoted their energies and their time to the reconstruction effort, also because they wanted their honeymoon to take place in a world that was alive and active. They wanted to complete a journey around the world, weird as it sounded when considering that they had teleported towards all the corners of Existence, visiting whole different universes and countless alien worlds. They wanted something simpler, something more mundane. They did not know exactly how it would work out, there was no detailed plan. Their travel would last for as long as they felt like traveling. They were going to decide their destinations along the way, over time. For the moment, they had reserved a place aboard a cruise ship, one of the very first ones to be built and put in use in the new, rebuilt world. They were going to sail down the coast of the new, enlarged Northlands, traveling like they were "normal", like they were mortals. From there onwards, all was yet to be decided. They had nothing to be afraid of, after all, and no obstacle could worry them. They could enjoy complete freedom. The party had been the occasion to announce their intention of going on their long-delayed honeymoon, and to celebrate the fact that, finally, after literally having to reverse the apocalypse to get to that point, they were free to take a break and care only about each other.

As invariably happened when the family met for such joyful reunions, things had gotten wild pretty quickly, even though the beginning had been remarkably tame: after dinner, an orchestra had entered the immense hall and had started playing, and Killer and Alexis had danced. He had been pretty awkward about it at first, while he tried to remember what he had been taught so many years before, when he was a young prince and his days were all about training not just in the arts of war and politics but also in things like dancing. A king, after all, was supposed to be able to lead a ball if diplomatic considerations required it.

Alexis, as always, had been simply perfect from the get go, and she had guided him for a while, until he had gotten back into it. They had shared a long, peaceful waltz, and then another when Vicky had stepped up to lead the orchestra herself, revealing that she had composed a new waltz especially for them... and, as the night progressed, they had moved on to dances which were more audacious and sensual.

Vesta could still feel shivers going down her spine if she thought back to Killer and Alexis's bodies moving together in the most intense tango she had ever witnessed... and the shudder became even more intense as she thought of how he had then danced with her as well, and with the others.

Later on during the night, in any case, the music had veered towards metal and clothes had started to be discarded as their bodies became entangled in other and even more intense and sensual ways.

Vesta smirked as they crossed the immense ballroom, walking past the great columns of marble that looked more like towers than pillars, such were their proportions. There were still great, soft cushions of red velvet spread all over a large area of the vast room, abandoned where they had last been used, crushed under the body of this or that goddess while Killer thrust his massive cock in and out of soaked, dripping sexes, needy and greedy. On either side of the immense room, near the great windows, there were lounge areas where it was possible to have dinner or just some quiet time near the fireplace and the windows, with a wonderful view of the gardens outside... but many of the couches and armchairs of the lounge areas had been knocked over, pushed out of position, sent lurching for great distances over the marble as hot, sweaty bodies clung to them for dear life while Killer pounded away with glorious strength and endless stamina. An army of servants was at work to clean up and restore the den area, where the enormous couches used to be concentrated, arranged elegantly in front of a colossal fireplace. The High Queen of Heaven couldn't help but grin at the sight of the many naked, eager slaves on all fours, busy licking up the mixed nectars and the almighty, hyperpotent dark cum of their glorious overlord. Their tongues dragged over the huge lakes of dark semen, licking the cold marble clean, and their bodies shivered in bliss, their hips visibly bucking, their thighs glinting with the juices leaking down their legs. Their eyes sparkled, and they whispered words of praise and worship after every long lick, after gulping down every thick mouthful of omnipotent cocksludge: they knew how lucky they were to be allowed to taste their God in that way. That was the only way his sweat, his semen, his waste was cleaned up: by loving, hungry tongues. No other method was allowed, and given how much hyperpotent essence was plastered everywhere across the immense ballroom, the work was going to drag on for a long time still. There was no shortage of eager slaves, however, and Vesta grinned as she spotted Lilith and Persephone, crawling on all fours and grinding their huge breasts and their beautiful features into the thick black cum, dragging their long, demonic tongues through the veritable lakes and seas of semen and smearing the thick stuff all over their bodies, bathing in it. The two Thralls just could never get enough of Master's potent essence... and, truth be told, Vesta was not much better than them. She was tempted to just throw herself into the floor and get licking, but she resisted and walked past. Killer's thick cocksludge had always been exceptionally hot, dense, rich, potent and incredibly addictive, but now, like everything else about him, it was a completely overwhelming force that nobody could contend with. It was terribly addictive, and she just couldn't get enough. When he was in the right mood, Killer would stand before them with a thick rope of sweat and smegma and cocksludge dangling from his cock, and he would watch them fight savagely for the chance to lick up his filth. Vesta herself had grappled with Ira, with Alcana, with others, beating them, ripping into them, biting, punching, tearing, kicking, just to be allowed to lick up the smegma from beneath his monstrous flare. When he wanted his dark amusement, Killer could cause his girls to fight like rabid animals, like drooling, mindless beasts who savagely ripped each other apart just to get to lick up a drop of his piss from the ground. When it came to that, there was no love or affection that mattered: mothers slaughtered daughters, sisters massacred sisters. For a chunk of his smegma, Alcana had remorselessly torn Elaine apart, and vice versa. Alexis has massacred Mriya, more than once. The two sisters, Mriya and Elaine, who normally adored each other and were almost the two parts of a One, would rip each other's guts out for a chance to lick his ass, or taste the masculine sweat of his armpit. Even Samara and Nadia and Vanessa would rip their hearts out and eat them in front of him, just to make him smirk, just to entertain him. Even if he gave them nothing in return, not even a drop of piss, they were happy to give him any and everything he commanded. And, of course, no sacrifice was too great in order to get his blessing: Vesta had slaughtered entire universes and had filled her jaws with countless innocent children just to have him slap his immense cock on her muzzle and unleash a flood of his piss down her throat, melting the helpless mortals, washing them out of existence. For just a drop of his omnipotent Alpha waste she was happy to sacrifice her life, her children, her everything. If he asked her to kill every last living being in Existence, she would thank him for it and immediately get on with the work. And all other Disciples, even sweet and kind Diana, would do the exact same thing. They offered their lives, their children, the lives of everyone else, just to amuse him... and the monstrosity of it only made it more delightful.

The goddesses strolled past the army of slaves and worshippers, paying little attention to them even as they groveled at their passage, praising and glorifying them, and Vesta tossed only a quick look at a devastated, overturned couch soaked in pearly juice and black, almighty cocksludge: she had spent a good portion of the night before clawing into it and ripping it apart in the attempt of bracing while Killer's gigantic shaft pistoned in and out of her poor, devastated sex. It was a real fortune that Killer could control his fertility at will, because a 100% "kill" rate was hot like hell as a concept, but could be quite a problem. Much as she loved carrying new children for him and even adored suffering under cripplingly enormous litters that blocked her in a bed under the immense mass of her own pregnant belly, it was reassuring to have the chance to go a few turns without getting knocked up. Most of the time, Killer also made sure to put only two or three cubs into his wives, to keep things "manageable". He vented the full extent of his hypervirility with Thralls like Lilith and Persephone and with countless other slaves and concubines. Every now and then, however, the right mood struck him and he unleashed his might on them as well. Vesta had died several times to carry pregnancies that were simply monstrous... and she was all too happy to do it again whenever he demanded it of her.

The slaves, both males and females, could only stare in awe at that procession of tall, stunning and glorious beauties: the goddesses strolled past with their natural, sensual elegance and their steps rattled the ground. Countless eyes became helplessly glued to those formidable legs, to those great quads and calves bulging and flexing elegantly with every step, and the mortals gazed up in awe at the great breasts and chiseled, perfect muscles, shouting words of worship and praise. But still the goddesses walked on, towards one side of the room, to walk down another monumental but narrower staircase of marble. The reason it was narrower was quickly explained: in the middle there was a large cascade of clear water, that roared as it washed over large boulders and rocks and finally plunged in a long rectangular pool. Twin staircases flanked the cascade and led down to the pool itself, which was accessible through a few slowed steps of stone that descended under the surface. Great statues of the Disciples and of scenes of combat from the Endwar towered on top of monumental pedestals arranged at regular intervals all around the pool, and some of the statues were still "decorated" with discarded lingerie and corsets and dresses that had been hurriedly removed the night before when the family had chosen to bathe in the warm waters of the pool. The party of the night before, of course, had brought them to the pool, in fact, and things there had gotten even wilder, so much so that the waters were still dense and dark because of the obscene amounts of Killer's almighty essence that had been unleashed in them. The whole pool crawled with an infinite number of gigantic hypersperms, so numerous that there were several mortal slaves literally walking on the water, and countless others kneeling on the surface, bent forwards to suck up as much of the great hypervirile gunk as they could. Vesta couldn't help but laugh loudly at the sight: it wasn't new, she had already admired it in other occasions, but it was still amazing to see the mortal's little bare feet carefully settling upon the side of the great, dark spikes and blades that covered the armor-like exoskeleton of those immense sperms. The mortals could easily walk on that squirming, moving, terrifying mass of gigantic sperms all tangled together: trillions of omnivirile beasts, muscular and powerful.

The long pool was directly connected to a vast lake, roughly circular, with its coast changing from rocky and steep in places to gentle and beach-like in others. The lake was surrounded by an amazing circular double-porch: on one side open over the lake, on the other open towards the gardens of the royal palace. An incredible cupola of crystal covered the lake without hiding the outside world, making that place a real paradise. But the Disciples did not stop by the deckchairs and tables arranged on the internal beach, instead walking all around one side of the lake until they finally reached another marble staircase, leading outside. They emerged into the sunny, beautiful morning, savoring the light breeze. There was so much light that Vesta squeezed her eyes for a moment, looking down towards the courtyard in front of them. Killer and Alexis were already there, sitting on their enormous, powerful motorbikes, both of them jet black. The huge male was leaning comfortably back, hands gripping idly into the tail of his monstrous bike, a custom-built missile that could run at absurd speeds and, given its sizes, steamroll most mortal vehicles into pancakes. It was pretty traumatic to witness him and Alexis racing on the road, and quite a few drivers had steered right into ditches in the hurry of getting out of the way. He looked up at them with a grin, his eyes hidden by black sunglasses, his mane as always majestic and rebellious, more regal than any crown. His broad, masculine chest strained the confines of a black tank top that that was stretched out in the shape of his powerful musculature, and simple black jeans hugged his mighty legs and bulged obscenely over the incredible mass of his cock, which snaked very evidently down one leg, reaching pretty much all the way down to where his heavy leather-and-steel boots began.

Alexis, easily holding her own spectacular motorbike in place with the strength of her divine legs, was leaning lazily forwards, one elbow propped up on the handlebar, her cheek leaning against her fist as she gazed up at the Disciples through her own black glasses. She was, if at all possible, even more beautiful and majestic than usual, with her abs bare and her prodigious breasts bulging out of a sturdy leather top reinforced by a number of thick belts with golden clasps. She was wearing a black leather jacket complete of a long tail draped over the back of the bike, and black, ripped jeans shorts that left her magnificent thighs and long legs bare, in full display. Black stockings, with visible suspenders leading up to a garter bell partially hidden under her shorts, did little to hide the KO mark tattooed on her quads and the ring of tribal flames running around one mighty thigh. Her high heeled boots let her perfect toes out, her deadly talons looking perfect and intimidating... but not quite as much as the two rings of bone she wore, one on each big toe, each made with the remains of a god of Death of the Old Era. The tall golden platforms of her boots were elaborate cages that contained some of the enemies of the past: Cerberus, tiny and miserable, was down there.

Warships turned into golden trinkets hang from little chains made of UCWs and clipped to the straps of her boots as well as to her belt and the belts of her top. She wore several different universes, crushed down to the size and look of precious stones: a whole line of them dangled out of her navel, turned into nothing but a complement for her glorious, unrivalled beauty. The usual trios of helpless planets continued to orbit slowly around her heels as well, and her hands were, as usual, wrapped into black fingerless gloves.

The two lovers had no baggage even though they were departing for a long journey, but that was one of the many advantages of being omnipotent gods: they could just create whatever they might need... or take it from wherever they were at the time. This time it was true. Killer and Alexis were finally departing on their honeymoon, and it was quite an occasion: considering how long they had been delayed, those honeymoons had turned into something almost legendary.

"Took you bitches long enough to get here..." Alexis playfully remarked, grinning in entertainment, and in that moment Vesta was certain that the empress was fully aware of their plan. Apparently, she had no objections, and that admittedly was a huge relief for the queen of Heaven.

"Apologies. We stopped a moment to... help clean up the hall." Vesta tentatively replied, but Killer snorted in amusement and held up his Smartphone, starting the video of the livestream that had recently ended, and pausing it after a few seconds of Vesta and Ira taunting each other. "You also launched a new Team Angels versus Team Demoness royal rumble, we saw. I'll admit, that is a kind of show that never fails to entertain." He smiled, then looked past Vesta until he spotted Desire, commenting: "And you. You are terrible. And I love that."

"Thanks, Daddy. It's all for you, always for you." Desire eagerly replied, her voice sweet like honey as she grinned suggestively at her father, stepping forwards to hug him tightly and kiss him, their mouths working hungrily together for a few long moments.

"We might even watch your little battle royal tonight... as an appetizer for our main course. So, do make it worth our time." Alexis said, smirking as she looked first to Vesta and then to Ira, and the two queens nodded eagerly, trading a grin, eyes sparkling with the ideas that immediately started buzzing around in their minds. Killer, meanwhile, let go of Desire, whispering a few words in her ears that made her blush as she smirked and bit her lower lip, retreating reluctantly and continuing to admire his formidable body and the terrifying physical power that he radiated with such arousing intensity.

"Come here, you..." Killer said, gently seizing Vesta by the wrist and pulling her forwards, wrapping one arm around her waist and kissing her hungrily, passionately, as she responded as best she could, moaning in delight and hunger. When the kiss finally broke, he looked into her eyes and softly said: "While I'm away, I trust you'll look after the family and keep things in order. Be... responsible, okay?"

Vesta smiled warmly, then kissed him on the cheek... and shamelessly reached down to squeeze into the massive bulge in his pants, breathing: "For you, I can be everything. Even responsible."

One by one, the goddesses stepped forwards to say goodbye to Killer and Alexis. There were no tears, only smiles and kisses and teases. There was nothing to be sad about, even though the idea of Killer and Alexis being away for an unknown period made everyone anxious. A long separation was an unpleasant scenario to imagine.

Finally, Killer and Alexis traded a gaze and turned their bikes on, making the enormous engines roar and grinning as they silently challenged one another... before the two motorbikes lunged forth with an extraordinary acceleration, and the two lovers reared up their rides as they raced down the long boulevard that crossed the gardens. Ruin and Wrath, the massive, supernatural stallions, looked up from their "stables", which were actually more like a royal cloister in their own right, and they snorted before rearing up, shouting their disapproval at the sight of their masters choosing steel horses over them. Both massive beasts disappeared from the spot in matching flashes of supernatural fire, and then erupted out of the ground right next to Killer and Alexis, running with them, pounding the heart with their flaming, enormous hooves and easily keeping pace even with the superbikes. Their "stables" could not hold them, and were not meant to: the two great mounts were far more than just animals and were free to come and go as they pleased... and Killer and Alexis were amused, and unsurprised, to see them tagging along.

"Well, the fuckin' horses definitely did not stay behind." Vesta amusedly commented, snorting a little, and Sekhmeth added: "I say we follow their example."

Vesta and the others watched them go until they disappeared in the distance, and then Adrasthea snorted in entertainment and said: "Okay. So, how much advantage do we give them...?"

"Shouldn't we just leave them alone? It's their honeymoon. Maybe they just want some truly alone time." Gaia softly cautioned, even though her eyes were fixed on the horizon, right where Killer had just disappeared. She was just as eager to go as Vesta and Sekhmeth, but at the same time she didn't want to come across as invasive.

"Oh, come on!" Vesta exclaimed, flailing a bit. "We will let them have as much alone time as they want, but we all know they want us along. It is much funnier if we are in easy reach."

"How do you know...?" Gaia quietly asked, arching an eyebrow and pouting a little. "If they wanted that, they could stay home. Or just tell us to go with them."

"They are just making fun of us." Vesta easily replied, shrugging a bit. "They haven't said they want us along, but they have effectively made it really clear."

"How so...?" Ira curiously asked, and Vesta pulled up one hand and numbered the reasons on her fingers:

"Point one; none of us is currently pregnant. When else have we all been empty at the same time, in these 10 years? Never, that's when! Clearly, he wants us to be able to travel along without difficulties."

Gaia made a bit of a grimace at her choice of words, but she couldn't help but smirk immediately after, admitting: "That's a good point, I'll admit."

"Point two; they said nothing about us not being welcome. When they have an order to give, they make no mystery of it, you know that as well as me. Three; they could well have told us nothing about the cruise ship, if they didn't want me to find out where they are headed. Fourth; have you fucking looked Alexis in the eye and listened to her...? She WANTS us to be around to help her drain the big bad stud."

"Is there a fifth reason too...?" Adrasthea playfully asked, and Vesta immediately nodded and exclaimed: "Course' there is! Killer handed the keys of the fortress to me and told me to take care of things. And be responsible! Me! If you need someone to be responsible, you don't call me! Everybody knows that!"

"Okay, that last reason there is irrefutable." Gaia teasingly said, laughing as she nodded and rubbed her hands together, looking excited and eager. "I say we should go, then."

"We'll give them one night of advantage. One night on the road for them, and for us." Vesta cheerfully announced. "Let them get on with it tonight, and then we'll meet them at the ship tomorrow. I've already booked an entire deck of the ship, all for us. The deck with the swimming pools, specifically."

"Wise girl." Sekhmeth approved, settling her sunglasses on her muzzle and shaking a long crimson bang of hair out of her face.

"To the bikes, bitches!" Vesta exclaimed, pumping one fist into the air. "We have a long ride ahead of us, and a fuckin' glorious journey to look forwards to!"